Chapter IV: Cloaked in Stars
A vivid flash of light erupted soundlessly from the Court of the Kings. But quicker than a blink of the eye, it was gone. But it was enough for Faramir to stop in his walk.
Days had passed, and just that afternoon, Curutir judged that he was healed enough to take up the Stewardship; which Faramir did so, taking the brief Vow of Mardil, heartened at the words that he should only rule until the king should return. So near, yet it had never been so far.
He had spent the evening looking over damage reports, military reports, and much more of the city’s vital documentation in his father’s study. The place had an overwhelming sense of Denethor, proud and masterful. Faramir still felt like an intruding child. The feeling evaporated when his hand fell upon a sudden soft cloth. Lifting it, and upon further inspection, he recognized it. It was the mantle of Finduilas.
Holding the heavy fabric, he recalled his few, faded memories of loveliness. His mother, gentle-voiced, telling him of the sea with both reverence and familiarity. Clad in the mantle, watching the stars in loving silence. Almost coppery golden curls and dark green eyes. He also remembered his first grief: the sadness that rarely left her face, the last days of her waning in sickness, Boromir holding his hand, refusing to cry, and the affection dying in his father’s face.
Faramir carefully gathered the folds of the mantle, and left the study. It was time for a different lady to be cloaked in stars.
With one last, curious look toward the Court, he continued to the Houses of Healing.
***
Éowyn moved through the garden like a ghost. She wrapped her arms around herself in the crisp night. She was full of conflict. Her desire for death was quailing, and thoughts of the Lord Aragorn left only bitterness in their wake. Yet despair oft would close in about her.
And what of Faramir? The Steward of the City. They had spent many days together, oft talking, sometimes simply enjoying the presence of the other. Éowyn learned much, for Faramir hid little when he spoke to her, which she secretly delighted in. For long had she been given half-truths, whether because she was a child or a woman. Faramir acquainted her to the history of Gondor; he told anecdotes of his brother in childhood; described his years as a ranger, his encounter with the hobbits, and many other things. Yet he proved to be a valuable listener, as well, easily fascinated by her stories from Rohan. She did her best to describe the seasons in the Eastfold, the sharp winds in Edoras, the recent battle, even teaching some of her language. As she thought of him, she realized that she had missed him, and was lonely, lonely as she had been in Meduseld when the decline of the House of Eorl seemed certain. But no more. Her uncle had risen from ash to glory.
She turned as she heard a footstep behind her. "Are you not cold, my lady?" Faramir asked politely.
"I am from the North, my Lord. This is nigh on summer weather," she replied, her face grave, but eyes kind. He laughed; they had developed a light banter over the days. But a wind out of the North gusted, and she shivered visibly.
"Still," he said, "I have a gift for you—to help ward off the chill." And he unfurled the bundle he’d been carrying.
"I cannot take this," she whispered, touching one of the stars. He insisted upon it, and wrapped it around her, touching her shoulders through the mantle.
"Please accept it; it would not suit any other," Faramir implored. Seeing her now, he thought he was beside a queen who faced the North wind defiantly.
"What do you look for, Éowyn?"
"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder? For thither he will go on the morrow." To face battle more hopeless than on the fields of the Pelennor, heir to the throne.
"On the morrow," repeated Faramir quietly. "Then we will find that the world will be changed forever. For better or worse. Should the tree bloom again, or the great wave cover all the lands. But I would not have this world end now, nor lose so soon what I have found."
"I do not know what you have found that could be so easily lost," she murmured. "But let us not speak of it."
As they stood in silence, the firestorm of Mordor raged.