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CHAPTER 4

Arrivals

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Half the day had passed when Faramir and Beregond met the small band of Rangers who were to accompany them to the camp in Ithilien. They had prepared a light meal in anticipation of their arrival, and they were on their way to the camp site within the hour. Riding well into the night and stopping for only a few hours of rest, they arrived at the site just after midday. Immediately Faramir met with the master of construction, a middle-aged man named Zabathân whose noble demeanor belied his common birth. The young steward had liked the man from the first letter he had received from him, and meeting him reinforced the feeling.

After pleasantries had been exchanged, Zabathân said, "My lord, would you prefer to rest for a time, or would you rather go directly to the source of our troubles?"

Faramir raised a brow. "I was under the impression that you did not know exactly where the darkness lies."

"We know the extent of our men's safety," the master replied.

"Then let us ride there at once," said Faramir. "There will be time enough to rest afterward."

On horseback, Zabathân led the steward through the forest on a long ride to an area where many trees had recently been felled. Faramir's mount whinnied and tossed his head when they stepped into the clearing, and there the master of construction said, "We will go no farther, my lord. We know not how far the magic extends once you cross this place."

Faramir nodded. He too sensed the danger in the air, and it was all he could do to keep from galloping away from the place. Instead, he and his stallion maintained a dignified pace as he and Zabathân headed back to the camp. Yet he was very relieved when Nâlo was stabled and he was within the master's tent, looking over the plans for the city.

"These are very good," he commented, leafing through a stack of drawings. "Your draftsmen must be talented indeed."

"Aye, my lord, they are," Zabathân replied. "Now that Minas Tirith has been restored, the very best of the craftsmen of Gondor were able to join the efforts here."

"I am glad of it," said Faramir. "We will build this city to the glory of our people."

"What will you name the city, my lord?" asked the master.

"That will be for the King to decide," the steward replied, "though I confess a great curiosity as to what he will choose."

"As the seat of your princedom, I should not wonder that you do." Zabathân sat back in his seat and sighed. "And it will be a glorious place to live, my lord. Perhaps my wife and I will come here when the building is complete."

Faramir smiled. "I hope you do," said he. "Do you have children as well?"

"None yet," said the master, but a broad smile was upon his face. "But my wife told me just before I left that I should expect to return to Minas Tirith early, to be there for the birth of our first child."

"Then I congratulate you, and wish you heartily the best of fortune."

"And what of you, my lord?" asked Zabathân. "It has been two years since you married that lady of the North, is it not?"

Faramir nodded. "Two years," said he, "and this is the first time since our wedding that we have been apart."

An ache settled in his chest at the mention of Éowyn. He was no smooth-faced youth to pine after the admiration of the unattainable beauty, but he found himself sympathizing with such boys now that his wife was so many leagues away. The construction master seemed to read his thoughts immediately. "It can be hard, that first separation," Zabathân remarked. "I fear I cannot tell you it will get easier."

"I pray it will not," said the steward. "I cannot bear to think that I might enjoy being away from Éowyn."

The master smiled. "Then you never will, but you should try to enjoy this time away from her as well as you can. Perhaps you could join me with some of the men for a drink ere you retire for the evening?"

Faramir smiled and stood. "Perhaps another night," he replied. "Tonight I wish to write to my wife."

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Three days passed before Éowyn was settled in the King's house, and when a messenger arrived from Ithilien that morning, a letter for her was found amid the papers sent to Lord Aragorn. Despite her great desire to fly from the breakfast table and read it in the comfort of her bower, she put it away and continued to eat with the monarchs, though with more haste than elegance.

The King gave her a small smile when she set her fork aside and drained her glass. "Madam, you look as if you are in need of rest," said he. "I would be heartened if you retired to your chambers for a time."

"Thank you, I think I shall," Éowyn replied, knowing quite well that he knew why she was anxious to be alone. From the room she hurried, her letter in hand.

Mithlomi was surprised when she returned so quickly, but said nothing as Éowyn concealed herself in her dressing chamber and eagerly opened her letter.

My dearest Éowyn, it read,

I miss you. I feel as though I will begin all my letters to you with this phrase, but believe me when I say that it is no less true tonight than it will be any other time I set my quill to parchment: I miss you more with each passing hour.

I miss the way you hesitate before you look at me. This is not something you always do—it is when we share a moment of humor privately, something others would not fully understand. When you wish to be alone with me and we cannot be, you look at me the same way. I cannot tell you how often I have turned and hoped to see your lovely eyes beckoning me to the privacy of our bedchamber, to the luxury of your arms.

I miss you.

Ithilien is a beautiful place in spring, my love. Now the fruit trees which were in bloom have dropped their blossoms, carpeting the forest floor in petals of white and pink and gold. I did not realize until I arrived here how much I missed these woodlands. I would you could be with me and see it, Éowyn. From what you have told me, the forests in Rohan are nothing like the woodlands here in Ithilien. From my quarters now I can see a waterfall surrounded by trees, which excels all beauty save yours. But you would enjoy walking its paths and discovering the treasures it conceals.

Yet I fear the forest conceals much, and conceals something dangerous. We have lost another man to the secret in the woods today, and it may not be long before we must abandon this site for our city, before more blood of Gondor is spilt because of it. But I wonder if the blood is truly spilt at all. There is something very strange afoot. It is beautiful here, to be sure, but I cannot help but wonder if the beauty of this place is but a siren's call, luring men to the center of the dark magic which pulses through this glade.

The danger is real; I will not pretend that it is not. I am glad for my sake that you are in the King's custody, but I know you would rather be here with me if I am to face danger again. My men are strong and loyal, which should comfort you. But if I know you as well as I believe I do, I know that this will give you little solace. At once it pains me to know that you are uneasy being safe in Minas Tirith, and it gives me joy to know that you await my return. I too am anxious to see you again, dearest.

I would give anything to be with you tonight. I do not believe I knew how very much I have come to love the warmth you give my bed. Your presence gives me solace, and I will not sleep easily until I am back in your arms. My desire is ever toward you, and I fear that my hope for this magic to be dissolved is not solely to spare the lives of more men, but that I may return to you. Then we may come to Ithilien and dwell here instead of in Minas Tirith, and our children will be a blessing to this land.

I would write more, but I fear I must end this letter now, ere I use all my parchment in writing to you. I fear the King must also have word from me tonight, though I consider it an onerous task. He is well worthy of my allegiance, but I cannot help but wish I could spend the rest of this night writing to you. It must suffice an ending to this letter for me to write that I love you; and to say more on that sentiment would be to fill a sentence with hot air, for nothing is stronger than that.

I love you.

Ever yours,
Faramir

Éowyn read the letter twice before folding it with shaking hands, her cheeks flushed. She was glad to have been alone in those first few moments after reading the letter. She already knew her husband's eloquence, but the contents of the letter, mild as they were, were somewhat of a surprise in their intimacy.

It should not have surprised her, of course. In the passage of two years, Faramir had grown no less effusive about his feelings toward his bride. His words in this letter were pale in comparison to what he would say to her when they were alone together, but it seemed more daring to write such things down with ink on paper. Yet Éowyn suspected that these words were only the very tip of what he could say about her.

There was a gentle rap on the door, and Éowyn placed the letter under a book. "Come in," she said.

Mithlomi opened the door. "My lady, Lord Aragorn sent this up for you." Éowyn looked over her shoulder and saw that the maid was balancing a tray on one hand as she pushed the door open. "Were you taken ill at the table?"

The Princess smiled. "No, Mithlomi," said she. "I have had word from Lord Faramir."

"That is excellent news!" Mithlomi exclaimed. "Is my lord well?"

"He is," Éowyn replied, "though there is no sign of when he will be able to return."

The maid gave her a brave smile. "He will do his duty, my lady," said she, "and will come back to you as soon as he can."

It was an obvious statement, but it cheered Éowyn somehow to hear it said. Hearing Mithlomi express the thought made her feel better somehow, though the smell of the food the handmaiden had brought in was making her feel rather worse for hunger. She smiled at Mithlomi. "Come, let us talk of this no more," she said. "Let us eat here and talk of what we will do with our time here in Minas Tirith."