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CHAPTER 9

Promises

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Mithlomi had barely left her mistress's side through the long days and nights in which Éowyn did not wake. Often Queen Arwen was with her, and the Lord Aragorn as well, as often as he could join them. The handmaiden barely slept, and yet she could perceive no change in her lady's condition, whether for good or ill.

"It is three days since we sent word to Lord Faramir," said the Queen, floating along, it seemed, with boundless grace in the moonlight. She stood behind the King and placed her hands upon his shoulders as he sat at the lady's side. "Should he not be returned?"

Aragorn shook his head, and in his eyes Mithlomi perceived a great sadness. "The messenger would have been fortunate to reach the encampment by dawn yesterday."

There was a pounding on the door then: Éowyn stirred and groaned, and Mithlomi was torn. As the servant she should have gone to the door, but she wanted to see to her mistress. Yet the decision was taken out of her hands, as the Queen left Lord Aragorn's side to open the door herself.

Muted conversation passed as Mithlomi pressed a warm, damp cloth to Éowyn's forehead. The fever was still as strong as it had been in days past. "My lord," said the Queen, "we have a guest."

"Who?" Aragorn asked. Out of the corner of her eye, the handmaiden saw the King look over his shoulder.

"That is a fair way to treat your friend," said an unfamiliar voice, smooth as the finest silks in Éowyn's wardrobe. Mithlomi glanced over her shoulder to see in the doorway a tall youth, very easy to look upon. She wondered at his accent and bearing, and knew he was no man of Gondor, for his features were too fair to be of that race of Men.

"Legolas!" cried the King, standing and crossing to the door in three strides. He embraced the man and then began to speak in Elvish. It was then that Mithlomi realized that she looked not upon a man, but an elf. It was no wonder that he was so becoming and youthful. Blushing slightly, she returned her attention to the cloth on her lady's brow.

"And this is Mithlomi, Éowyn's faithful maiden," said the King, returning once more to the language of men. "She has hardly left this room since the lady fell ill."

The elf laid his hand upon her shoulder, and Mithlomi risked a glance at him. In his eyes was a kind light, and he smiled at the King's words. "You give your lady great service, Mithlomi," said he, "for there is none so worthy of such loyalty as the White Lady of Rohan. Such service gives you great honor as well."

By then his words had caused her to blush furiously, and the handmaiden had to look away. "I do my duty, milord," said she.

"Yet sometimes to do one's duty is the most difficult task of all." The elf turned his attention away from her, for which she was very glad. "Aragorn, how long has she lain thus?"

"Three days and nights," said he. "The Healer has told us that there is no remedy for this malady, save time."

Legolas reached his hand out, hovering over the cloth on Éowyn's forehead. Mithlomi withdrew her hand and cloth hastily, and the elf touched her forehead. He spoke something in Elvish, then turned back to Mithlomi. "Your lady will recover. Have no fear," said he.

She nodded and tried to smile. Over three days she had become somewhat comfortable with Queen Arwen's presence, yet this new elf had a different bearing, one which was more than a little unsettling. For he had the grace of the elven Queen, yet he had the mark of a warrior upon him, though no scar showed.

"What brought you here, Legolas?" asked Aragorn.

"I received word from Lord Faramir of the mystery in Ithilien," said the elf. "I wished to ride there to see it for myself, yet I thought it best to come through this road and call upon you first."

"It is well that you did, for you will approach the camp from the south and not pass by the danger in the woods." The King returned to his place at Éowyn's side. "We have sent for Lord Faramir. By morning he should arrive."

"I am glad to hear it." Legolas stood away from the bed. "If you wish it, I will sit with the lady tonight. You all look in need of rest."

Aragorn began to shake his head, but upon a look from his wife, he said, "That is most kind of you, Legolas." He stood to go, Arwen's hand upon his arm.

Legolas looked down at Mithlomi. In truth she was very tired and the offer was appealing. Yet as she set aside the damp cloth she realized that her hand was clasped in her lady's, she knew she could not leave. "I will stay with her, though I would not begrudge company," she said quietly. "My place is here."

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By the time Faramir arrived at the King's gate, he was nearly certain that he had ridden his horse to its death, but that did not matter. He did not wait for an attendant to come for his horse before barging through the doors himself and demanding of the nearest servant, "Take me to my wife!"

The startled butler collected himself and stood back. "I do not know where she is, my lord," he stammered, obviously taken aback by the steward's behavior.

"Then find someone who knows!"

It seemed several hours later that Faramir was directed to one of the guest rooms in the royal residence. He ran the whole way there, his heavy cloak billowing as he flew down the hallway. He was not certain how he managed to open the door, but it swung open and banged into the wall behind it. There in the room were Aragorn, Arwen, Mithlomi, and the elf Legolas, tension clear on each face. They were watching a bed in which a pale and slender body lay.

"Éowyn," he breathed, walking very slowly across the room. None spoke as he approached his wife's still form. He carefully seated himself beside her and addressed Aragorn and Arwen without taking his eyes away from Éowyn's blanched face. "What happened?" His voice was hoarser than he had anticipated.

"We are not sure," the King replied. "The Healers think she may have come in contact with something in the Houses of Healing." He paused. "She has not woken these three days, Faramir, but sleeps restlessly."

Mutely Faramir nodded. His fingers were tracing the fine contours of her face, curves he knew so well and were now so warm, like the heat of an unwelcome fire on a summer afternoon. "Éowyn," he repeated. "Éowyn, my love. . . ."

Long moments passed in silence; Faramir could not tear his eyes from his wife's face, nor find his voice again. Then there was a fluttering of eyelashes which the steward thought he had imagined. Yet Queen Arwen saw it too and rushed to the other side of the bed. There was another flutter, as if she were trying to blink eyes that were already closed, and Faramir spared a glance at the Elf. She nodded. "She wakes."

Gently Faramir palmed his wife's cheek, stroking her soft skin. "Éowyn," he said once more, his voice finding more strength than before. "Éowyn."

She exhaled, a tiny puff of air, and then she opened her eyes. Faramir could see that she was not very alert, and confusion shone in her eyes for a little while. Finally she smiled ever so slightly. "This is. . .a dream," she managed, in little more than a breathy sigh.

Faramir shook his head. "No, not a dream." Gently he kissed her forehead. "I am real. I am here."

In the silence that followed, he could not take his hands from her face, and yet he worried at how fragile she looked. Tears started to form in her eyes. "Faramir," she whispered, "I love you."

"Shhh, soft, my love," he replied. "You need rest."

Éowyn smiled faintly. "They would make me lie abed longer?"

At that Faramir smile broadly and would have laughed, had he not been so relieved. "Yes, my love, they would. And this time I shall not let you rise and walk about when you will."

"I thought you loved me," said she, a weak, teasing reprimand.

"More than you ever wished I would." Faramir kissed her forehead again, then her cheek.

The door opened, and he turned in time to see the room's other occupants exit, even the faithful Mithlomi. Éowyn saw it too, and she slowly lifted her hand to his cheek. "I missed you." Her voice was getting a little stronger.

Faramir turned and kissed the palm of her hand. "I missed you as well," he replied.

"You look tired."

"Not as tired as you, dearest," he began. Her hand slipped back into his hair, a motion that had lost none of its potency with its familiarity. Faramir knew that she was not strong yet, despite her sudden awakening. Yet it had been so long since he had touched her, since he had felt her gentle lips against his own, since he had reveled in the passion of her kiss. Almost without thought, Faramir bowed his head pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was gentler than what he had unconsciously imagined for his welcome home, but he did not care. Éowyn's response was soft and warm; when he pulled away, she protested with a soft sigh. Her eyes fluttered open, and Faramir saw a silent plea within them. Carefully, he slipped his arms around her frame and lifted her into his embrace. In response she unfastened his cloak at last and pushed it from his shoulders. She was still too pale, too warm, and too weak. But as she rested in his arms, Faramir knew Éowyn would be all right. For they were together again, as they should be.