Thanks for all the replies! A big thank you goes to Rose Gamgee again in this chapter, for basically holding my hand as I wrote the middle scene. I've also been told that a tissue warning is in order on this chapter.

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CHAPTER 3

Separation

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Faramir left the palace and had returned home in time for the midday meal. In the foyer of the house, he removed his cloak and handed it to the doorman, but before it was put away, Faramir saw his wife's handmaiden descend the stairs. "Mithlomi, where is your mistress?" he asked.

"Oh!" At the foot of the stairs, Mithlomi dropped a curtsey. "My Lady Éowyn is in the dining room, milord."

The steward nodded. "Thank you."

He turned to go, but heard the maid's voice again. "Milord," said she, "might I have a word with you?"

Faramir faced her. "Is something amiss?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but faltered. "My lord, is my lady well?"

Faramir looked at her curiously. The handmaiden was very observant, especially when it came to Éowyn's health. That was, after all, the reason why she had been brought into the house, since Faramir could not be with his wife all the time. "Do you have reason to believe otherwise?" he asked.

Mithlomi looked away. "I think I might, sir." She bit at her lip. "She eats so little, and she has spent much of her time sleeping lately. She is often more tired than one would expect, and she is prone to sudden headaches of late. It is not like her."

The steward nodded gravely. It was indeed unlike Éowyn to act thus. He touched Mithlomi's shoulder briefly. "You serve your lady well, handmaiden," said he.

She curtseyed again. "Thank you, milord. I must see to my lady."

Faramir gestured to the book in her hand. "Did your lady send you for that book?"

"Yes, milord."

He held his hand out for it. "I will take it to her; I wish to speak with her privately."

Mithlomi handed the book to the steward and nodded. "As you wish, Lord Faramir."

Faramir walked to the dining room, where Éowyn was seated with her back to the door. At the sound of footsteps in the room, she said, "Was it not where I directed you, Mithlomi? You were gone longer than I would have thought."

She held her hand over her shoulder for the book, and in amusement Faramir placed it in her hand, hoping to play her ignorance of his presence as long as possible. He pulled her loose, damp hair back from her face, braiding it lightly. "That is not necessary," said she. "Besides, my husband prefers it down."

Faramir loosened the braid and swept her hair to one side. Bending down, he said in a low voice near her ear, "Yes, he does."

Éowyn jumped and gave a startled cry, and he smiled in amusement. "Good day, Éowyn," said he.

She glared at him. "Is it good? By your mood I could not tell."

Faramir kissed her softly. "It is a good day, for I am with you."

"It cannot be a good day, my lord," said she. "For I have not yet kissed thee properly."

Accordingly he kissed her again, this time lifting her out of the chair when she wrapped her arms about him. When they had broken it, Faramir stood with her in his arms for a time, breathing in the scent of her hair. He was trying to memorize everything about her, trying to absorb enough into his memory now so that when separation came, it would not seem so harsh.

"How did you dispose of my handmaid?" she asked.

Faramir laughed. "I asked her to give us a moment of privacy," said he. "I hope you are not angry."

"Nay, my lord. But what reason had you to desire privacy? Mithlomi is used to your openness, if not entirely comfortable with it."

"I called on the King this morning, Éowyn," said Faramir, guiding her back down into her chair as he sat beside her. "I must away tomorrow, to Ithilien."

"Away?" she repeated. "Then I will go with you."

"No, my love. I know you would wish it, but this cannot be."

"But—"

Faramir held his fingers to her lips. "No, Éowyn. The road is too dangerous, and my desire for your safety must outweigh my desire for your presence."

"My lord, my safety has never been an issue of much consequence."

"I know that you are valiant, fairest, but we do not know what lies in the woods," said he. "It may be beyond any skill we have. If that be the case, I have a duty to my King to face it, but you have no such duty." Again he pressed his fingers to her lips to prevent her reply. "You, my lady, have a duty to Rohan as well as to Gondor, as your brother has you as his successor should he go childless."

"I can fight," said she. They were words Faramir suspected she had often said. "These two years have I stayed here and learned the arts of healing, yet in my blood is a desire to protect against evil as well. I have no need nor thirst to prove myself, but can I not go with you and help as I can?"

Faramir stroked her cheek gently. "Mithlomi tells me you are not well."

"What, my lord? Why does she think thus?"

"She says you are out of measure tired, that you do not have your appetite, and that you are prone to headaches often. This is unlike you," he said.

"It will pass."

"How long has it been thus?" Faramir asked. "Have you spoken to the Healers about this malady?"

"It is no malady, Faramir," she said. "It will pass, as it does with each moon."

He furrowed his brow. "It is not the time for that."

She did not immediately answer. "I cannot win when you enlist Mithlomi against me," she murmured.

Faramir cupped her chin and tipped it back. "I will be but a two days' ride hence, Éowyn. If the danger is not as serious as I anticipate and you still wish to join me, you may. Yet let me go ahead while you are indisposed, and if the conditions are right, I will send for you."

Slowly she nodded. "When do you depart?"

"In the morning."

Éowyn turned away. "Then let me not keep you from your preparations," said she.

Faramir stood and held out his hand to her. "I would have you with me, my lady."

She took his hand, and through the rest of the day, they did not part. With every moment they spent together, it became more and more evident to Faramir that the parting the next day would be harder than he could imagine.

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In the middle of the night, Faramir awoke suddenly.

It was not an uncommon occurrence. Though he was not naturally disposed to dreams in sleep, the last year had been plagued by nightmarishly real memories that cut wounds as deep and painful as the actual event had. Éowyn's arms offered him comfort and respite from the memories when he was awake, but not even her presence could ward them off when they slept. It was possible that her presence beckoned them.

Quietly Faramir arose from their bed and put on his dressing-gown. To the balcony he retreated, where the spring air was chilled by a wind from the north. Thought seemed clearer when the sunlight did not aid his vision, and when the heat of the day did not affect him. Not that these memories needed help.

It had been the previous summer, less than a year before, when Éowyn had been with child. Theirs had been joy without comparison at the knowledge that they were bringing a life into the world. What would he not give to have been woken by that child's cries for his mother! Instead he had been woken by the familiar nightmare.

The full passage of the seasons had not lessened the pain of the night when he had arrived home late, only to find Éowyn collapsed in their room. That had been before Mithlomi had joined their house as his wife's companion, and had been the cause of her arrival. There had been so much blood. Blood that haunted his memory.

When Faramir looked over his shoulder at his wife, he could see how he had found her that night. She had been pale as death, and for a while he had thought she was dead. Fear unlike anything he had experienced, even in war, gripped him then. It had been too much to hope that both wife and child would survive.

The whole house had been thrown into confusion when the servants heard their master's anguished cry from the bedroom. Somehow he had managed to wrap Éowyn up in blankets and get her to the Houses of Healing. How the next hours few hours passed, he knew not. He had spent them not as steward of Gondor, but as a man in great pain, wishing desperately that he could go to her while the healers did their work.

Early in the morning, the King had arrived. Faramir knew not how he had come to know that he was there. He had been too grieved to stand upon the King's entrance or even to look up at him. For a long time, Aragorn had merely sat with him in silence. When he had at last spoken, he had unwittingly started the worst part of Faramir's ordeal.

"I was told this morning that you were here," he had stated simply.

Faramir had nodded, unwilling to trust his voice.

"It is Éowyn, is it not?"

Again, a nod had been all he could manage.

"What ails her?"

At last, the steward was forced to answer his King. He looked up slowly. "We do not know."

"The healers are skilled beyond mere mortal disease, Faramir," he had said. "Do not fear."

"Nay, my lord," Faramir had replied, "for I know their skill to heal what ails the living. But what can they do to bring back the dead?"

"She will not die," Aragorn had said. "The healers will preserve her life."

"Her life, perhaps." At that, Faramir had fallen silent, unable to speak the fullness of what had happened.

After a silence of a thousand years, Aragorn had finally said, "I did not know she was with child."

"None did," he had replied, "save her brother, King of Rohan."

The King had touched his hand. "Then the child is dead?"

Faramir had nodded, his throat constricted. "They told me—it was a son, my lord."

"Alas!" had he cried. "Alas that a child of such noble and valiant blood should be lost!"

Before the steward could reply, the door had opened, and the healer within had said, "My Lord Faramir, she will live."

Relief had flooded him immediately, but it had been tainted and weighty. He had stood upon the healer's pronouncement, and then looked to his King. "I would go with you," Aragorn had said, "if you will allow it, and ask a blessing for her from the Valar."

Faramir had nodded, and the two men had entered the room. Éowyn had still been asleep as Faramir approached the bed. She had been so cold and pale. After a few moments of silence, he had taken a seat in the chair next to the bed, and King Aragorn had begun to speak in Elvish. The words had washed over the steward, and he had taken Éowyn's hand in both his. Eventually he had held it to his face and wept. Perhaps under other circumstances, he might have felt shame at doing so before the King, but he had not cared. He had wept freely, and Aragorn had laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and had stayed in silence.

Tears had sprung anew as Faramir remembered the horrible days, watching his wife's sleeping form. She looked so fragile and weak in sleep, perhaps because he had seen her helpless. She who had been so valiant in battle had been powerless to save her child. And so had he.

His feet carried him back to the bed whether he willed it or not. Éowyn slept on as he sat beside her, unaware of why he put himself through this so often. His wife did not know of the dreams that still visited him. She did not remember much of those days, and Faramir preferred it that way. He did not want her to know the private anguish he had gone through, even after the healers had assured him that Éowyn would recover. It had been hard enough to tell her that the baby was no more, but telling her how close she had come to death was unthinkable.

Faramir touched her abdomen. Only the night before the miscarriage, Éowyn had guided his hand across her skin, where the pregnancy had just been starting to show. The babe had stirred within her womb then, and Faramir had nearly been brought to tears at the knowledge that he was feeling his child move, when no one could even see it. Two nights later, he had spent hours resting his head against her abdomen, wishing he could feel the miracle of life he had felt before. There had been no words to describe the aching pain that seemed to sink into the very core of his being.

He had been genuinely surprised when Éowyn had brought up the idea of having children. She did not know everything that had happened, but she did know that it had been dangerous. She knew what the healers had told them about the dangers of her bearing another child. But she was a brave woman in the face of danger, and stubborn as she was strong.

Dressing-gown shrugged aside, Faramir stretched out beside his wife, who, still sleeping, turned to him and settled into his arms. He wished he did not have to leave her the next day. He wished they could have children as they had once hoped. He wished the ghosts of their pasts would fly. He wished that sleep would claim him and give him a peaceful night, free of dreams.

In the end, he slept, and did not wake for many hours.

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Morning broke harsh and cold in Minas Tirith the next morning. Reluctantly Éowyn arose at dawn, leaving Faramir still asleep in their bed. He had not slept well the previous night, she suspected, so she was more than glad to let him rest while she made the final preparations for his journey. But for now, she let her gaze rest on him for a time. She loved to watch him sleep: he looked so boyish then, his black hair framing a face that seemed ageless. It was only when he opened his eyes that one could see the great wisdom and experience that made him incomparable as steward of Gondor.

With a sigh she turned away from him, wishing he did not have to leave. More than that, she wished she could go with him: Minas Tirith was a pleasant place, but she missed the countryside as well. Yet as a wave of nausea passed over her, she decided that it was perhaps best for her to stay there. This had been going on for days, and traveling in such a condition was perhaps not wise.

Éowyn left the room as soon as she was dressed and had finished packing up Faramir's belongings for his journey. Mithlomi met her at the bottom of the stairs and smiled. "Good morning, my lady," said she, and curtseyed.

"Good morning," said Éowyn with a nod. "Are my husband's horses readied?"

"I do not know," the maid replied. "I shall go to the stables and inquire of the master groomsman."

The handmaiden disappeared, and Éowyn entered the dining room. A few minutes later, her husband appeared at the door, dressed and carrying his cloak over his arm. "My lord," said she with some alarm, "do you ride immediately, without breaking fast?"

"No," he replied, "but I must away soon. I cannot tarry long."

Éowyn rang the bell and ordered the servant who appeared to bring them food, and in the meantime Faramir set aside his cloak and took his place at her side. They ate in silence, and all the while she felt as she had long ago, when Lord Aragorn had left her behind to trace the Paths of the Dead. The feeling grew in the silence, and when Faramir stood from the table, she said, "Then there is no way I may convince you?"

"To go with me?" Faramir clarified. "Éowyn, do you think I wish to leave you behind? If I had my choice, you and I would never part. I do not wish to be away from you, but for your sake I feel I must."

Éowyn raised her chin and stood as well. "I am not so fragile as the healers would have you think, my lord."

He touched her cheek. "No, but you are not so strong as I would like. The last year has been hard on you, and I do not wish to risk your life on such a journey."

She closed her eyes, knowing not to fight him now. He rarely mentioned the miscarriage, but in some small way she knew him to be right when he did. "Then will I remain here and await your return."

He took her hand. "I had thought to send you to stay under the King's protection," said he. "There you would have more company and be not so lonely as you would here."

Éowyn met his eyes suddenly. There was an earnestness in his expression and in his grey eyes that she could not deny. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I will miss you," he continued, "but I would feel more assured of your safety were you with the King."

"Do you fear for it here?" she asked, in genuine curiosity.

"I fear for it whenever I cannot be with you, my lady." He sighed and stroked her cheek. "I know your courage and skill, but you are also my wife. I swore to your brother on the day I married you that I would protect you."

"And if you cannot be with me?"

"Then I shall see to it that you are cared for; it is the least I can do in keeping my oath to your brother." He took both her hands in his. "Let me keep that oath."

Éowyn wished to speak, but found she had no words with which to answer him. So instead she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes for reasons she could not comprehend. Faramir seemed to, however: he always seemed to understand part of her better than she did. He enfolded her in his embrace, and it was some time before he relinquished her.

He kissed her brow. "I fear I must depart."

"And swiftly, my lord," Éowyn replied, attempting a brave smile for him. "So the sooner your return will be."

She was hardly surprised when he sought her lips and his arms tightened around her. The thought that this would be their last kiss for many weeks was enough to force a tear down her cheek, but only one. This was not a final farewell, after all, but merely a parting for a short time. There was no need for many tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and brushed away the wetness on her cheek.

Éowyn kissed him again softly. "I love you."

And with that, he departed, leaving Éowyn quite alone in their dining room. To the window she walked, and watched as Faramir mounted his stallion and rode to their gate. He looked over his shoulder then and saw her, raising his hand in salutation. Her hand stopped at her throat, and she smiled for him. With a nod, he spurred his horse into motion, and Éowyn watched until she could see him no more.

Mithlomi entered the room some time later, her mistress still standing at the window, her hand on her heart as if to steady it. "Have I missed my lord's departure?" she asked in soft tones.

Éowyn nodded, and she could not keep a note of wistfulness from her voice as she replied. "Yes, Mithlomi, he is gone." At last she looked away from the road. "He wishes us to stay a while with Lord Aragorn, so we have work to do."

The sudden change of venue did not discompose the handmaiden. "When does the King expect us?"

The Princess blinked, realizing that she did not know. "Begin your preparations," said she. "I shall send a messenger to the King before I join you."

It was wise, she supposed, that Faramir had waited till then to tell her of her departure to the King's house. The preparations after the Steward's departure did not distract her entirely, for she already missed him terribly, but they kept the ache from driving her to madness. Éowyn only hoped that her husband had found a similar solace in the road that lay before him.