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3 · 4
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9 · 10
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12 · 13
Chapter 1
He called me back; he called my name and I could not refuse him. I
opened my eyes and without doubt knew that I looked upon the face of
my King; and I loved him, loved him for his nobility and compassion,
I would serve him to my last breath.
When next I woke the forces of the West were gathering before the gates
preparing to march to the last battle; a last brave, hopeless stand
at the very gates of Mordor. I had them carry me to the walls that I
might salute my comrades and honour their task. Proud tears clouded
my vision; the banners hues blurring in the bright spring sunshine as
the host marched proudly across the ruin of the Pelennor Fields to the
sound of trumpets. I bade the healers carry me back to my bed for I
was too weak with that final grief to find my own way. I sought the
quiescent oblivion of the healer’s herbs.
I awoke to the bright warmth of sunshine on my face and the tantalising
smell of warm bread in the air. A Halfling was standing at my bedside
offering me his assistance. He introduced himself as Meriadoc, cousin
of Peregrin, but I would have known him without introduction from his
cousin’s description. He too carried the physical wounds of battle
and in his eyes I could see the pain of a gentle soul who had seen too
much and who grieved still for those he had lost. But he was good company;
quick to laugh and eager to share tales of his friends and his homeland
far away. He helped me to wash and dress and with the assistance of
the lad, Bergil escorted me out into the garden.
On the second day after the Passing of the Host I was resting in the
garden when the Warden of the House of Healing came to me, accompanied
by a fair and beautiful maiden; Éowyn, Lady of Gondor, she who
had defeated the Witch King and fallen under his shadow. She too bore
the injuries of battle and remained in the healers care.
I was moved by her beauty and by the sorrow she bore. Her beauty shone
out like a beacon, but it was as sun on a bright winter’s day,
sun that offered beauty and light but no warmth. Our conversation gave
me an insight into her pain; she had sought valour and death on the
field of battle: valour she had achieved but death had eluded her and
she knew not how to face her newly kindled life.
Her company brought me pleasure and I believe she found comfort in
my presence. We kept each other company and shared the endless daily
wait upon the walls; our eyes ever turned north and east towards the
shadow. On that final day we stood together, still nursing our grief’s;
our hands entwined as the cloud and shadow swept towards us; and then
it fragmented before our eyes, bringing hope and joy even as the eagles
flew towards us with news of victory.
Victory brought great joy and relief to the city and the people rejoiced
in those first few days as the reality began to sink in. Messengers
came swiftly from the Captains with news and urgent requests for healers
and supplies to be carried to the Field of Cormallen, where the Host
would remain to tend to the wounded and suppress any lasting insurrection
from the forces of the Enemy. Merry joined the wagons, eager to be reunited
with his kinsmen, all of whom lay within the healers care. Lord Éomer,
now uncrowned King of Rohan, begged his sister to join him but she declined;
she stayed within the House of Healing nursing her wounds, both physical
and spiritual.
I discharged myself from the healers care. Duty called me; with father
and brother dead I would fulfil the role of Steward if only for a little
while, until the King came to claim his crown. My injuries were healing,
the wound in my shoulder had closed and the healers reassured me that
strength and use would return to my arm if I kept it rested.
I took up my duties and set myself a single goal; to set to rights,
where possible, the damage done to the city and to prepare a suitable
welcome for the King; to hand over my badge of office with the honour
of the Stewards intact.
The task was immense. A tour of inspection with Hurin, Captain of the
Guards, and with the Chamberlain left me in no doubt that the city was
in dire straits. The first two tiers of the city were so badly damaged
by fire and blast that few dwellings were habitable. The city gates
were sundered and offered no protection from further assault. The Pelennor
and the Rammas still stank from the rotting bodies of the dead and the
choking smoke of funeral pyres. The troops left to defend the city struggled
with double shifts of duty, alternating guard duty and supervising the
clearing of the battle field by the prisoners of war. A bitter undertaking
for troops long wearied of battle and toil.
Within the city there were few citizens able to assist in the clearing
and reconstruction. Long years of strife had taken most of the able
bodied men, and the women and children had been sent away to safety.
I was left with the elderly and the infirm. The House of Healing was
still crowded with the wounded and dying, the walking wounded helped
with their stricken comrades, but it was never enough.
The city coffers were all but empty and the storehouses and grain stores
sadly depleted. There was no fresh meat and few dairy animals, our access
to fresh game severely limited in the aftermath of war. It would take
weeks or months to re-establish adequate trade routes and supplies and
I had no emissaries to send to speed the process. I ordered that all
food supplies be gathered together in a central storehouse so that it
could be rationed and distributed equitably, a task made more urgent
as the flood of returning refugees placed greater demands on both food
and shelter.
There were not enough hours in the day to begin to make an impact on
the task in hand. I was kept busy till late into the night. I needed
little sleep, my mind too busy struggling to comprehend the complexities
of ordering and running a city; I was untrained and unprepared for the
task and had only my father’s Chamberlain to guide my efforts.
I assigned a young Ranger Cadet, Tamir, to be my squire. I struggled
with many physical tasks, even dressing myself difficult with only one
useful arm. I submitted to his assistance and ministrations with a degree
of inpatients and frustration, fortunately he was of a gentle and placid
disposition and endured my ill temper with a wry smile and a degree
of maturity and discretion not found in many of his older colleagues.
I had seen little of Éowyn since we received news of the victory.
My duties kept me busy and she remained within the Healers care. I missed
her company and held onto a memory of her presence, hugging it within
myself as a promise for the future, a bright flame to light my days
when cares and duties and buried grief threatened to overwhelm me.
When the Warden came to me and told me that she was ailing I cursed
myself for my neglect. I met with her in the garden; the pale spring
sunshine warmed the air but she shivered within her cloak. I knew that
soft words would not thaw her reserve or win her heart. I know her to
be bold and fearless and tempered with steel and yet I saw within her
eyes uncertainty and fear. I challenged her to accept my love and regard
and to acknowledge her own feelings; I knew in my heart that she would
rise up and answer my challenge and when she came within my arms and
offered me her heart I thrilled at the knowledge that I had at last
found a home, there within the sanctuary of her embrace.
Chapter 2
He called me back, back from the dark vale where I cowered under the
harsh voice and poisoned words of the Witch King; all about me the dead
and dying lay broken and spoiled: brother, cousin and King amongst them.
I wanted to join them in death but death was denied me and I lingered
in grief and pain. Yet the voice was insistent and a gentle hand drew
me back to brightness and light and I awoke to find my brother weeping
at my side, joy and relief lighting his beloved face. I felt crushed,
I had failed and any hopes of completing my quest now frustrated by
my weak woman’s body. I welcomed the pain of my broken bones;
a small enough token of failure, and I refused the numbing relief of
the Healer’s herbs.
The Host marched out in vain hope for the final conflict. From my bed
I heard the trumpets blow a farewell salute, the proud notes echoing
around the walls of the citadel, answered by the cheers and blessings
of those who remained on the walls. I had no hope of victory or of ever
seeing kin or comrades in this lifetime. I drew the blankets over my
head and wept.
When I could no longer bear the cloistering of the sick room I begged
the Warden to release me; he refused and took me to the new Steward
of the city, a fellow inmate of the Healing Halls. Lord Faramir refused
to countermand the Wardens orders. I could see the pity and grief in
his countenance but he spoke to me gently. I bowed to his authority
and resigned myself to continued confinement. Lord Faramir was gentle
and kind and in his eyes I saw kindled the offer of regard and admiration;
I would not acknowledge the offer, I had no room for misplaced consideration.
I left him and returned to my room.
Over the next few days we would meet in the gardens and upon the walls.
Sometimes friend Merry joined us and lightened our hearts with his gentle
humour and easy, undemanding affection. We spoke of those we had lost
and about those dear to us; but mostly we waited and watched in silence.
I grew to look forward to his company; he was fair of face and had a
stillness and gentleness of spirit that called to me. I saw long-standing
pain and griefs in his eyes and yet he voiced no complaint and sought
always to support and comfort me. When a chill wind left me shivering
he drew a beautiful cloak about my shoulders, a treasured heirloom that
had been made for his mother; as he struggled to fasten the clasp at
my throat he gave me such a look of deep feeling that I felt myself
drowning within his gaze. I pulled away, afraid of the intimacy of the
gesture. I caused him pain, he flinched at my withdrawal and I felt
shamed by my action but I could not allow myself to open to him.
On the last day we stood together on the wall, our eyes turned to the
shadow in the east. Fear and dread pressed down until I feared I would
scream out loud. The roiling blackness rose up and threatened to overwhelm
the land; and then suddenly it rolled away and the sun shone and the
eagles came, crying of victory and the overthrow of darkness. We stood
together; hands clasped tightly and dared to believe that the future
lay before us.
Faramir took up the responsibilities of his office. He discharged himself
from the healers care and threw himself into the mammoth task of preparing
for the return of the King. Merry left with the wagons and I returned
to the House of Healing, confused and uncertain, while all around me
rejoiced at our liberation and victory. I should have been happy; my
brother had survived and the king, the object of my unrequited regard,
had triumphed over adversity to now claim his rightful heritage. I cowered
within my bower, afraid to face him and unable to see where my future
lay. I had chased death and an end to unfulfilled hopes and now my path
was clouded; I shuttered my heart and balanced on the precipice of endless
empty tomorrows.
Faramir broke down the doors of my self enforced isolation. He drew
me forth and challenged me to accept his love and recognise the wishes
of my own heart. I looked into his eyes and suddenly everything seemed
easy and clear; he loved me and my heart sang. The joy and love in his
heart drove away the shadows and I lost myself in his arms and drowned
in the sweetness and passion of his lips. His love healed me and I knew
peace. I vowed then to stay within the healing halls, to renounce the
sword and to offer my services and to learn gentler arts.
Everyday my Lord would visit the House of Healing. He walked the sick-rooms
offering words of comfort and comradeship to the men still within our
care. He sat at the bedside of those who battled against grievous injuries,
his presence welcomed by both healers and sick. His men loved him and
I basked in the reflected glow of their regard. We would snatch brief
moments together, planning fanciful schemes for the future, before duties
and cares called him away.
He pushed himself relentlessly and I would try to ensure that there
was food available so that he could eat as we talked. I tasked Tamir,
his squire, to ensure that his Lord eat properly and take care of his
health. As the days passed I became increasingly concerned, Faramir
was grey with fatigue and I suspected that he was often in pain; his
arm now constantly either in a sling or tucked into the front of his
jacket for support. He denied the pain and brushed aside my concern,
refusing to bother the healer, too busy to allow physical weakness to
interfere in the discharge of his duties.
One day he came late in the afternoon. Something had happened, his
eyes looked haunted, grief and pain clouded his face. He did his rounds
as usual, comforting the sick and joking with those he knew well but
even they could see his pain, though he tried hard to disguise it. As
he walked into the small chamber that served as an office he swayed
against Tamir and took the offered arm for support. We helped him to
a chair and he sat down and lay his head down on his arms on the desk.
I sent Tamir to get some tea and hot food. I added a pinch of herbs
to the tea and had to coax him to drink; he never spoke but tears soon
coursed down his face. I knelt at his side and embraced him and he sobbed
against my shoulder until exhaustion finally threatened to overwhelm
him. I helped him to his feet and manoeuvred him over to a low padded
settle; I covered him with my cloak and sat at his side, comforting
him until sleep finally overpowered him.
I banked down the fire and turned down the lamp and left, quietly closing
the door. Tamir couldn’t tell me what had transpired to affect
his Master so acutely, only that he had had a long private meeting with
Hurin, the Warden of the Keys, and the Chamberlain. I bade the squire
to prevent anyone disturbing Lord Faramir, confident that the herbs
I had administered would ensure that he would sleep for many hours,
and not to allow him to leave until he had had a hot meal. I went to
my own bed troubled in mind and unsure if he would resent my interference.
There was still so much that I didn’t know about Faramir, he had
opened his heart to me but of his past he said nothing, locking the
door on emotions that threatened his fragile equilibrium.
Chapter 3
Éowyn loved me! I would say the words out loud to myself in
the long sleepless watches of the night. We snatched brief moments together
when our respective duties allowed, brief happy moments when the past
was forgotten and the difficulties and worries of the present were pushed
aside. I longed to escape the oppression and gloom of the city and show
her the beauty of the countryside that I loved. I promised to build
her a beautiful home where we would shut out the world; a home filled
with love and comfort. She would laugh and tease me and declare that
she wasn’t sure she was cut out for a life of domestic bliss.
I loved her laugh; it tugged at long buried memories that danced just
beyond my grasp.
Each day I went to the Healing Halls to see and offer my support to
the wounded and to the healers who worked so tirelessly to ease the
suffering. Some of the patients I recognised, Rangers and soldiers of
Gondor, and many were strangers who had joined us in the battle against
evil. One lad in particular drew my attention. His name was Beruel and
he was young, barely old enough to wield a sword; I had known him since
he was a babe. His father had served long and bravely as a ranger in
my company; he fell to an Orc arrow at the battle of Osgiliath and his
body was never recovered. His son now lay wounded and lost in the dreams
of fever, an Orc blade had injured his leg so badly that the healers
had to amputate it to try to stem the spread of infection; he now lay
hovering between life and death, calling to his father in his confusion.
I sat by his bed and willed him to live; to fight his way back- I needed
him to recover as a promise that the future was worth the sacrifice
of so many innocents.
I tried to visit the troops guarding the city each day. I couldn’t
help them in the gruesome tasks that they faced day after day, but I
wanted them to know that their efforts were recognised and appreciated.
I made it my business to inspect the prisoners, to see that they were
treated appropriately and that they had sufficient food and water. Lord
Aragorn had ordered that the prisoners be put to work clearing and repairing
the damage but that they were not to be mistreated. We had taken no
Orc prisoners!
In the city I was daily being smothered under piles of paperwork. Nothing
was too small to require my personal attention; all decisions seemed
to land on my desk. A scribe assisted me, my grip still too weak to
hold a pen for more than a few moments.
My shoulder gave me constant pain and my arm seemed to get weaker rather
than stronger; I became adept at disguising both, too busy to allow
physical weakness to interfere with my duties.
Late one evening when sleep evaded me again, I rose and wandered through
the citadel, relishing the peace and quiet of the sleeping city. My
feet carried me unthinking to the door of my brother’s room. Placing
the lantern on the floor I turned the handle and pushed the door gently
so that it swung open slowly. My view of the room jumped and flickered
in the guttering flame of the lantern. The familiar smells of leather
and soap evoked such a strong rush of remembrance that my senses were
reeling.
The room was as he had left it all those months ago; a soldier’s
cell, sparse and functional, no soft touches. The only personal effects
a small framed picture and a lump of amethyst crystal that sparked and
flashed in the light of the lantern; both mementoes of our mother. I
picked up the portrait, the only likeness I had ever seen of her and
my only way of picturing her gentle face. I had no memory of her, just
a sense of her presence and the softness of her voice. The crystal was
the first and only independent gift from her sons, found on a market
stall in Dol Amroth not long before her death.
Boramir’s presence was so powerful that I looked over my shoulder
half expecting to see him standing against the mantelpiece, on his face
a wicked grim, tempting me to some mischief. All I saw was his long
formal cloak draped over a wooden stand, leather boots standing to attention
ready to be claimed. I buried my face in the soft woollen folds of the
cloak, desperate to re-establish a bond with him, loneliness and longing
battering at my heart. I left the room, locking the door behind me and
pocketing the key. There were too many questions that I hadn’t
asked and too many answers I couldn’t face.
One popped up and hit me unexpectedly the next day. I was consulting
with the chamberlain and Hurin and had some formal papers to sign. I
asked for the Steward’s Signet Ring to attach an official seal.
The awkward pause that followed this request should have alerted me
but I pushed on without thought. I still knew nothing of the circumstances
of my father’s death but I had assumed that the insignia of his
office had been retrieved. They told me it was destroyed and when I
demanded an explanation they told me the story of my father’s
decline and death, carefully edited, I later learned, to exclude my
part in the tragedy. The stark facts were enough to fill me with horror.
That he should have succumbed to madness and despair, deserting his
duty to his people in their hour of need so at odds with the man I knew
that for the briefest of moments I thought that they lied to me, but
the compassion and sorrow in the eyes of my companions quickly squashed
that hope. I staggered to my feet and seeking the seclusion of the nearest
privy retched violently until my stomach had nothing left to lose and
my head swam.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, I’m sure that I saw and
spoke to many people but I recall nothing until I reached the healing
rooms. I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face; I would
not bring my grief here. I laughed and joked, wondering as I did so
how it could be so easy to pretend that I was alright, while inside
my head pictures and words warred and fought as I tried to comprehend
my father’s downfall; fear gripping my guts that maybe his madness
was a curse that shadowed our family.
Éowyn was waiting for me in the small office. One look at her
beloved face enough to crumple my resolve and I collapsed. She fed me
warm sweet tea as though I were a child and when I could hold back the
tears no longer she held me, rocking me in her embrace and cooing words
of comfort. I don’t think I uttered a word but she seemed to understand,
she made no demands, asked no questions, just offered me her love and
the protection of her arms. I awoke as the first streaks of dawn lightened
the sky, disorientated to find myself in a strange room, wrapped in
a cloak, my boots on the floor at my side. I snatched open the door
to find Tamir asleep in a chair on the threshold. I retrieved my boots
and left him sleeping while I went off to begin another day.
Beruel died. I sat at his bedside and watched as he took a last few
faltering breaths. I held his hand and willed him to take one more breath,
to keep fighting, not to leave me. He was my talisman of hope, but hope
and wishing were not enough and he slipped away taking a part of me
with him. I held him as he grew stiff and cold beneath my hand. I kissed
his brow and said goodbye; I felt Éowyn’s hand on my shoulder
but I couldn’t face the love and compassion in her eyes. I shuttered
down my heart and walled in one more grief.
I had Tamir saddle up my horse. He helped me to mount, and disregarding
the pain and handicap of my useless arm I kicked my heels and galloped
away from the city across the Pelennor, leaving Tamir trailing my wake.
I didn’t get far, weeks of inactivity and the after effects of
my injuries had weakened me more than I realised. I could feel my heart
racing and my head throbbed and pounded with a sense of impotent rage
I could barely control. My minder soon caught up with me and I was conscious
of his unspoken condemnation of my recklessness.
As we neared the Rammas we came across a party of prisoners under guard
working to clear the debris of battle and repair the damage. As we approached,
one of the prisoners, a swarthy –skinned southerner moved a block
of stone and revealed the remains of a soldier, identifiable by his
armour as a Ranger of Gondor; the corpse was headless and defiled. The
prisoner kicked at the body in disgust. I was off my horse in an instant,
simmering anger blinding my thoughts and my reason. An unspoken command
to the guard had the prisoner on his knees before me. He sneered at
me in defiance, scorn plainly written on his face, and then he spat
on the ground at my feet. I’m not sure what he expected by way
of reaction, I’m sure he saw only an unarmed, crippled Captain,
hardly a threat. I crouched down until my face was barely inches from
his and I spat out, for his ears alone, that he should have awaited
the clemency of the King’s judgement; he looked into my eyes then
and I saw a flicker of fear. Never taking my eyes from his, I pulled
the knife from my boot and slit his throat.
In that moment I recognised with crystal clarity that I was beyond
any hope or want of redemption; the madness of the Steward’s line
finally manifest in its last remnants. I watched the body slump to the
ground, the crimson blood spreading in an ever increasing pool until
it filled my vision. And I felt nothing, my mind closed down to the
point that all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the silent screaming
in my head.
I don’t remember the journey back to the city, whether I rode
or walked, if I spoke or was silent. I’m sure that Tamir accompanied
me but I was not conscious of his presence. Once back in my chamber
I pulled a bottle of strong spirits from the closet and dismissing Tamir
endeavoured to lose myself in the peaceful oblivion found only at the
bottom of a bottle.
I must have succeeded for I awoke in the first rays of dawn, someone
had removed my bloodied and soiled tunic and put me to bed; another
degradation to add to the litany of my failures.
Chapter 4
Faramir was withdrawing from me and I couldn’t find any way to
hold on to him and draw him close. His single minded determination to
prepare for the return of the King overshadowed all other considerations,
even his own health. It was obvious to all that he was suffering, he
was pale and gaunt, deep shadows shuttered his eyes. He seemed to be
permanently cold and would shiver within his cloak while standing close
by the fire. I know that Tamir shared my concern and he did his best
to look after his Lord but Faramir would not even acknowledge that there
was a problem. He steadfastly refused to see the Healer, even when it
was clear that his arm was now all but useless. When I raised my voice
to remonstrate with him he just raised his hand to my face in a gentle
caress and with a sad smile told me not to worry. I wanted to scream
in frustration but I had no one to turn to, nobody with the authority
or understanding to help me deal with the situation.
Faramir was in attendance when the boy, Beruel died. He sat with him
for several hours as his condition deteriorated. He had invested so
much hope in the boy’s recovery that when he finally slipped away
he seemed cast adrift in his grief. He rejected my attempts to offer
him comfort and support as if they were another intolerable burden.
He bolted away from me, calling for Tamir as he went.
I went to his private chambers later in the day, ignoring propriety,
determined to try to find a way to help him. Tamir was again standing
guard at the door, his manner and face betraying both worry and shock.
I asked to be admitted but he said that the Lord was indisposed and
not receiving any visitors. I stood my ground and probed more deeply
and asked if he was unwell or needed assistance. Tamir was obviously
torn between his duty to obey his orders and wanting to share the burden
of his concern. In the end I took the decision from him. I pushed passed
him and opened the door; my senses immediately assaulted by the stench
of sickness. I heard Tamir behind me gasp in shock. Lord Faramir was
sprawled on the floor beside the hearth, an empty bottle still clutched
in his hand. Fortunately he had collapsed onto his side, otherwise he
might have chocked on his own vomit. He was unrousable. His tunic sleeve
was heavily stained with blood and I feared he was injured, but we could
find no wound. Tamir looked at me uncomfortably, I guessed that he knew
the story behind the bloodstain but he kept the knowledge to himself.
Between us we managed to remove the soiled clothing, get Faramir into
bed and clear up the mess. We even managed to get him to swallow a cup
of water, but through all our ministrations he remained unaware and
unresponsive.
I sat with him for a long time, drinking in his beloved features, so
ravaged and changed; in the last few weeks he had aged beyond belief.
When he cried out in his sleep I held him close and whispered my love,
hoping that somehow it would register deep into his subconscious; it
was all I could offer him.
The day appointed for the return of the King was fast approaching.
The city was awash with people; refugees returning from exile and foreign
dignitaries all clambering to be part of the celebrations and to pay
homage to the King. I saw nothing of Faramir, after the death of the
boy he had stopped visiting the House of Healing, at least in the daytime.
One of the patients told me that he saw Steward silently walking the
corridors in the dark hours of the night.
The wounded inmates of the Houses gradually regained their strength
and health and were discharged from our care. Those who remained would
likely never be fit enough to undertake normal duties but even they
were caught up in the general feeling of excitement.
I was certain now that Faramir was avoiding me. He kept to his chamber
and office, never venturing to the food hall or even to the gardens.
When I tried to see him he was too busy to attend me. I was deeply hurt
and saddened by his withdrawal for I knew to the core of my being that
he loved me and that we shared a bond that would last for ever. I had
never considered myself a romantic, had never harboured hopes and dreams
of love and romance, but I recognised in him a kindred spirit; that
he was the other half of me and that without him I was incomplete. I
would fight to the end of my days to reach out and pull him back from
wherever his demons had driven him.
It was a momentous sight; the walls of the city thronged with citizens
all eager to catch their first glimpse of the King. I found myself a
position in front and to the side of the barrier set before the ruined
gate. Faramir and the Captains faced the Pelennor and waited for the
Royal entourage to step forward. The sound of a trumpet called for silence
and an expectant hush descended over the crowd.
All eyes were on the King; all eyes except mine. I had looked only
long enough to catch sight of my brother, but once I had placed him
I couldn’t prevent my gaze ranging back to Faramir. I was far
enough back and to the side that I could see his face in profile, and
the bright morning sunlight caste his features into sharp relief; his
cheekbones prominent, his eyes deep and shadowed. His black garb and
cloak emphasised the pallor of his face and the dark smudges under his
eyes. I could see a black silken sling about his neck but it had been
discarded and his arm was hanging limply at his side. I hoped that the
intensity of my gaze would draw his attention, but if he knew I was
there he paid me no attention.
The ceremony progressed and Faramir surrendered his staff of office
to the King; he seemed surprised when it was passed back to him, the
King reaffirming his status as Steward. I saw Faramir falter and Hurin
had to offer him his arm in support, though the gesture was hidden from
general sight by the folds of his cloak.
The King was proclaimed by the people, and at the King’s request
Gandalf set the crown upon his head. The trumpets sounded a fanfare
and the King’s standard was raised above the citadel.
As the Royal party began its progress up through the city I moved to
my brother’s side; he greeted me with joy and a hearty embrace
and teased me gently for not heeding his request to travel to his side
at Cormallen. He was so full of all that had happened that my preoccupation
went unnoticed, I listened and responded but my attention was taken
with seeking sight of Faramir. I finally caught sight of him; he was
behind me in the procession. As we approached the Garden of the White
Tree I stepped to the side and waited for him to draw abreast of me.
I grasped his arm and drew him into the garden. The walls surrounding
the garden blocked out most of the noise and we stood facing each other
in the relative peace of the green oasis of calm.
And he appeared calm; his gaze locked to mine, and for an instant the
world stilled and the two of us were suspended in a moment frozen in
time. I looked into his eyes and saw love and longing…and then
it had gone; a shutter had descended and he was closed to me. I put
my hands to his face and would not allow him to look away. His cheeks
burned beneath my fingers and for the briefest of heartbeats he leaned
into my touch.
When he spoke it was not words of love that I heard, instead, in a
voice flat and devoid of emotion, he released me from our understanding.
A cold shiver ran through me and I could not hide my hurt, but I did
not release him. He gave no reason, no explanation; I challenged him
to deny that he loved me, that his heart had changed…, and his
sense of honour would not allow him to lie to me, but neither did he
affirm his feelings. He asked me to leave him, distress plainly visible
in his manner and bearing; but I would not walk away. And when he could
bear it no longer he turned and stumbled away as if the weight of the
world pressed upon his shoulders.
I hated to show weakness but I couldn’t stop my tears. I stayed
in the garden until I had composed my mind and my emotions. I had not
given up on Faramir, my senses screaming loudly that all was not well
with him; the heat of his face and the glazed look to his eyes testament
that it was more than despair that ailed him.
I comforted myself that no one knew of our attachment, or of our subsequent
estrangement, and I would not broadcast the fact until I had had the
chance to get to the root of Faramir’s withdrawal. That decision
taken I took a deep breath and made my way to the Hall of Feasting where
the festivities were in full swing.
I caught sight of Merry and was introduced to his fellow Hobbits; they
proved a lively group but our conversation was cut short when Pippin
was called away. He was absent for some time and when he returned he
was obviously distressed. I sensed that he was reluctant to discuss
the reason for his upset in my company so I excused myself and left
the Halflings to comfort their friend.
The afternoon passed quickly and I was introduced to many fair and
noble folk. The room was crowded and, with the wine and ale flowing
freely, the noise soon made conversation difficult. All the while I
scanned the crowd for a sight of Faramir but he was not to be seen.
Towards early evening I had a glimpse of him but when I looked again
he had vanished into the throng.
As the evening celebrations drew to a close I found it increasingly
difficult to maintain a cheerful façade. I was at the point of
seeking leave to withdraw when I heard the King ask after his Steward,
but no one could recall seeing him.
Chapter 5
The long-awaited day arrived and I stood at the gateway of the city
and awaited my King. Throngs of people lined the walls and walkways
of the city. Hurin and the Captains stood beside me at the barrier set
up before the ruined gates. I didn’t need to look around to know
that Éowyn stood close; I could feel her presence and her eyes
upon me.
Events moved forward and I approached Lord Aragorn and tendered to
him the White Rod, symbol of my office. He handed it back to me and
I would have dropped it if Hurin had not steadied my hand. I did not
want it…I wanted only to hand-off the now hated responsibility
and disappear into peaceful obscurity. But duty called and I would not
spoil this moment of destiny or shame myself in the eyes of the King.
The ceremony progressed and I called upon the citizens to proclaim the
King, and he was crowned and the people rejoiced. Above the Citadel
the banner of the Stewards was lowered and replaced by the banner of
The Tree and The Stars as the King returned in triumph and glory.
As the procession moved up through the city I had two tasks still to
complete; to talk to the Halfling, Peregrin, and to face Éowyn.
In the event she sought me out, she left her brother’s side and
stepped into the garden, drawing me with her. She stood in front of
me, tall and proud and brilliant in her beauty. I would have looked
away but she held my face and I felt I would drown in the depth of love
within her eyes, but the cold, deep well of my fears bubbled up and
I hardened my heart against her love. I removed her hands from my face
and released her from our alliance. I saw the pain and shock in her
face as she paled; it grieved me and I felt as though my heart was shattering
into a thousand brilliant shards. She challenged me to deny my love
for her and I couldn’t, but neither could I hold her to a relationship
with a lineage as tainted as mine, to risk bringing forth children with
such a blighted heritage. She would not leave me and in the end I turned
and walked away, left her standing rocked with grief and tears; it was
the longest, bleakest walk of my life but I consoled myself that by
leaving her I was protecting her from a lifetime of grief and regret.
The celebrations for the Royal Party were laid on in the Great Hall.
There was to be no formal sit-down banquet, the store rooms and larders
not yet restocked sufficiently for producing a worthy feast, but a buffet
was laid out along one wall and the wine and ale were flowing freely.
Distinguishing Peregrin was easy, his livery setting him apart from
his companions. I sent a messenger with a summons to say that he was
required in the Stewards office.
He had already started on the ale and I took advantage of his slightly
tipsy state. I knew that he had been present during my father’s
last few hours and I asked him to tell me all that had occurred. He
was clearly reluctant to relive the experience, and, to my shame, I
pulled rank and ordered him. He pulled himself to his feet and standing
to attention began his tale. If the earlier facts of my father’s
death had shocked me, these new revelations left me reeling and finally
tore away the props of my reason. As he talked I looked out over the
city with unseeing eyes, I didn’t even realise he had finished
speaking until he pulled on the sleeve of my jacket and offered me a
glass of wine with shaking hands. I saw the tears on his face and the
grief in his eyes and I felt shamed. All I could manage was to whisper
my apologies and release him and send him back to his friends.
Later in the evening I found myself in the Great Hall, the celebrations
still in full swing. The room was noisy and hot. I secreted myself in
a shadowed, dark window recess, a retreat often used in my childhood
when avoiding my father’s notice. It offered a good view of the
room and its occupants, while I could remain hidden from all but the
closest observation. I removed my heavy ceremonial tunic and rested
back against the comforting, cold roughness of the stone walls. My shirt
was damp with sweat and the coldness of the stone leeched some of the
heat from my skin.
The noise of the throng got louder and louder and made my head spin.
I could see groups of people laughing and talking. Éowyn was
with her brother and the Elf, Legolas, she seemed composed and when
the King came and joined them she seemed to be at ease. After a few
minutes she excused herself and moved away to talk to the Hobbits. She
looked around as if seeking someone and I knew that it was me her eyes
sought; I pulled further back into my refuge and closed my eyes to shut
out the dizzying blur of colour and movement. I had a desperate need
to escape the throng and find peace and solitude. Without even seeking
leave to withdraw I rushed for the side door nearly knocking over one
of the servants in my hurry; I mumbled a hasty apology but I had to
keep moving.
Blind instinct guided my steps from the heat and noise of the Great
Hall. The coolness of the night air buffeted me like a wave and chilled
the sweat against my skin. I stood at the wall and looked out over the
plain, now studded with tents and pavilions and the twinkling of many
campfires, the pungent smell of wood smoke and roasting meat wafting
on the evening breeze. The smell triggered an overwhelming sense of
nausea, bringing to mind the fetid, sickly smell of funeral pyres. I
took a deep breath and pushed my thumb and finger against my eyelids
to blot out the unbidden visions of my father that flashed in my mind.
The buzz and murmur of raucous celebration played over the open ground
and filtered fitfully up to the higher levels. I should have been happy,
should have joined in the festivities with my friends and brothers-in-arms
but how many of them now remained. No, I could not celebrate, joy and
happiness had no purchase on my heart and self-loathing blotted out
all chinks of hope and light.
In my head I heard the echo of a familiar voice. He called again and
my need to find him blotted out all other thought from my head. I knew
where to find him, knew were to seek sanctuary. I hurried along the
darkened corridors, playing the keys through my fingers as I went. At
the door I hesitated, suddenly so apprehensive that my fingers shook
and I struggled to fit the key in the lock; the door opened silently
and I peered into the inky darkness. I crept in and locked the door.
I called his name softly but the echo had gone. I called more loudly
and stumbled forward until my hand brushed against the warm softness
of fabric…his cloak. I pulled it over my shoulders and buried
my nose in the heavy folds of memory. I staggered forward in the darkness
until my knee nudged the edge of the bed. I lay down wanting only to
close my eyes and to find peace, to blot out all pain and memory, to
escape from the blight of unfulfilled expectations and shattered dreams;
with his name on my lips I allowed the waves of darkness to rise up
and sweep me away to oblivion.
Chapter 6
Lord Faramir was missing. It was Pippin who first alerted me. As the
evening drew to a close the guests gradually slipped away to their beds
until only the King’s closest friends and companions remained.
Faramir was not present and when the King enquired after him no one
could recall when he was last seen. I saw Frodo and Pippin huddled together
talking earnestly and then they came to me, both concerned that Faramir
had seemed unwell and distressed earlier in the day. Putting this together
with my own encounter earlier a sudden chill gripped my heart. Not wanting
to raise the alarm un-necessarily I slipped away and sought out the
duty guard and asked him to begin a discreet search for the Lord Steward
and to report back to me with any news. All night I paced the darkened
corridors of the House, waiting for news.
By dawn there was no word and I could no longer conceal my concerns.
I went first to Faramir’s room, but there was no sign of him.
I spied Tamir sitting in a darkened alcove and it was clear that he
shared my concern. Lord Faramir had dismissed him after the coronation
ceremony and had instructed him to rejoin his company as his services
would no longer be required; unable to enjoy the celebrations with his
colleagues and worried about his Lord’s health he had crept back
into the Citadel at night fall He had been quietly searching the Citadel
and the town but had had no more luck than the guard. He had questioned
the gate guards and was assured that Lord Faramir had not passed through
the city gate; he had also been to the stable and checked that the Steward’s
horse had not been taken.
I sent Tamir with a message to the King and requested that he meet
me at the Steward’s office. The office was a mess; it looked as
though the large desk had been cleared of documents with a sweep of
a hand. On the desk were just three objects: the Steward’s White
Rod of Office, the official desk seal and a letter, crudely addressed
to the King. As I moved around the desk I nearly tripped over a stuffed
saddle bag that had been left on the floor. I didn’t have to wait
long; I soon heard the sound of many footsteps in the hallway. I drew
the King aside and explained quickly what had happened; he ordered an
immediate and thorough search of the Citadel. He and Gandalf questioned
all those who might offer some insight into the situation; the Warden,
Hurin, the Chamberlain, Tamir and finally myself. Putting together the
various testimonies was like fitting together a puzzle, each new piece
of information adding to the image until a clear picture emerged; a
picture of distress, debility and emotional collapse. The urgency of
finding him spurred by a fear for his safety.
It was late in the afternoon when Legolas sent word that he had news
and that he required the assistance of Gimli’s axe in the Steward’s
private quarters. In error we went first to Faramir’s room but
found it empty. We eventually found him outside a heavy, metal studded,
oak door that was resisting all efforts to break it open. Three heavy
blows from the Dwarf’s axe shattered the lock and the door swung
open to reveal a plain and sparsely furnished room. The shutters were
closed and little light filtered in to brighten the gloom; the air was
oppressive and foul. I pushed open the shutters to let in both light
and fresh air as one of the party kindled a lantern. Faramir lay on
a bare mattress, legs tangled in a heavy woollen cloak; he tossed and
ranted in a high fever, the bed sullied and the back of his shirt stained
with blood and foul-smelling corruption. Aragorn took one look and lifted
him as though he were a child and without a word carried him to his
own chamber. I picked up a small framed picture of a young beautiful
lady that had fallen to the ground, I thought just to place it back
on the shelf but a sudden instinct stopped me and I carried it up to
the King’s chamber.
I sat by his side for many hours as the King and the healers attended
him. The shoulder wound proved to be a deep abscess below the scar on
his shoulder, it had obviously been festering for many days or even
weeks; the infection had spread from the wound and was poisoning his
system; the abscess had further damaged the blood supply and nerves
to the arm. They opened and cleaned the wound and packed it as best
they could with healing herbs and dressings. As I helped to bathe him
it became clear how ravaged his body had become. He was thin and wasted
to the point of emaciation; his muscles wasted away until rib and hip
bones protruded against unpadded skin. All the time we tended him he
thrashed and muttered, lost in the depths of delirium. We sponged his
skin with cool water and cold compresses but nothing seemed to ease
the fever. As a last resort the King sent two rangers up into the high
hills to collect ice to pack around his body. This seemed to work; his
temperature fell slightly and he ceased ranting, only to slip away into
deep unconsciousness, unrousable to touch or pain.
The companions took it in turns to sit with me as I maintained my vigil;
for two days and nights I nursed him, talking and calling to him, trying
to give him something to hold on to. The King tried to extend his healing
touch, as he had done once before, but now he found only darkness. I
looked into his eyes and saw defeat and grief and I feared then that
Faramir was lost and for the first time my hope flickered and I felt
an icy fist grip my heart.
It was not in our power to bring him back, that decision now rested
with Faramir himself; wherever in shadow he now wandered only he could
pull himself back from the brink and take a chance on life.
I woke at dawn on the third day, stiff and sore; I had fallen asleep
in the chair at the bedside, my head resting on the mattress and my
hands clasping Faramir’s cold weak fingers. I tried to sit up
but was unable to lift my head; during the night a handful of my hair
had become tangled in the fingers of Faramir’s left hand, and
try as I might I couldn’t extricate myself, his hand was clasped
tightly into a fist. It raised the first smile seen in the sickroom
for many days as the King came to my rescue. I wouldn’t believe
it had happened by accident; at some point in the night he must have
wakened sufficiently to know that I was there and I felt shamed that
I had failed to notice.
He showed no further sign rousing as we tended him; I assisted the
healer in changing the dressings to his shoulder and was relieved to
see that the wound was less inflamed and appeared to show signs of healing.
We bathed him and refreshed the linens on the bed and propped him up
against pillows so that we could attempt to get medicine and nourishing
fluids into him. When he was finally settled I was told, no ordered,
to take myself off to my quarters to sleep and eat, and instructed not
to return until supper time; I wanted to protest but one look at the
King’s countenance told me that protest would be in vain. Legolas
took my arm and escorted me away, I was grateful for his support; I
was aching with exhaustion, the stress of the last few days finally
catching up with me.
I didn’t return to the sick room that evening; I woke in the
first light of dawn and realised with a shock that I had slept the day
and night away. I flew from my bed, washed and dressed quickly and hurried
through the darkened corridors of the Citadel to the door of the King’s
chambers, apprehension and fear jostling for supremacy in my heart as
I quietly entered the room. The King raised his hands in mock surrender
when he saw my face; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of my
anger until I was sure how Faramir fared. As I moved closer to the bed
I realised that the King’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching
me. Faramir was awake; I saw pain and uncertainty, hope and love flash
across his face, he reached out his left hand to me and I moved to his
side, tears of relief falling un-bidden as I leant over to kiss his
hand. I vaguely heard the King excuse himself as he left to give us
some privacy. Our reunion was brief but heartfelt; Faramir slipped in
and out of sleep, unable to utter more than a whisper, but words were
un-necessary between us; a squeeze of the hand or the briefest touch
said all that words could not.
I stayed by his side all day, nursing and caring for him; jealously
guarding the precious few minutes when he was awake enough to know my
presence. My vigil was interrupted late in the afternoon when the King
and my brother arrived. I could tell by the gravity of their expressions
that they had come to discuss something of great import. They wanted
me to step outside with them but I objected rather forcefully; from
the wry grimaces that passed between them they had obviously expected
my reaction. They drew me over to the fireside and after a moments hesitation
it was Éomer who broke the silence. Taking my hand he explained
that he could no longer delay his return to Edoras; the knowledge of
King Théoden’s fall would spread quickly and the people
of Rohan needed him to begin to task of restoring the country and to
reassure them with his presence. His request went unspoken but it clambered
loudly within my heart.
This then was the dilemma: my brother and my people needed me in Rohan,
and with all my heart I wanted not to be parted from Faramir. I sat
down heavily and buried my head in my hands, for which ever way I decided
I would be failing in my duty to the other. I was the First Lady of
Rohan and I had abandoned my people in despair when I donned armour
and rode forth to battle; if I failed them now it would be a final betrayal.
I looked from Éomer to the King; they could not or would not
influence my decision.
I heard Faramir whisper my name; when I got to his side I could see
he was distressed. I caressed his face and tried to sooth him but he
caught at my hand and pulled me down until my face was near enough to
him that I could feel his breath on my cheek. He told me to go, told
me that my people needed me. I wanted to cry out that he needed me too
but he silenced me with his finger. He gestured to the picture of the
young woman that lay on the bedside cabinet. I picked it up and went
to hand it to him but he would not take it.
“Look after it for me, it is of my mother; I will come to you
when I am able and claim you for my own.” I embraced him tightly
then though I felt my heart was breaking; I felt him relax and go limp
in my arms and knew that he had lapsed again into sleep.
We rode away at first light to the cheers and good wishes of the people
lining the walls of the city. Faramir never got to hear my farewells
or to feel the kisses I settled on his lips and brow, kisses sprinkled
with my tears; he had wandered back into deep sleep and I would not
wake him to witness my distress.
The ride back to Edoras seemed never ending.
Chapter 7
I wandered in the glades of Ithilien looking for something or someone.
It was so peaceful and quiet that only the soft murmuring of the breeze
in the treetops disturbed the silence. The forest floor was studded
with blooms of every colour and as I brushed past them their heady scents
perfumed the air. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting, always waiting.
I needed to share this with someone; joy and contentment bathed me in
light. I started to run forward with the sheer joy of living; I could
run like the wind, never tiring, the warm air caressing my skin with
feather light touches. There was a log on the path in front of me, I
leapt over it and then realised that it wasn’t a log but a person
sleeping. I stopped to see if they needed help- it was Beruel, and as
I approached he jumped to his feet and ran off and beckoned for me to
follow. He looked so happy and full of life. I followed, never quite
able to catch up with him but managing to keep him within sight.
His path took us deeper into the forest; sunlight dappled through the
canopy casting moving shadows on the undergrowth. He stopped running
and stepped into a sunlit glade. Scores of people began to move out
into the sunlight. There were so many faces; friends and comrades that
I never thought to see again, all whole and unblemished, no stain of
death or injury marred their faces. They all looked so happy; I moved
from one to another and though they never spoke each greeted me with
happiness and pleasure.
I noticed it had grown dark. A large bonfire burned brightly in the
centre of the glade, it gave off no smoke but sent up sparkling showers
of sparks into the night sky to light the darkness like fireworks. A
tall cloaked figured called me forward; I couldn’t see his face
but as I moved towards him he was joined by a companion. I had my back
to the fire, the firelight flickered and revealed to me the faces of
the two hooded figures; I recognised them both, one was the prisoner
from the Rammas and the other was my father.
Neither spoke, they lowered their hoods and I saw contempt and loathing
in their eyes. They moved towards me, edging me back closer to the fire.
I called out and begged for their forgiveness but they just kept moving.
I could feel the heat of the fire against my back; I tried to move aside
but they had me cornered. I called to the assembled crowd to help me
but they stood like statues. I fell to my knees and my father crouched
down before me. I heard his voice in my head, full of loathing and madness,
“you should have sought the King’s clemency, but I am not
the King and I have no mercy.” He pushed me backwards into the
fire and with a fierce grip on my shoulder he held me within the flames.
“Now my son, you will burn for all eternity, for madness cannot
be allowed to flourish and there is no hope for you.”
I screamed for help but no help came. I felt the fire scorch and burn
the flesh from my body but still I endured. Through the haze of the
flames I saw my mother and brother hand in hand watching and then they
were gone and I burned within the flames, lost and without hope. I called
to the stars to help me, to have pity but they abandoned me, their light
snuffed out and the sky went black, and the blackness filled me and
smothered the flames.
For time without measure I drifted within the cloak of darkness, cradling
the pain to myself as a measure that at least one of my senses still
functioned. The darkness was absolute and the silence deafening. Occasionally
I sensed a presence circling around me, supporting me, calling me. It
was reassuring but not something that I wanted or needed to react to.
The darkness was my friend; it offered nothing, demanded nothing, and
sought nothing but acceptance.
It was lonely but I had always been alone; from early childhood I had
only ever been really close to my brother, he was the only one who accepted
me without question and the only one to whom I had nothing to prove.
I believed that I earned the respect of my comrades in arms, but respect
was not friendship and friendship was not love. The memories of Boromir
opened the floodgates of remembrance; in my darkness scenes from my
past played in a never-ending cycle. Not all were painful; I saw beloved
faces and relived happy moments but those happy moments couldn’t
erase or negate a lifetime of doubt and unhappiness, couldn’t
give me back the love and respect of my father, his final act in life
the ultimate betrayal of trust. I recognised that I had driven myself
with hopelessness and self-doubt. I had always had a smug confidence
in my personal integrity, proud that I treated others with confidence
and respect. Now even that integrity seemed suspect, driven by the need
to prove myself to others; living my life in the pattern of other people’s
expectation and never able to meet the goals that they set or I expected.
Now the choices were all mine and I struggled with the demons that
clouded my judgement and stifled my instinct for self preservation.
Accepting the darkness was so tempting; to no longer struggle with the
shadows that crept ever further into my soul as they dampened my spirit
and sucked all joy from my life. I was so tired of simply existing;
life without joy and hope was no life.
And then the darkest of all realisations swept over me, for I realised
that I had rejected the two offers of redemption that the defeat of
Sauron had extended to me…Éowyn and the return of King.
What now of hope! Easier by far to accept the darkness and stop fighting,
stop resisting, ignore that little something that hovered at the edge
of my consciousness; that little spark that offered a hint of a promise.
Hope was dangerous, too fragile and too delicate; one touch of my fingers
and it would evaporate into the shadow from whence it came.
No, better by far to stop resisting and accept the darkness.
I felt myself moving forward through the darkness until I stood at
the entrance to the King’s Hall. If I entered here a decision
would be demanded; resolution achieved. Was I ready? Could I make a
decision? Or was it easier to stay in this dark undemanding nothingness
forever.
The doors swung open and I paused on the threshold taking in the familiarity
of the surroundings. The room was dark, only the light from a wall sconce
illuminated the Steward’s seat at the base of the dais. The seat
was occupied, my Father sat watching my approach; he raised a hand and
signalled me to stop, and then he stood, his face calm and impassive,
no scorn, no bitterness evident in his expression. And then he saluted
me and at his side I saw my mother and brother and they both smiled
at me. My heart jolted within my breast, I wanted to move forward, to
embrace them but my feet would not obey me. It was my shadow-family
that moved; they glided past me and stood with their backs to the closed
door, watching me. Boromir signalled my attention back toward the dais;
I turned around, the light in the sconce had been extinguished and now
a shaft of light from a high window illuminated the King’s Throne.
The King sat in splendour, bathed in sunlight, tall and regal and exuding
power and compassion; at his side a figure cloaked in a mantle of midnight,
face hidden within the shadows of a hood. I recognised the cloak, it
was my mothers, and yet my mother stood behind me. I looked from one
to the other in confusion until the King rose to his feet and lowered
the hood and revealed Éowyn as the cloaked figure at his side.
No one moved, no one offered encouragement or inducement. This then
was my decision, past or present, kin or companions, certainty or risk.
The past held no dangers, only the hope of reunion beyond the circle
of life. The present was more difficult, the future terrifying….and
yet…could I reject the hand of friendship, the offer of hope in
the future!
I turned back to my family, looked into the faces of each one and saw
love and sadness and compassion. Now I moved until I stood an arms length
from them. I could see that they were phantoms of memory and yet their
love was real and stole into the recesses of my heart. I saluted them
and felt tears spill from my eyes; I saw my mother’s hand reach
out to me and felt the faintest ghosting of touch on my cheek…and
then they were gone.
I walked slowly through the Hall to stand at the base of the dais;
Éowyn slowly descended the steps and extended her hands to me,
joyful and radiant. As she stepped closer she moved out of the shaft
of sunlight and I lost sight of her in the darkness.
I lay in the darkness as awareness gradually came to me. Hearing was
the first sense that I mastered and yet it offered few clues to my situation.
It was very quiet; I concentrated harder and heard the hiss and crackle
of a fire in the grate, my own breaths whistling with each rise and
fall off my chest, the distant footfall of a sentry. I drew in a breath
and sampled the scents in the air; the musty, pungent smell of a sickroom
overlaid the more subtle aromas of soap and herbs, and somewhere closer
to me the heady scent of roses and lavender pricked at the edges of
an illusive memory. I tried to take stock of my situation. I lay on
a soft mattress, propped onto my right side, a bolster at my back. I
tried to move but my body would not cooperate, I couldn’t move
my head and my limbs felt like dead weights.
I marshalled all my energies and forced my eyes open. As my sight focussed
I took in my surroundings; it was night-time and the amber glow from
the hearth and a single lantern gave the only illumination to the large
and unfamiliar chamber. I moved my gaze back to my immediate surroundings
and realised for the first time that I was not alone. Éowyn was
seated at my side, sleeping with her head resting on the mattress, my
right hand enfolded tightly within her hands; her hair splayed out before
me, glowing like gold in the flickering rays of firelight. I tried to
speak her name but could make no sound. My left hand lay on the mattress
near my face; I closed my eyes and focussed my remaining energy on inching
my fingers down towards her hair, progress was so slow that I feared
the few inches were beyond me, but I persevered until I felt the precious
strands of gold within my grasp. As I played the tresses through my
fingers fresh waves of roses and lavender filled my senses and accompanied
me as I drifted back into darkness.
I edged back towards consciousness aware that some time had passed;
I couldn’t open my eyes but through my closed eyelids I sensed
that it was daylight. I heard two, no three male voices in quiet conversation
but I was too busy concentrating on my physical state to decipher their
words. I was propped up in the bed, not against pillows but against
the warm and comforting solidity of a broad chest, my head supported
against a shoulder by a hand upon my brow. I lay passively as I felt
a spoon against my lips and tasted the salty sweetness of broth slide
over my tongue; felt the soft touch of fingers against my throat encouraging
me to swallow. I turned my focus to the conversation and this revealed
the identity of two of those present. The King and Éomer were
discussing the reordering and restoration of Rohan, and it was clear
that Éomer was anxious to return to his homeland as quickly as
possible. And what of Éowyn? Would she go with him? The possibility
caused my heart to plummet. It was clear that both King and brother
realised that she would be torn between her sense of duty and the call
of her heart and neither wanted to influence her decision. I wondered
why she was not here to participate in the discussion. And then the
person behind me joined in and asked about me and what plans they should
make. This was altogether too much; I needed to let them know that I
could hear them. I still couldn’t open my eyes, so I did the only
thing I could think of to get their attention, I closed my lips tightly
against the spoon and pushed my head back against the shoulder supporting
me.
Someone spoke my name and I felt my hand lifted. ‘Welcome back,
nephew.’ I squeezed the hand that held mine, it was a feeble attempt
but it was the best I could manage. Aragorn spoke quietly, reassuring
and gentling my fears, his voice a balm that soothed me back to an untroubled
sleep. For the rest of the day I slipped in and out of sleep, aware
of the gently hands and ministrations of my carers but vaguely conscious
of the absence of the one whose presence I most needed. At one point
I clasped my uncle’s hand and gasped out her name; he smiled and
reassured me that she was resting and would be back later. She came
at dawn; flustered and out of breath, anxiety hastening her steps. Her
gaze shot daggers at the King who raised his hands in acknowledgment
at her anger. And then our eyes met and the King was forgotten she was
at my side in an instant, she kissed my hand and wiped away the tears
that had leaked un-bidden down my cheeks; we embraced, each wetting
the others shoulder with our tears, tears of joy and relief and completion.
I was not good company; I drifted in and out of sleep, blacking out
halfway through conversations; it was very disorientating but Éowyn
always recognised my discomfort and prompted me back to understanding.
I had few visitors, Éowyn tended me in the daytime and Tamir
or one of the healers sat with me at night; I was never left unattended.
I woke from a deep sleep to see the King and Éomer in earnest
conversation with Éowyn, I couldn’t hear their words clearly
but I could see that Éowyn was distressed. I remembered the snatches
of conversation I had overheard. Éomer was to return to Rohan
and he needed Éowyn. I would not allow her to be torn in two;
her brother and her people needed her and she was trapped here by her
devotion to me. I called her to my side and reached for her hand. I
told her to go with him, to go home, and watched in despair as I saw
the look of rejection and hurt flicker across her features; desperate
to reassure her I bade her take the portrait of my mother and keep it
for me, promising to come to her when I was fit and able. I saw the
look of gratitude in her brother’s face as he nodded his thanks,
I held her as tightly as my weakness allowed as I felt exhaustion overtake
me once more.
I never saw her go, never got to say a proper farewell; I woke to a
chamber full of sunlight and empty of her presence. I closed my eyes
and feigned sleep, ignoring my carers and passively accepting their
ministrations; I had urged her away so that she would not be forced
to choose but I missed her with a fierce and powerful ache in my heart.
Chapter 8
I was to be taken to Dol Amroth to recuperate. My uncle was to travel
back to his city on one of the swift trading vessels and had offered
to take me with him. When it was suggested to me I was immediately overwhelmed
with a desire to get away from Minas Tirith. Dol Amroth held happy memories
of my childhood; yes, it would be good to get away.
The logistics of getting me away posed difficulties. I was still confined
to bed, unable to walk or even sit unsupported for more than a few minutes.
I would have to be carried on a litter and then taken by wagon to the
quayside; to save my embarrassment at this ignominious departure it
was arranged that we would leave at dawn. Accompanied by Tamir I was
hustled away at first light with no one to wave me off or to mark my
departure.
I remember little of the journey, I believe it possible that the herbs
and potions of the healers kept me comfortable and sedated but I do
not know for certain and I did not ask.
Dol Amroth was like another world; I was cozened and cosseted by my
family and Tamir fussed around me like a mother hen. I had a suite of
rooms within my uncle’s quarters and had the full time attention
of his personal physician.
As the days past my strength improved, my appetite returned and within
a week I was able take a few steps and to sit out in the sun. Morning
and night I was dosed with potions and every morning I was prodded,
pummelled and massaged to within an inch of my life. My shoulder still
gave me pain but the wound was healing as well as anyone could have
expected; my right arm was slow to improve, it was weak and my grip
poor, I could barely make a fist and had to resort to using a sling.
I submitted to the healers care with as much patience as I possessed,
willing to do as they bid in an attempt to minimise the disability of
my arm.
Needless to say, I was content. For the first time since coming of
age I had no responsibilities, no duties and nothing demanded my attention
beyond the need to look to my own health and wellbeing. I slept late,
spent hours reading and sampled foods and flavours I never dreamed existed.
I pushed Gondor further and further from my thoughts until a whole hour
could go past without my thinking about it.
Every day my uncle would find time to spend with me and as the weeks
passed we took longer and longer walks in the gardens or down by the
seashore. I swam in the clear warm waters of the bay and allowed the
song of the sea to steal into my heart, its comforting sighs relaxing
my mind and clearing my thoughts. Prince Imrahil was a calm and gentle
companion but ruthless in his compassion; I was allowed no secrets,
allowed to hide nothing. We talked and discussed the past and when fears
and memories threatened to overwhelm me he would prod and poke, soothe
and comfort until I had faced down the demons. Sometimes we would talk
about my mother and he would tell me about her past and her childhood
and about our family visits to Dol Amroth when we were children. The
memories brought me comfort. I dreamed about my family, dreams of love
and laughter. I wept long and often, finally allowing my grief to surface,
to acknowledge the pain and the hurt and the loneliness, and to mourn
for those I had loved and lost. Loving arms held me, making no attempt
to stem the tears, for with the tears came healing.
My uncle had arranged to return to Minas Tirith for when the Riders
of Rohan came to collect the body of their fallen King. I wished to
return with him but required the confirmation of the healers that I
had recovered sufficiently and was fit enough to travel. I was fairly
confident of their approval and thought myself to be well on the way
to recovery. A week before the proposed day of departure I received
an unpleasant reminder of just how badly my system had been affected
by my trials. I had spent the morning reading on the terrace, dozing
and luxuriating in the feel of the sun on my face. Just before noon
Tamir came to remind me that I had arranged to dine with my uncle. He
collected up my books and helped me to my feet and I followed him through
the corridors.
We had to pass through the main dining hall to reach my uncle’s
private chamber beyond. I got halfway across the hall when a servant
carrying a pile of crockery slipped on the polished floor. Her scream
of alarm and the crash of breaking pottery had me immobilised with shock.
The sound reverberated within my skull, echoing and multiplying in intensity
until I was back on the battlefield, the screams of battle battering
my senses as the darkness descended.
When I came to my senses I was lying on a couch in a small anti-chamber,
Tamir and my uncle at my side, concern and worry clouding their faces.
I was confused and disorientated, my head ached and my shoulder throbbed.
Someone pressed a glass to my lips and I tasted sweet wine. After a
few moments I heard the healer’s voice and listened as Tamir explained
to him what had happened. After the servants fall I had fallen to the
floor, keening and crying in fear and panic, banging my head as I collapsed
insensible on the cold stones. I had not roused when they carried me
from the Hall and had remained insensible for many minutes. I struggled
to sit up and as I did so the blanket covering me slipped to the floor;
my uncle retrieved it quickly but not before I noticed that my leggings
and tunic were wet. My body had betrayed me in the most public and embarrassing
manner; I cringed with mortification, pulled the blanket to cover my
embarrassment and begged them to help me to my room.
For two days I lay in my bed, ignoring all visitors by feigning sleep.
Food was sent back to the kitchen untouched; I accepted the healer’s
ministrations in passive silence. I kept sending Tamir away but he kept
returning until I gave up the battle and accepted his presence. The
fragile façade I had built up in the last few weeks was shattered
along with my peace of mind. I knew I was being unrealistic not to have
expected setbacks but my bodies treacherous betrayal had shattered my
confidence and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing those who
had witness my humiliation.
On the second evening my uncle entered my chamber carrying a tray of
food. He sent Tamir off to supper and sat in silence by my bed. After
a while he pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk and
sat looking at me expectantly. He asked me what messages I wanted to
send with him to Minas Tirith as I was obviously not yet sufficiently
recovered to accompany him. I had to smile at his un-subtle manipulation
and told him that blackmail was an unattractive attribute and probably
breached all manner of laws and that I would report his infamy to the
highest authority. He laughed and embraced me and marvelled at my miraculous
recovery.
I sat and picked at the supper while he proceeded to lecture me. Gently
but with stern authority he gave voice to all of the thoughts that had
been swirling round my head for the last two days; it was as though
he had read my mind. He urged me to be patient and to be kinder to myself;
I had seen enough of the effects of battle to know that even the strongest
and bravest of troops could be felled by battle fatigue and yet I could
not accept or forgive it of myself. And it was true, in my arrogance
I had never believed it could happen to me. I clasped his hand and voiced
my greatest fear; that it would happen again and shame me in the eyes
of the King. He couldn’t reassure me that it wouldn’t happen
again but he was sure that the King would find nothing shameful about
an affliction caused by bravery and sacrifice. I had to accept his assessment,
he knew the King better than me, but my fears remained.
The journey back along the Anduin was uneventful. I enjoyed watching
the scenery of Gondor unfolding before me and revelled in the familiar
scents that drifted across the waters. As the sun-kissed towers of the
city came into sight my heart thudded in my chest. I stood at the prow
and watched my city grow before my eyes until I could see the banners
fluttering from every turret. The quays of Harlond thronged with boats,
large and small, and while we waited for a berth I spied a crowd of
figures waiting to greet us. After we docked two tall graceful figures
broke away from the crowd and ascended the gang-plank. I recognised
Legolas but his companion was a stranger to me. Legolas introduced the
stranger as Lord Elrond, father of Queen Arwen and foster father to
the King. I found myself subject to the close scrutiny from the tall
Elf Lord who drew me aside and explained that the King had asked him
to meet me, in his capacity as a healer, to see if I required assistance
for the short journey back to the city. I reassured him that I was well
and that I wished to ride into the city. His eyes ranged over me taking
in my immobilised arm; I saw him throw a questioning glance over to
my uncle and though he looked doubtful he nodded in acceptance.
Our welcoming committee, including Merry and Pippin and an escort of
mounted troops, waited on the quayside. Tamir and Legolas helped me
into the saddle of a tall but placid looking mount; I would have been
insulted in normal circumstances to be given such a mount but it was
many weeks since I had ridden and I was conscious of my infirmity and
diminished strength. I returned the salute of the guard with a smile
and we set off for the short ride across the Pelennor. As we rode I
was flanked by the two Elves who rode so close to me that I’m
sure they feared I would fall at any moment. It took all my concentration
to control the horse with my left hand and maintain my balance. By the
time we had passed through the ruined gate and ascended through the
levels of the city the effort of riding was taking its toll. Legolas
and Tamir helped me to dismount and assisted me to my chamber, where
I sank onto the bed with relief. I must have dozed for a while but I
woke feeling refreshed and was able to welcome the many visitors who
dropped in to say hello during the course of the evening; it was lovely
to see them but none stayed for long, Tamir had obviously been given
instructions that I needed to rest and soon discreetly chased them away.
Chapter 9
Tamir roused me with a gentle shake; from the position of the sun I
had slept long into the morning and was late for my appointment with
the healer. He helped me dress quickly and accompanied me to the House
of Healing. On entering the chamber I was surprised to find not only
the warden but Lord Elrond awaiting me; I muttered embarrassed apologies
for keeping them waiting. Lord Elrond asked that he might join the warden
in assessing my recovery; I nodded my assent, awed that one as eminent
as the great Elf Lord should concern himself with my health
For the next hour I was examined, manipulated and assessed. As Tamir
helped me to replace my tunic Lord Elrond questioned me about my recovery.
With a silencing glance to Tamir, I described the progress of my recovery
in Dol Amroth, omitting only my weakness in the Dining Hall; that humiliation
was one subject that I did not want to share. I found it difficult to
contain the Lord’s penetrating gaze; I was sure he guessed all
of my secrets but he held his council. After consulting with the warden,
Lord Elrond gave me his prognosis, and whilst his verdict was not a
surprise I was distressed to have my previously un-voiced suspicions
confirmed; the wound in my shoulder had healed well but the residual
damage to nerves and muscles would likely be permanent; I would never
regain the full strength in my shoulder or hand. I would never wield
sword or bow again, although with exercise I might expect some improvement
from my present state. I thanked him for his candour and begged leave
to retire, wanting privacy to absorb the revelations of his prognosis,
but I was not destined to seek that privacy yet; the King had requested
that I attend him as soon as I was free.
Lord Elrond accompanied me up through the city to the Citadel. At the
doors of the Great Hall sentries saluted and stood aside to let us pass.
I was expecting to see the King on his throne but it stood empty; I
followed Lord Elrond through the Hall and into the ante-room beyond.
He bid me wait while he sought the King and informed him that I waited.
I was only too familiar with this room; it was the room my father favoured
for private or personal audiences. Many times in the past I had awaited
his judgment for misdeeds or perceived failures. The room was unchanged,
a gloomy dismal place with spartan furnishings. I stood and gazed at
the familiar pattern of tiles on the floor as tendrils of anxiety began
to wend their way into my heart. As the minutes passed I concentrated
on the patterns; my mouth so dry that I found it hard to swallow. I
rubbed my hand against my tunic to rid it of the sweat on my palm and
locked my quaking knees to prevent myself falling in a heap on the floor.
I had the strongest urge to turn and flee but before I could act I heard
the door behind me open and the sound of soft footfalls. I sensed the
King walk across the room to stand before me; I drew myself up tall
and saluted, raising my eyes from the floor to the level of his chest.
Through the sound of my heartbeat in my ears I heard him speak my name;
I couldn’t answer, all my concentration focussed on standing upright.
I struggled to slow my breathing as I felt sweat bead on my lip and
forehead and black swirls press at the edge of my vision.
“Estel!” I heard the warning cry coming from behind me,
though I hadn’t realised until that moment that there was anyone
else in the room. I felt a hand on my shoulder as someone levered me
down into a chair and pushed my head down between my knees; a calm soothing
voice urged me to breathe slowly and deeply whilst rubbing slow circles
on my back, I tried to raise my head but the hand on my shoulder prevented
me from moving. I felt cool fingers on my wrist and then on my throat.
“Have you eaten this morning?” I could sense a note of
exasperation in the voice I now recognised as that of Lord Elrond. Still
unable to get any words out I could only shake my head. The Elf Lord
sighed, “Estel, look after him while I go and arrange for some
refreshments to be brought… you do know that if you terrify all
of your councillors to the point of collapse by your mere presence,
council meetings will be long and tedious!” I heard him chuckle
as he glided from the chamber.
Now that the immediate sense of panic had faded I felt waves of mortification
wash over me. My worst fears had been realised and yet again I had displayed
weakness and debility to the one person I was so keen to impress; every
one of our encounters so far had seen me prostrate with illness or weakness;
how could I hope to achieve his favour or his respect? I closed my eyes
and wished to simply disappear.
As the silence lengthened I sensed the King draw up a chair and seat
himself facing me. I opened my eyes and raised them slowly to meet his
gaze, expecting to see scorn and derision; what I saw was compassion
and understanding, and it confused me.
“Faramir…please…you have nothing to fear from me!...
Nothing to fear and nothing to prove!” I felt the tension drain
out of me and slumped back into the chair as the impact of his words
filtered into my consciousness.
“I could never fear you, My Lord…I fear only that I am
not worthy and not fit to fulfil the role that fate has lain before
me.”
“Please, tell me what troubles you?” He leaned forward,
elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His gaze was troubled as
he watched me.
Oh, where to start! He didn’t rush me, just waited for me to
find the words. I started with the easy bit, I told him of Lord Elrond’s
prognosis for my recovery; I would never again lead my Rangers into
combat, never again wield a sword to defend my kin or country, never
again draw a bow, and likely never even be able to scribe my own letters!
What use could I be as Steward? Even if I could overcome these obstacles
I had forfeited the right to hold office; I had not forgotten that I
had resigned my Office and sought permission to retire from my land.
“You were not thinking clearly when you wrote that letter…indeed,
it is barely legible…I would not hold you to it…and would
gladly destroy it and pretend I had never seen it!”
“Then I would have to write it again!” I got to my feet
and paced restlessly; aware of his scrutiny and his concern. I was submerged
in memories of the Rammas and of the prisoner whose life I had taken.
I did not allow the memories to overpower me and for the first time
I spoke of it out loud; not just of the prisoner but of the boy who
had died and my feeling of helplessness and despair. Not that I was
seeking excuses, for there were none. He listened patiently until my
words faded to whispers.
“And what would you have me do, Lord Faramir? Judge you? Punish
you? Do you think I had not heard this story already…you should
know well enough that there are no secrets amongst troops! What could
I do or say that would punish you more severely than you have punished
yourself already.” His voice was stern but his eyes held only
regret and compassion. “There is no case to judge. The prisoner‘s
life was forfeit when he stepped on the soil of Gondor and brought war
to our Land. He can have expected only death; if he had submitted to
his captivity with humility he would now be making his way home with
his compatriots, defeated but alive; that he is not is a result of his
actions….there is no case to answer”
“But how do I face my men with this on my conscience when I cannot
face myself?...I’ve let them down…betrayed their honour
and their sacrifice…”
Our audience was interrupted by Lord Elrond who came to announce that
luncheon was served in the Queen’s sitting-room; the King seemed
thankful for the interruption. He silenced me with a wave of his hand
and led me through to an elegant and peaceful room, where I was introduces
to his bride. There are no words that could do justice to describe the
Elven Queen; I had heard of her beauty and yet nothing had prepared
me for the reality; her presence filled the room with the beauty of
a star-lit sky and her gentle manner would have put me at ease had I
not been blushing like a pimply-faced youth. I stammered an inarticulate
greeting and kissed her hand; she took my discomfort in her stride and
before long we were conversing like old friends. The afternoon passed
quickly but soon a messenger came for the King and our little party
was broken. It was only as I was taking my leave that the King reminded
me of our unfinished business and promised that we would return to it
at a later time.
I didn’t see the King again for several days but my days were
not idle. I was still under the healers care and each day I presented
myself, accompanied by Tamir, to the Healers chamber where Lord Elrond
demonstrated to us both exercises that would strengthen my muscles and
help me to regain my strength. I also spent many pleasurable hours with
the Hobbits and getting to know Legolas and Gimli. Whilst they were
all good company I felt most at ease with Frodo. He was still recovering
from his own ordeal and I found in his quiet manner companionship, comradeship
and mutual understanding. We shared many common interests and a love
of lore and history; we would talk for hours while Sam pottered around
us, providing us both with refreshment whether we wanted it or not,
he was very good at ignoring our protest and frequently threatened to
report us to the King or Lord Elrond if we did not comply; the humble
Hobbit gardener transformed by adversity into a fearless and ruthless
guardian.
Éomer and the Riders of Rohan returned to collect the body of
their fallen King and a banquet was arranged for the evening to honour
their arrival. During the afternoon Merry brought me a letter from Éowyn
and with it a request from Lord Éomer that he attend me in my
chamber for a private audience. While Merry went to convey my agreement
I read the letter; it was brief and rather impersonal; she enquired
after my health and hoped that I was recovering well. She made no mention
of the future, of our future, and I could only conclude that she no
longer anticipated that our futures lay together. This saddened me greatly
and yet I could not blame her; twice now I had sent her away from me
and I could not expect her to subject herself, the proud and fearless
White Lady of Rohan, to the possibility of another rejection. And yet,
I could not envision my future without her by my side; I needed her
love and her strength.
It was in this despondent mood that Éomer found me. We talked
for a while of generalities, about my recovery and also about my brother,
whom he had known slightly from earlier days. But soon we ran out of
small talk and an embarrassed pause ensued; neither of us comfortable
to introduce the subject that echoed unspoken between us. I broke first.
“How is Lady Éowyn, My Lord?” He smiled at that
and took a moment to pause before answering.
“She was well when I left her, though the last few weeks have
been filled with much toil and difficulty; Rohan’s people have
suffered greatly and there is much to be done! But I think, my Lord
Faramir, that you have a more personal interest in my sister’s
wellbeing? I believe that you had an understanding? Does that understanding
still hold?
“In truth, I do not know. We parted without resolving anything
between us and I fear that in telling her to go back to Rohan I may
have led her to believe that I no longer wished for our alliance.”
“And do you?”
“It is the dearest wish of my heart to spend the rest of my life
making her happy. I love her and I believe that she loved me but I do
not know how she feels now?”
“And what if she refuses you? What will you do then?”
“There will be no other for me! If she refuses me then I will
endeavour to do my best to pass from day to day in useful pursuits,
and I will spend the rest of my life trying to persuade her to change
her mind…we were destined to be together for eternity and if necessary
I will spend eternity trying to win her heart.”
“Then I wish you luck; I know my sister well and she can be as
stubborn as a mule!”
The judgement of Beregond was due to take place in the Great Hall in
the morning. Before retiring for the night I sought a word with the
King and I requested his permission to address the Knights and Rangers
before he dealt with the matter of Beregond. I could see he was puzzled
by my request and I hoped he wouldn’t ask me my purpose, for I
wasn’t sure that he would approve. Fortunately his attention was
called away and I escaped further questions by slipping away to my chamber.
At daybreak Tamir helped to dress me in my ceremonial uniform, he strapped
on my sword and tucked the dagger into my belt. I smoothed my hand over
the embroidery on the black tabard and traced the shape of the white
tree with my finger, remembering the pride I had felt the first time
I had earned the right to wear it. I broke my fast with some soft bread,
although I had no appetite and I had to force it down, but I would not
risk Lord Elrond’s wrath by fainting from hunger.
I made my way to the Hall; the tables had been pushed to the side
to make room for the ranks of troops and my footfalls echoed within
the vast empty space. The doors crashed open, startling me from my quiet
introspection, and Hurin led in the ranks of Knights and Rangers; they
formed up in neat rows in front of the dais. I saw Beregond off to one
side with an escort, he was dressed in full uniform but was unarmed;
I gave him what I hoped was a smile of encouragement.
The King sat on the throne, at his side Éomer, Prince Imrahil,
Lord Elrond, Legolas, Gimli, Meriadoc and Peregrin. I stood at the base
of the dais and when all were ready I turned to the troops. I closed
my eyes and took a few deep breaths and pushed away anxiety…I
had to stay focussed.
“Soldiers of Gondor, we are gathered here today to witness a
serious and solemn event, but before we proceed to that task I have
requested the opportunity to address you all. I therefore ask your indulgence
and ask Beregond’s pardon for prolonging his ordeal. I will be
as brief as possible.
“We find ourselves at the beginning of a future no longer overshadowed
by the threat of Mordor or the malice of the Dark Lord. We have all
grown up under that shadow and have watched the country and the people
that we love suffer. That Gondor resisted the evil for so long is a
testament to the bravery, honour and sacrifice of the troops who for
so long fought to protect their homeland. I am so proud of you all and
honoured to have had the privilege of leading you through all of those
dark days. I look on your ranks now with relief that you have endured
and with great sadness for the faces of brave and honourable comrades
who paid for our victory with their lives.
“The King has returned to us and Gondor will go from strength
to strength under his leadership. But while we can enjoy the fruits
of our newly acquired peace there may come a time in the future when
we will be called upon to defend our borders or come to the aid of our
neighbours. We must be vigilant and we must be prepared. It is with
great sadness and regret that I must tell you that because of my injuries
I will never again lead you as your Captain; I will never again wield
sword or bow. Before I can offer my service to the King as Captain General
of his troops there is a matter that I need to put before you.”
I paused at this point and turning away from the troops I requested
Peregrin to join me at the base of the dais. “Peregrin Took, you
offered your services to my father, would you assist me now?”
I could see his confusion and uncertainty but with a glance to the King
he nodded his agreement. I asked him to help me remove my sword and
dagger; he took them and laid them reverently on the lower step of the
dais. I removed my sling and had him help me to remove my embroidered
tabard, this he took also and placed it with my weapons. I thanked him
and sent him back to his comrades.
The King stepped down towards me, his face stern and in his eyes a
look of recognition. In a voice for my ears only he spoke, “Lord
Faramir, this is not necessary…you do not need to do this!”
“Yes, Sire, I do…please do not stop me now…it is
the only way!” He must have seen the determination in my heart;
he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and returned to his throne.
I turned back to the ranks.
“The Men of Gondor are known for their honour and bravery; you
have never let me down or betrayed the high standards expected of you.
It is vital that those who lead you must be above reproach. It is with
sadness and humility, therefore, that I have to admit that I have betrayed
those standards and failed in my duty to you and to Gondor. I took the
life of a prisoner, a prisoner under the protection of Gondor. I allowed
grief and despair to overwhelm me and I killed him; we were no longer
at war, he was unarmed and my life was not in danger; there was no justification
for my action and I can offer no excuses. And so I stand before you
now and ask your forgiveness. I cannot and will not presume to take
command of troops without being sure that they have respect and confidence
in me; I cannot, in all conscience, send loyal and brave men into danger
if they mistrust my judgement or my loyalty to them. So now I ask your
pardon and I place my future in your hands. I will accept your judgement
with humility and respect.”
I knelt then and bowed my head. I heard gasps of concern from behind
me but the silence from the troops was absolute and seemed to stretch
interminably. At last I heard a soft footfall, Hurin stood before the
dais and saluted the King before turning to face the men.
“Soldiers of Gondor, you have heard the word of Faramir, Captain
of the Ithilien Rangers. You all know the nature and the character of
the man before you; you have served with him in danger and adversity.
You have heard his admission and you are asked now to give your judgement
before your King and your comrades. I ask you now, do you put your lives
and your trust in Faramir, son of Denethor?…to honour him as your
Captain and your Companion and to follow him to whatever end?”
As one they stepped forward and saluted and then they were chanting
my name. I slumped back onto my heels; I couldn’t have got to
my feet then if I had wanted to, my knees had turned to jelly. The King
and Peregrin were at my side, and supporting me with a hand under each
elbow, they helped me to my feet. The noise of cheering was deafening
and didn’t abate until the King himself had helped me to replace
my tabard and fasten my sword. He lifted his hand to silence the cheering.
“On the day of my coronation I conferred on Lord Faramir the
title of Steward of Gondor; his memory of that day is, I believe, a
little hazy. It is my great honour, therefore, to confirm that appointment
and I ask him now to accept the regalia of his office. Lord Faramir
has spent his life protecting Gondor and, more specifically, his beloved
Ithilien, a place that holds a special place in his heart. For this
reason I am afraid that I am going to have to increase the burden of
his duties as Steward by appointing him Prince of Ithilien, to make
his home there and to supervise its regeneration.” His last few
words were drowned out by the renewed outbreak of cheering. He smiled
at me then and placed a plain gold circlet on my head. I stood to attention
and saluted him, although I couldn’t see his reaction for the
silent tears I could no longer contain.
The King remained at the base of the dais, and with a hand on Peregrin’s
shoulder for support I climbed the steps to stand beside Éomer
and Lord Elrond. Éomer clasped my forearm and bowed his head
to me in a gesture of acknowledgement; I felt Lord Elrond’s touch
on my shoulder and a seeping of comfort and warmth spread through my
chest, as my heart rate slowed to a more normal rate. I was barely conscious
of the rest of the proceedings until a renewal of cheering broke into
my consciousness and I realised that by the grace of the King, Beregond
had received a just and honourable punishment for his desperate actions.
When the soldiers had been dismissed I sought an audience with the
King and asked for his permission to accompany the funeral cortege to
Edoras. He didn’t answer immediately and in his expression I could
see that he doubted that I was sufficiently recovered to undertake what
would be a long and exhausting journey. I didn’t press my case
but neither did I stand down; meeting his gaze and returning it with
what I hoped he would see as determination. Finally he sighed and agreed,
but only on the condition that I followed the guidance and instruction
of Lord Elrond with regards to my health. I would have agreed to far
grater restrictions; so eager was I to see Éowyn and to settle
things that I would have agreed to go bundled up in the baggage wagon!
Chapter 10
The cortege began it’s slow progress from Minas Tirith, at it’s
head the Eored led by Éomer, all in full armour, helmets and
breastplates gleaming, and the sun glinting from the forest of spears.
Behind the Riders of Rohan rode the Royal Party including the Elves
of Lorien and Rivendell. Frodo and Sam were given pride of place and
rode beside the King and Merry rode on the wagon bearing the fallen
King of Rohan.
I was under strict instructions from Lord Elrond to ease myself back
into the saddle gently, to begin by riding for an hour at a time until
I had built up my endurance and stamina. I thought he was being over
cautious. I was again allocated the docile horse that had been my mount
when we arrived home from Dol Amroth. I had offered Tamir leave of absence
to spend some time with his family but he had declined and requested
permission to accompany me. I was touched by his loyalty and rather
relieved not have to rely on a stranger to assist me with the more personal
of the tasks that I could no longer accomplish unaided.
As the procession set off we rode side by side towards the rear of
the mounted section, just ahead of the baggage wagons. I set off in
great spirits; after an hour I was beginning to tire, although I would
not admit it even to myself. After two hours the tension of trying to
appear composed was beginning to take its toll, I could feel the sweat
running down my spine and my left hand held the reigns so tightly that
I couldn’t release the grip. I wasn’t aware of Lord Elrond
moving back through the procession until he was at my side. He didn’t
have to say anything, his expression spoke volumes; he signalled the
procession to halt and dismounted; he pried my fingers from the reigns
and, giving them to Tamir, helped me down from the saddle. My legs buckled
and refused to support my weight and I would have fallen to the ground
if he hadn’t supported me. As he settled me in one of the wagons
he subjected me to a stern and forceful lecture on following instructions
and looking after my health. He gave me a foul tasting concoction and
the next few hours passed in a blur.
When I came to myself night had fallen and I was still lying in the
wagon. I tried to sit up and failed miserably, every muscle in my body
screamed in protest; I felt as though I had been kicked and rolled beneath
my horse. My groans brought Tamir to my aid. He helped me up and handed
me a platter of food and a flagon of ale. He seemed rather subdued and
it took me a while to find out that he had received a rather severe
dressing down from Lord Elrond for allowing me to over tax my strength
on the first day of our journey. I was ashamed that I had put him in
such an impossible position and I apologised and promised to behave
in future; this earned me a wry grin.
When I had finished eating he helped me to my feet and I began a slow
and unsteady walk around the encampment to try to ease some of the aches
from my protesting muscles. I soon found my way to the pavilions set
up for the Royal Party, I stood just beyond the limit of the firelight
and watched them all laughing and relaxing; the Hobbits huddled together
with Legolas and Gimli and to one side the Elves reclined gracefully
in the shelter of the trees, talking softly amongst themselves.
I desperately wanted to be a part of the companionship that they all
seemed to share but something held me back and I turned to leave, regretting
that I had ever thought to come on this journey.
The King and Lord Elrond stood before me and they made a formidable
posse. I tried to hold their gaze but as both were experts in intimidation
I soon looked down, chastened. They took pity on me and taking one arm
each led me to a small tent set aside for my use. Their lecture was
mercifully short and administered with compassion but the King made
it clear that they would not allow me to endanger my health. After laying
down the law the King left, leaving Lord Elrond to offer his assistance
and healing skills; I submitted to his ministrations and he massaged
away they worst of the pain, his skilled hands working their magic on
my abused muscles.
From that day I acquired an Elven escort whenever I rode; sometimes
it was Lord Elrond or one of his sons and sometimes Legolas. It was
impossible to deceive the perceptive gaze of the Elves; they noticed
the first signs of fatigue and never let me push my limits. As the journey
progressed I was able to spend longer periods riding until by the end
of the first week I was able to spend half a day at a time in the saddle.
As we travelled I got to know my companions better and I soon lost
the sense of alienation that I had felt at the outset of our journey.
My days passed in a routine; I would ride during the morning until we
stopped for the noon-tide meal and during the afternoon I would ride
in the wagon. Even when riding in the wagon I was able to socialise,
sometimes Frodo or Pippin would sit with me on the wagon, their small
ponies making it awkward for them to ride and talk to those on bigger
mounts.
My ‘good’ behaviour seemed to meet the approval of my self-appointed
keepers and they relaxed their vigilance, although I have no doubt that
they monitored me from a distance. I was enjoying the freedom of being
on horse-back again and as my confidence grew I became more relaxed
in the saddle. The weakness in my arm did not hinder me much as I rode,
although mounting still posed difficulties as I had to adjust to relying
on my left hand for strength and control. Although my physical strength
was improving I admit that I was dog-tired, collapsing into my bed-roll
at the end of each day, exhausted.
One morning I woke feeling groggy and disorientated; I had slept badly,
my sleep disturbed by vague and distressing visions that remained just
beyond recollection. I could tell by Tamir’s worried expression
that my dreams had not been quiet. I managed to gulp down a mug of hot
sweet tea but could not face breakfast; just the smell of the food inviting
waves of nausea. I felt on edge; all of my senses heightened to the
point that invoked a vague nightmarish quality to my perceptions. I
decided not to risk riding and when the caravan moved off for the day
I was safely ensconced in the wagon, propped against cushions for comfort
and sheltered from the harsh light of the sun by a canopy strung over
willow struts. I closed my eyes to cut out the jarring images of movement,
and feigned sleep to avoid unwanted enquiries about my health; actual
sleep I shunned, aware of the visions that still pressed closely just
beyond my consciousness.
By lunchtime I felt a lot better, my headache had improved and although
my senses were still sensitive I was able to swallow some fruit and
one of Lord Elrond’s more noxious concoctions. I elected to take
to the saddle for a while, and though he looked somewhat sceptical,
the Elf Lord did not object, although he and my uncle rode close beside
me and insisted I take regular drinks from the water skin hooked onto
my saddle. My two guardians chatted to each other but I took little
notice of their conversation. I forced myself to relax into the saddle
and concentrated on the sensations of my surroundings; the warm breeze
on my face, the heat of the sun on my back and the fresh smell damp
greenery wafting up from the broad river that ran sluggishly beside
the trail.
The afternoon passed quickly and when we finally stopped for the day
I handed my reins to Tamir and wandered off towards the river to find
some shade and to get away from the chaos and bustle that accompanied
setting up camp. There were no tall trees but the stunted wiry shrubs
of the open grasslands grew a little taller by the waters edge and I
found a relatively cool spot in which to rest.
I was soon joined by my uncle; he sat down close to me but remained
quiet, not wanting to intrude on my privacy. I was soon lost in daydream,
mesmerised by the sparkle and flash of sunlight on the water. A gust
of breeze blew the scent of the campfire towards the river and a startled
flock of waterfowl took to the air with a chorus of cackling protest.
Time slowed and I recognised the onrush of darkness; I managed to issue
a cry of warning, but the flashes of sunlight were flames, the smoke
of the campfire the smell of a pyre and the call of the birds the screams
of the dying. I clutched desperately to the arm beside me, determined
that this time the darkness would not win, and would not over power
me. I heard concerned voices but I could not acknowledge them. The visions
from my nightmare returned in full horror, for these were waking dreams;
I watched my father writhing within the flames as his flesh seared and
burned, I heard him call out my name with his last breath and I cried
out to him. The vision changed and I saw my brother, dead Orcs at his
feet; watched and reeled as I felt the arrows pierce his chest, knocking
him to the ground. And all the time I fought to keep the darkness at
bay, forcing my breath slowly between clenched jaws until finally the
darkness receded and I collapsed, exhausted, into waiting arms.
I awoke to the touch of cool compresses on my face and neck and gentle
hands upon my cheek. For one delirious moment I thought it was Eowyn
and I called out to her; but I was mistaken, when I opened my eyes it
was Arwen who sat at my side. I turned my face into the pillow and slipped
back into the blessed oblivion of sleep.
To the gentle but insistent questioning of Lord Elrond I had to recount
everything that had happened from the moment of waking until the darkness
had receded, so that he could try to understand what had occurred. He
listened intently to my answers and then questioned both Tamir and my
uncle; they in their turn gave him not only details of the day’s
events but also described what had happened in the Hall at Dol Amroth.
With his account given Tamir beat a hasty retreat, avoiding my eye;
my uncle was braver and he stayed despite the filthy looks I threw his
way. I turned my attention back to Lord Elrond.
“Am I destined to spend the rest of my days collapsing and wailing
like a baby, my Lord?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness or
the distress from my voice. “I cannot represent the King at Court
if at any moment a dropped plate or a bird’s cry can reduce me
to a cowering wreck. I will not put him in the position where he has
to apologise to his allies or to his friends for the weakness of his
Steward…I would rather go in to exile now!”
“Peace my friend, it will not come to that. Now relax and do
not distress yourself.” He levered me back against the pillows
and kept his hand upon my forehead and I felt waves of comfort flowing
from his fingertips.
“This situation can be managed,” he continued. “Look
on today’s episode as a lesson. Today you fought the darkness
and you won! In time you will be able to master the darkness, but you
must learn to listen to what your body is telling you. In the last few
months your body and spirit have been subjected to terrible strain and
you will always bear the scars, for they are beyond my power to remove.
But you can learn to live with them, learn to manage them so that they
no longer threaten your confidence or your sense of control. They can
only control you if you let them. Today you were weakened by exhaustion
and a slight fever, probably made worse by the heat of the sun. You
will always be weakest when you put yourself under stress…if you
allow yourself to become overtired or over anxious. You must learn when
to say no to unreasonable demands, to delegate when overburdened, to
stop putting your own needs so low down in your list of priorities that
they get lost.
“You are your own worst enemy, Faramir. You must learn to accept
the love and support of those around you; there are many people who
would offer you that support if only you would reach out to them. Allowing
yourself to be loved is not so hard, it takes courage to open your heart
and of all men you do not lack courage. But shutting your heart to others
can be a difficult habit to break! Is that a battle you are prepared
to face?”
I looked from Lord Elrond to my uncle, in their faces I saw compassion
and affection mingled with a touch of exasperation; no doubt they looked
on me as a wayward youth in need of a good dose of common sense. I had
to smile then; these two men, Elf Lord and Uncle were as dear to me…
no dearer to me than my own father had been; he had demanded loyalty
and respect and I had loved him, but they offered love and respect without
demanding anything in return. I nodded and whispered my thanks, though
I am not sure that they realised what I was thanking them for.
Chapter 11
A messenger was sent to inform us that the funeral procession approached.
The funeral cortege wound its way slowly across the wide open grasslands,
the dust plume of the riders visible long before the procession itself.
The city emptied as the people of Rohan stood in silence to honour their
fallen King. Edoras had never seen so many fair folk within its walls
and I was over-awed by the prospect of hosting the company. It was only
as the procession passed through the gate and moved up through the city
that my heart lurched and I recognised a familiar figure riding between
Prince Imrahil and Legolas. I wanted to catch his eye but my attention
was called to my brother and then I was swept up in the formalities
of greeting our Royal guests.
The funeral rites for King Théoden were planned to take place
on the third day after the arrival of the cortege. For two days I had
barely a minute to myself; from first light until late into the evening
I rushed between hall, kitchen and guest quarters to ensure that all
of the guests were well looked after. I managed to exchange only the
briefest of greetings with Faramir; for much of the first day he remained
in his chamber recovering from the journey and on the second day I was
much occupied with organising a banquet for the evening; juggling constant
interruptions from ever hungry Hobbits. Merry teased me about Faramir
until I took him aside and explained that his teasing was likely misplaced
as I was no longer sure of Lord Faramir’s intentions; poor Merry
was obviously embarrassed that he had caused me discomfort and from
then on was rather subdued.
We were coming to the end of the feast and, as was the custom of our
Hall, Eomer and I as hosts began to move amongst our guests. We set
off along opposite sides of the Hall greeting old friends and welcoming
newcomers to our land and our hearts. When I reached the table of the
Hobbits they greeted me enthusiastically, all somewhat under the influence
of the ale that had flowed freely throughout the evening. Merry was
still uncharacteristically subdued and so I sat by his side and teased
him until he was once again his cheerful self. As I took my leave of
them Frodo rose to his feet and drew me aside.
“Talk to him, my Lady” he said pointing with his eyes
to the table where Faramir had been placed. “I know I should not
intrude on what is a private matter, but he is a dear friend and has
suffered much…and I believe his feelings for you are unchanged.
Will you not help him? I think he has much that he would share with
you…if you would let him…!” I was too surprised to
answer but I hugged the brave and indomitable Hobbit and made my way
to find Faramir.
When I got to his place it was empty. No one had seen him leave or
could tell me how long he had been gone. His platter of food was almost
untouched and I feared that he had been taken ill. I was about to send
a servant to see if he had retired to his room or if he needed assistance
when I was approached by Lord Elrond. He was carrying a cloak and a
goblet of warm, spiced wine. He informed me that Faramir was outside
seeking refuge from the heat and noise of the Hall and asked if I could
spare a few minutes to take him his cloak and the wine as he feared
Faramir might catch a chill in the cool night air. I wasn’t deceived
by his non-too subtle plotting but I accepted the errand with pleasure,
asking the Elf Lord to make my apologies to my other guests.
I collected my own cloak and slipped out through a side door. Faramir
was standing at the side of the Golden Hall, the lee of the building
protecting him from the worst of the chill evening breeze. He stood
at the edge of a sheer drop, though he seemed not to heed the danger;
his gaze was fixed on the far horizon, where the last rays of the sunset
reflected golden hues onto the snow-capped peaks in the distance. I
called to him softly, not wanting to startle him; he turned slowly as
if in a dream and although he looked at me, it was as if he were looking
at a ghost and it wasn’t until I stepped up and placed a hand
on his cheek that he acknowledged my presence.
“I thought you were a dream” he said whispered and then
he shuddered. I set down the goblet and pulled the cloak about his shoulders,
fastening the clasp. He pulled me to him them and held me tight, but
it was an embrace not of passion but of desperation and when I looked
into his face I saw fear and anxiety. I pulled away slightly, picked
up the wine and with a hand under his elbow guided him to a bench against
the side of the Hall. I sat to his left and held the goblet to his lips
and bade him drink the warm scented wine and wouldn’t let him
be until it was finished. I put my arm around his shoulder, pulling
my cloak over his until he was encased in two layers of warm wool. His
head lay against my shoulder and I felt some of the tension leave him.
I reached into the pouch at my waist, took out the cloak clasp and
placed it on my lap. Quietly I told him of its history and of its significance.
I had no doubts now about where my future lay and, taking his hand I
offered him my love, my heart and my future, holding out to him the
clasp as a pledge for the future.
But he wouldn’t take the clasp; he folded my fingers around it
and placed them back on my lap. I would have pulled away then, fearing
that I had misinterpreted his intentions and his wishes, but he held
me tight, his arm about my waist.
“From the moment I first saw you, I loved you…!”
he whispered. “I knew, even then, that you had captured my heart
and I thought my heart would burst with the joy of knowing you; even
before you knew me or came to love me; I loved you then and I have never
stopped …not for one second. I want to spend the rest of my life
with you, to make you as happy as you have made me, to grow old with
you beside me and to watch our children grow.
“But you do not know me; you have only seen me weak and helpless
and mired in fear and doubt. I cannot allow you to bind yourself to
me until you understand the real me; what I am and what I have done.
I would not have you chain yourself to another golden prison, to bind
yourself to a future built on an image or the quick-sands of unrealistic
expectations.” As he spoke he became increasingly agitated and
I tried to calm him; he tried to pull away from my embrace but I held
him firmly and drew his chin up so that I could see his face.
“Faramir, do not shut me out, please. Whatever it is that troubles
you can be sorted out, if you will only share it with me.” I would
not let him look away; I held his gaze until at last I saw fear replaced
with a small ray of hope. “I will listen to all you have to say;
I will stay with you …give me your trust as you have given me
your heart…they are both safe within my keeping.”
Cocooned by the blanket of darkness we sat together, my arms around
him, his head upon my shoulder. He talked, sometimes so quietly that
I strained to hear his words. He talked of his past: of his family,
his mother’s death, his estrangement from his father, of the dreams
that had taken his brother away on his fateful quest, of his endless
battles to protect his land from evil, of the comrades he had lost and
the hopelessness of their fight, of the attacks by the Nazgul, the death
of his beloved brother and of his fathers implacable grief, of his final
desperate retreat from Osgiliath and of falling to the enemy’s
arrow and the fell effect of the Black Breath and of his fathers attempt
to take his life upon the funeral pyre, of the death of the boy in the
House of Healing and his subsequent killing of the prisoner on the Rammas
as despair had finally claimed him, and finally of the crippling nature
of his injuries and the Healers prognosis of his disability.
I don’t know at what point the tears had started but as his words
tailed off into silence I could feel the dampness against my shoulder;
he wept silently, his body shaking with emotion, I didn’t attempt
to stem the flow of tears, seeing in them a release for the dam of emotion
that had been held back for too long. I held him tightly and gradually
he slipped down until his head lay on my lap. I adjusted our cloaks
about him and sat in the darkness, murmuring endearments and caressing
his cheeks until finally his weeping eased and the tension left him
and he drifted off into exhausted sleep. I kept my vigil as the city
around us went to sleep. I rather feared that we would be there all
night, we were hidden by the darkness and I wasn’t sure that either
of us had been missed.
I tried to gently rouse Faramir but was unable to break through the
depth of his exhaustion; I had almost resigned myself to a long vigil
when I was rescued by Tamir who had come looking for his Lord. I asked
him to return to the Hall and fetch either Prince Imrahil or Lord Elrond,
if they were still about; I urged him to be discreet, for I knew Faramir
would hate to have his weakness broadcast publicly. Tamir returned quickly,
followed by Lord Elrond and Legolas; it took the Elf Lord only a moment
to assess the situation and though he too was unable to rouse Faramir,
he reassured me with a smile. Legolas and Tamir lifted Faramir and with
arms joined behind his back and knees carried him carefully to his chamber.
Lord Elrond helped me to my feet and I made to follow the retreating
figures but he detained me. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness
but I knew his perceptive gaze was upon me; he didn’t say anything
but he understood, and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms; I felt his
hands rubbing circles on my back but I could not stop my tears.
“How has he done it?” I sobbed. “How has that brave
and gentle soul survived so much pain and hurt? I’ve never once
heard him complain… he tears himself in two rather than offer
hurt to those he loves…he takes everything life throws at him
and asks nothing in return?”
“He is rather remarkable, isn’t he? He has a special something
that draws people to him and makes them want to protect him…I
wonder that his father failed to see his remarkable qualities.”
“His father must have been a fool!” I couldn’t keep
the anger and scorn from my voice.
“No, not a fool, just a sad man, blinded by grief and despair
and the despite of the enemy!”
“Will he be all right, My Lord?” I asked as my tears abated.
“His health and his strength are fragile still and his recovery
will be slow; he has made good progress so far and with love and support
from those around him I think he will do very well. His physical recovery
will, I think, be easier than the recovery of his spirit…his arm
will always be weak but with rest, exercise and good food there is no
reason why he shouldn’t recover his former strength and endurance.
You, I believe, hold the key to his spiritual recovery…can you
give him the love and support that he needs…it may not be an easy
journey, although he hides it well he has been badly hurt by his experiences…you
will need strength and patience to help him through this. Do you love
him enough to take on this burden?”
“It is no burden!” I cried. “I will do whatever it
takes to make him happy!”
“Then I wish you joy, Lady. I believe you will be very good for
each other.”
As we walked back to the Hall I showed the clasp to Lord Elrond and
told him of its significance. I asked him if he would ensure that Faramir
would find it by his bed when he awoke. He gave me his assurance and
he took his leave, promising to look in on Faramir and to make sure
he was settled.
I went to my own bed with my heart full of hope.
Chapter 12
As we approached the city of Edoras I made a change to my usual routine
and took to the saddle after the noon-tide halt; I was determined that
I would enter the city on horseback and not be carried in the back of
a wagon like some ailing invalid.
The city was visible from a distance and the last few miles across
the rolling grasslands of Rohan seemed to pass very slowly. The sunlight
glittered on the Golden Hall as it stood proud on it’s plinth
of stone. It seemed that everyone in the city had come out to welcome
home the sad cortege. They stood in silent rows to pay their respects
to their fallen King.
I saw Éowyn; she stood proudly at the gate, her golden hair
glinting in the early evening light, her white gown a brilliant contrast
to the midnight blue of her cloak. I’m not sure that she saw me,
for as the procession came to a halt she was immediately swept into
the formalities of welcoming her Royal and Elven guests.
When the horses had been handed over to the stable-hands we were escorted
to the great hall where a buffet was laid in honour of the assembled
guests. It was an informal occasion; all of the travellers were weary
and eager for their beds. I had not been expected and no room had been
allocated to me, but with a quiet word to the Chamberlain my uncle arranged
for an extra cot to be put in his room. I excused myself early and taking
a dose of one of Lord Elrond’s potions I was soon asleep, thankful
for a warm comfortable mattress after two weeks on the trail.
It was mid afternoon when I awoke. Tamir was sitting by the window
reading and when I remonstrated with him for not waking me sooner he
explained that he had strict instructions not to disturb my rest. He
offered me a platter of food and I picked at it while he arranged for
hot water to be brought to fill the bath tub. It was bliss to sink into
the hot fragrant water and to wash away the dust and grime of the journey.
He wouldn’t help me to dress until he had massaged away the worst
of the aches and tensions from my back and shoulders and assisted me
with the exercises prescribed by Lord Elrond. I had to compliment him
on his skills, he had learned his lessons well; when he had finished
his ministrations I did feel much better.
I had to endure endless teasing, especially from the Hobbits, who seemed
to take great delight in embarrassing me for my tardy habits. I tried
to take their ribbing in good part and was relieved that Éowyn
was not there to witness my discomfort; it was very important to me
that I didn’t embarrass or shame myself in her eyes. There was
so much that I wanted to say to her, so much that I needed to explain.
I sat for a while talking with King Elessar and his Queen and we were
joined by Lord Éomer. When the Queen excused herself I found
myself facing the scrutiny of the two men who held my destiny in their
hands. I laugher nervously when the uncrowned King of Rohan asked me
my intentions.
“My wishes are unchanged, my Lord,” I stammered, before
pulling myself up straight in my chair and facing him. “It is
my dearest wish to take Lady Éowyn as my bride, but I will not
allow her to bind herself to me until I have had a chance to talk to
her, to let her know what she agreeing to. You know of what I speak,
my Lord, you have seen and heard of the weakness that plagues me, I
will not have the one that I love beyond life itself enter into a union
blind of that weakness.”
Éomer looked at me with a guarded expression. “I know
of what you speak, and it does not blind me. I know you to be a man
of honour and integrity; I know you have the trust and favour of the
King and that you would love my sister and make her happy. What worries
me slightly is that you doubt your own worth!”
“I fear only that I will let her down, that she will be disappointed
when she sees the real me…. or that she will turn me down.”
It was King Elessar who spoke next, with teasing laughter in his voice.
“She cannot turn you down, or accept you for that matter, if you
do not speak to her. For one who is so fearless in conflict, you seem
strangely reluctant to engage in this battle! Can it be that you are
afraid of the fair maid, my Lord?”
“Fair maid she may be, but she is also a Shield-maiden of Rohan;
the Shield-maiden who challenged and defeated the Witch-King…would
you not fear her wrath, My King!”
Éomer chuckled at this description of his sister. “Faramir,
in two days time we will complete the ceremonies in honour of King Théoden.
It would be fitting to announce your betrothal at the climax of those
celebrations, if a betrothal there is to be? Let me know at first light
on that morning if you have succeeded in securing my sister’s
consent and approval.”
I spent the rest of the day and most of the next getting to know the
city and trying to catch a few minutes alone with Éowyn. I could
almost believe that there was a conspiracy afoot to keep us apart; every
time I caught sight of her, I excused myself from my companions and
made my way to her side only to have her called away by some urgent
errand or duty. I was acutely conscious that time was passing and that
still nothing was settled between us; we had exchanged only the briefest,
most impersonal of greetings and that was in the company of many others.
Perhaps she was avoiding me! I had to consider the possibility that
her feelings had changed and that she no longer wished to continue with
our association.
The familiar feelings of doubt and anxiety twisted themselves into
a tight knot within my chest. Remembering the words of Lord Elrond I
decided to get out of the constrained atmosphere of the Hall and seek
peace and tranquillity in the open air. Filling a water bottle and picking
up some fruit I made my way down the hill towards the city gate, hoping
to find a garden or sheltered spot in which to relax and unwind. I found
no garden but just beyond the gate was a small grassy hillock, topped
by a flowering gorse bush. I spread my cloak upon the grass and lay
down with my hand behind my head and watched the high sparse clouds
drift passed. The sun was pleasantly warm and lulled by the play of
the breeze and the soft haunting music of birdsong I must have fallen
asleep.
I was woken by soft whispered voices close at hand; I listened, without
opening my eyes, to ascertain who had found my retreat. It took only
a moment to identify that it was Frodo and Sam; I rolled to face them
and opened my eyes. They were sitting on a blanket a few feet away with
a picnic spread out between them, it took them a minute to realise that
I was awake.
“Are you here by chance, or were you sent?” I asked with
mock severity. Sam looked abashed but Frodo was not so easily fooled.
“It is all a bit overwhelming isn’t it?” his voice
and expression full of understanding. “We weren’t sent,
but you had been missed. If you’d rather be on your own we will
understand… the last thing we want to do is intrude.”
“No, my friends, I would welcome your company, and a taste of
your picnic….sometimes, well… I feel a little lost within
the crowd!” We ate in companionable silence. With his stomach
full Sam was soon snoring softly in the afternoon sun. Frodo shuffled
closer to me and sat on the edge of my cloak.
“Faramir, soon we will have to say goodbye, for we will be leaving
to return to our homes. I would like to see you happy before we go!...Do
not make the mistake that I made…I thought I had all the time
in the world…grab your chance of happiness, it stands right before
you!”
“You still have a chance for happiness, Frodo…you are young
yet!”
“Young to your eyes maybe, but I am older than you realise…I
held the ring for too long; it kept me looking young but it took away
the part of my heart that should have been kept for a bride. I do not
know what we go back to, but I fear that I will always be alone.”
The look of desolation in his eyes nearly broke my heart; I pulled him
to me and embraced him and just for a moment he sagged against me, but
then he pulled away. “Don’t let Sam sleep too long,”
he said with a sad tight smile, turning and walking back towards the
gate. I watched him go, marvelling that one so seemingly frail could
have endured so much.
I did not enjoy the feast that night; the hall was full and noisy,
tables crammed in to accommodate the guests. The atmosphere was thick
with smoke from the brazier in the middle of the hall and from the pipe-weed
of both hobbits and dwarf. I was not particularly hungry, Sam’s
picnic had blunted the edge of my appetite and the persistent knot in
my chest made swallowing difficult. The small amount of food that went
from my platter found its way to the hounds who scavenged under the
tables. I was seated half way down the Hall; I watched those on the
top table laughing and chattering until I could bear it no longer; time
had run out, Eowyn was as far from me now as when I had been at Dol
Amroth.
I slipped away from the table and went outside to seek sanctuary in
the rapidly falling dusk. I left the Hall by a side doorway, avoiding
the sentries who stood guard at the main entrance. The walls of the
building offered shelter from the wind that constantly whistled around
the summit of the city, but even in this sheltered spot the early evening
air was chill and I had not thought to pick up my tunic or cloak. I
wrapped my arms around my chest and looked out across the wide open
grass-lands. This was such a strangely beautiful landscape, totally
different to the lush beauty of Ithilien; the distant snow-capped mountains,
their high peaks standing mute guard, now painted crimson and gold as
the last rays of the sun caught their icy pinnacles.
I don’t know how long I watched there; I felt the chill in the
air but it did not seem to touch me, I breathed in the moon and stars
and let their beauty and tranquillity seep into my heart; I think I
came to a point of acceptance then, I let go of dreams, let go of expectations
and looked to the stars to find something to fill the void left by hope.
“Faramir?” A voice called out from the shadow of the Hall.
I wasn’t sure at first if the voice was real or in my head. I
turned to the sound and saw a vision before me; a figure cloaked in
midnight, their face lost in shadow. The phantom moved slowly towards
me and raised a hand to my cheek, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled
and I shivered. I recognised her then and she drew a cloak around my
shoulders. I was overwhelmed and clutched her to me so tightly she gasped;
I feared that if I let go she would disappear as quickly as she had
come.
She guided me to a bench and held a goblet of warm wine to my lips;
I was shaking too much to hold the vessel myself. She pulled her cloak
over my shoulder and I rested against her, safe within the circle of
her arms. We sat for a while in silence and then she showed me a large
brooch and described to me its history; a family heirloom, a treasure,
a betrothal gift, and she held it out to me as a pledge of our future
together. And I could not take it…I folded her lovely slender
fingers around the jewel and set them back in her lap. She tried to
move away then, but I wouldn’t release her, not until I had told
her what was in my heart.
Once I started talking I couldn’t stop, I poured out my heart
into the darkness; told her of my love for her, my hopes, my wishes.
I told her why I feared to bind her to me, began the sad litany of my
life that had led me to the shell I had become. She listened in silence,
letting me empty out my sadness against her shoulder, and when I faltered
she soothed and comforted me until I could continue. I looked up into
her eyes, expecting to see sadness or disappointment; but what I saw
there were deep pools of understanding and love; it made my heart leap
and I felt just the faintest stirring, a tiny flicker of hope. And still
she held me tightly against her shoulder. When finally I had run out
of words and the tears flowed and would not stop, still she held me,
safe in the darkness, cocooned in her arms, cherished, loved.
Tamir woke me not long after dawn; I had an appointment to keep and
for a few groggy, sleepy moments I couldn’t remember how the evening
had ended, how I had made my way to bed. I sat up slowly and lowered
my legs over the side of the bed and was surprised to find my left hand
tightly clutching a round metal brooch. Overwhelming joy flooded through
me and I held out my trophy to show to Tamir; he was grinning nearly
as widely as me and obviously knew of its significance. He helped me
to dress and while I collected a roll of parchment from my pack he busied
himself removing the clasp from my cloak and replacing it with Eowyn’s
gift.
I walked into the Hall to find almost the whole company assemble at
breakfast, all except Lord Éomer and the King. I schooled my
features to what I hoped was my normal expression, nodded a greeting
towards the top table and, after a word to the chamberlain went in search
of my quarry. I found the two Rulers in earnest conversation on the
steps before the main entrance to the Hall. They were facing me and
I stopped a few feet away from them and waited to catch their attention.
“Ah, Lord Faramir, did you want something?” said the King.
“A moment with Lord Éomer, if it is convenient, Sire!”
Both men looked serious, but could not hide the amused sparkle in their
eyes. My mouth was suddenly dry, but I took a deep breath.
“Lord Éomer. I, Faramir, Son of Denethor, wish to make
a formal request to take Éowyn, Lady of Rohan as my wife.”
I pulled the official parchment from inside my sling, handed it to him
and saluted.
“And who seconds your proposal?” he said, glancing at the
script. The King stepped forward and stood at my side, a hand on my
shoulder.
“I, Elessar, King of Gondor, do second the proposal.”
Éomer fixed me with a glance. “And does the Lady consent
to this union?” Nervously I moved my hand up and fingered the
clasp at my neck.
“I believe she does, My Lord!” I stuttered. He looked at
me intently then, as if trying to decipher my thoughts. His expression
softened as his gaze moved from my face to a point over my shoulder.
I felt soft gentle fingers entwine themselves with mine and I turned
to find my love at my side, and she smiled at me; a smile full of sunshine
and love and promise.
“Then, as Lord, I give my consent, and as brother I give you
both my blessing.” He stepped forward and embraced his sister
and then he clasped my arm. “I will make the official announcement
at the end of the day’s ceremonies.”
I stood in a daze, oblivious to all around me but Éowyn; I felt
my heart would burst with joy as I lost myself within her gaze.
“Faramir, if you do not seal the contract in the appropriate
fashion, I shall have to show you how it is done!” The King whispered
in my ear. I needed no further encouragement; I pulled her to me and
kissed her with all of the passion of a heart brimming with love; doubts
gone, fears forgotten, future beckoning with the promise of joy
I only pulled away when the sound of clapping and cheering filtered
into my consciousness. I turned towards the Hall to find we had a large
audience of friends and companions, all smiling and obviously enjoying
the spectacle we were making.
I blushed, but Éowyn, with great presence of mind, simply curtsied
to the crowd and kissed me again…and again.
Chapter 13: Epilogue
Dawn stole quietly through the curtains and the soft morning light
on my face urged me to rise to meet the day. This was my time; a favourite
hour of the day when I could relish peace and serenity. I looked down
at my husband’s sleeping face, so beautiful to me that even after
nearly twelve years of marriage it still had the power to send a thrill
through my heart. His hair, now peppered with silver lay tousled across
the pillow. I resisted the urge to drop a kiss on his brow, not wanting
to disturb his rest.
I slipped out of bed and, wrapping my cloak around my shoulders, padded
on bare feet across the chamber and into the hall. I stopped at the
door to our son’s room and peered in silently; he lay sprawled
across the bed with the carefree abandonment of his eleven years, covers
kicked off onto the floor, a discarded book at his side. I pulled the
door closed and continued on my way to the garden.
My toes curled at the touch of the dew- sparkled grass and I picked
my way gingerly towards my goal; a garden seat beneath a tall and stately
silver birch tree. I pulled my feet up and sat cross-legged on the bench;
not very elegant, but it allowed me to tuck my feet under my cloak and
enabled me to rock backwards and forwards to ease the discomfort in
my back. Resting my head back against the smooth bark of the tree I
closed my eyes and allowed the stillness and peace of the garden to
steal through me. On this mid-summer morning I let my memory roam and
contemplated the blessings of our life.
We had made our home into a refuge from the cares and worries of the
outside world, a sanctuary where we could retreat in the company of
our friends and relax. We had found a perfect spot on a hillside overlooking
a tributary of the Anduin; a spinney of tall trees behind and an open
grassy meadow in front leading down to the water. Our home was built
not of the bright white stone of Minas Tirith but of soft mellow sandstone,
shipped up river from the quarries of Belfelas. It was designed around
a large sheltered quadrangle that housed the formal garden in which
I sat. Originally we had intended to have a fountain as the centre-piece
of the garden but Legolas gave us a silver birch sapling to plant in
honour of the memory of Boromir and so we gave it pride of place at
the centre of our home.
One of our greatest blessings has been the love and companionship of
our friends. Over the years we have grown closer and now we have a large
and loving extended family. We have opened our home to them and within
our Halls there is no rank and no privilege; when the door is closed
formality is left behind. The King and Queen are frequent visitors and
they seem to relish the freedom and informality of being simply Aragorn
and Arwen. Every year we alternate with long visits to Edoras and Dol
Amroth and our families visit us. In the early years these friends helped
and guided us when times were difficult. Faramir now has a host of honorary
brothers and they treat him gently and with fond indulgence; though
he is often the recipient of their gentle ribbing.
We have had our griefs and our sadness. The birth of our son was a
great joy, but it followed a long and difficult labour and to our sadness
and disappointment for ten years there was no sign of a brother or sister
to complete our family. It was a difficult burden for me to bear, knowing
how much Faramir longed for a large family; his own lonely childhood
had affected him deeply. He proved to be a proud and indulgent father,
quick to praise and slow to anger, with endless patience and a burning
desire to pass onto his son his own love of lore and history and the
importance of trust and honesty. It often fell to me to provide the
discipline, not that he was a difficult child, just a normal boy full
of energy and occasional mischief.
It was our dear Elf friends who provided the greatest support when
we faced a crisis in the early year of our marriage. Faramir had made
use of the King’s newly instigated courier system to correspond
with Frodo. Their letters had been infrequent but I know that Faramir
valued the contact. Frodo’s letters detailed life in the Shire
and the comings and goings of his friends, but there was an underlying
hint of melancholy to his words, a sense of alienation and dislocation.
Faramir offered what support and reassurance he could and even suggested
that Frodo come back to Gondor; but that letter went unanswered.
Our next letter from the Shire came from Merry with news of Frodo’s
unexpected departure with the Elves, and of the shock and grief of the
companions, especially Sam. This news rocked Faramir and sent him spiralling
into grief and depression. He grieved that Frodo had been unable to
find the comfort he so richly deserved in his own homeland, and grieved
that he had been unable to offer his friend the support he needed. His
grief was deepened by the knowledge that two of his mentors had also
taken the Ship into the West; Gandalf was a mentor of his youth and
Lord Elrond a treasured friend. Arwen and Legolas rallied to our side
and offered what support they could, reassuring Faramir with their confidence
that Frodo would find the healing and companionship that he sought in
the West, giving him the benefit of their knowledge of their Elven heritage.
But in the end Faramir provided his own healing; he had a series of
dream/visions so clear and detailed that he awoke with tears on his
cheeks; he saw a vivid and beautiful landscape, bathed in sunlight,
the colours clear and vibrant, blue crystal clear waters lapped against
white soft sand. For three nights these visions came to him and on the
fourth night the vision changed and he saw Frodo; but not the Frodo
that we had known, sad and hollowed by sadness, but happy and healed
and content; and he was comforted.
Lord Elrond’s prediction of Faramir’s recovery was well
founded, by the time of our marriage his strength and health had improved.
He was diligent about his exercises and over the months and years his
arm has continued to improve, though it is still not strong enough for
him to wield his sword. The dexterity in his fingers has improved to
the point that he could use it for all but the most delicate movements,
he can write for short periods with his right hand but has also taught
himself to write well enough with his left hand for everyday correspondence.
Beregond is still captain of the White Guard of Ithilien and Tamir
is his lieutenant. Each year Faramir appoints a cadet to his service,
though the position is now administrative rather than personal; it is
considered a position of great honour amongst the cadets and one that
they all covet. Once or twice a year Faramir goes out on exercise with
the troops for a week or two, to oversee the training and assess their
strengths and weaknesses, and when duties allow Aragorn tries to accompany
him; Arwen and I believe it is more an excuse to escape the constraints
of the Court and relive earlier, simpler days! They come back dirty
and smelly and invigorated, and I would not begrudge them a minute of
it.
My early morning reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Legolas.
“You look disgustingly health for one who spent much of the night
trying to supp our cellar dry!” I teased as he sat down beside
me on the bench.
“I was only keeping your husband and guests company…I wouldn’t
wish to appear unsociable, now, would I?” I squeezed his hand
fondly and kept hold of his fingers.
“I wonder if you and Aragorn could perform a service for me today.”
I asked.
“Of course, what would you have us do?”
“Could you take my two men out for a long ride and keep them
occupied for the day…take a picnic…go hunting…”
I took a deep breath then and rocked forward.
“Éowyn, are you all right?” As the spasm passed
I smiled and placed his hand gently on my swollen abdomen and watched
his face as he felt the tightening build once more. He smiled then and
a look of wonder crossed his fair features.
“Today?” he asked, “but isn’t it too early?”
“A week or two maybe, but the midwife is not concerned. And
I have Arwen here to be with me…You remember what he was like
last time… I’d rather him not know what’s happening
until it is all over, he will worry less and I can concentrate on the
job in hand.”
“You still haven’t told him yet!” he asked. I shook
my head. “Well, we had better go and rouse those sluggards before
events overtake us,” he said, helping me to my feet and guiding
me back inside.
Diary entry of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien
FA 13
Mid-summer’s Day
Today my beautiful wife, Éowyn, gave birth to a son and a daughter.
The birth of twins an unexpected and unlooked-for joy. Both babes are
well and of a good weight and Éowyn is almost bursting with the
pride of her accomplishment. I suspect that she and our Elven friends
knew of our unexpected blessing but they kept the secret well. When
Arwen introduced his siblings to their older brother the look of awe
on his face brought tears to my eyes.
Our joy is now complete and I give thanks for the blessings that we
have received.
We could ask for nothing more.
The End.
Shireling: Feb 2004
