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CHAPTER 16

Discovery

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There was a kind of wakeful dreaming state which Éowyn, a light sleeper since childhood, often experienced. She had once or twice been discovered walking about in the Meduseld, fast asleep the whole time, despite the fact that she had shoes on. Yet her memories of those times were as the memories of dreams, and she was never truly certain that she had been walking at all.

And so she was hardly surprised when she found herself walking in her dream, though she was not sure if it was real or not. If it was just a dream, then the tent must have been quite cold, for she was feeling the chill of the night most acutely. Her footsteps wandered silently through the snow, and the guards at the camp did not notice her passing. A dream indeed.

She soon found herself on the path to the dark glade in the woods, the one which had caused so much turmoil, even for her. Yet on and on she walked, and somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why her dream would tend this way. It was very odd, for she did not even know for certain where the boundary of the magic lay. She could have crossed it already, for all she knew.

And then suddenly she saw a dark figure on the ground amid the trees, and another, and another. The figures were men, sleeping peacefully, and with unkempt hair and beards. She wondered how long they had lain thus, and why they slept so strangely. Yet she dared not touch them, for fear that whatever had afflicted them might also touch her.

She wandered more, seeing men around her everywhere she went. Horses she saw as well, sleeping in the moonlight, though they seemed not captive to whatever spell held their masters in place. The dream was getting colder too. She hugged her arms around herself, marvelling at the surrealism of it all. Normally she did not feel so much in her dreams.

And then the child moved in agitation, and her eyes flew open. There she stood in the middle of the grove which had been so feared, among men in an enchanted sleep. She had no idea how she had come there, nor why she had not fallen prey to the magic all around her. Her breath came in short, erratic gasps, and the child seemed to panic.

So she turned, and fled.

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For some time Faramir remained there, kneeling on the ground in the snow, with Damrod and another Ranger, Adûman, flanking him. It was cold, but he did not notice. All he could think about was that he had just failed in his vow to protect Éowyn, and wonder how he could ever forgive himself.

"Sir," Damrod began.

Faramir held up his hand to ward off the Ranger's comments. There was nothing to be said now to help him. His wife and their unborn child were lost. No words of comfort would be on the most eloquent of tongues.

For a long time the Steward of Gondor knelt there in the snowy moonlight, his eyes cast down as both Rangers kept a hand on his shoulders. He fought back tears and sniffled loudly. If only he had been alert to see her leave, he might have prevented this. Yet for all his folly, why had she not answered him when he had cried out to her?

"My lord!" cried Adûman. "My lord, look!"

Faramir raised his gaze to see the same white figure suddenly in the woods once more, this time flying toward him. He pushed himself up out of the snow, and once more the Rangers on either side held him back from running to her. And then in a moment too miraculous for words, Éowyn was in his arms again—shivering, sobbing, but in his arms.

All of his fears suddenly dissipated into the chilly night, replaced by wonderment and frustration. "Éowyn, what happened?" he managed, kissing the top of her head as she clung to him.

She only sobbed his name against his chest, and Faramir rubbed her back, finally amazed that she was even alive. Éowyn was freezing, and he pulled her a little closer. In sudden fear, he moved one hand around to rest upon her abdomen. Much to his relief, the child kicked against his touch.

At last, Éowyn pulled away slightly, and Faramir cupped her face in his hands. "What happened?" he gently pressed.

She opened her mouth to speak several times, tears fresh upon her eyes. But in the end she only whispered his name again, and collapsed against him.

Swiftly Faramir swept her into his arms and hurried toward the encampment. Somehow he knew the two Rangers to be behind him, and indeed they followed him into the tent when he reached it. "My lord," said Damrod, "is there nothing we can do?"

The Steward laid his wife's body upon the bed, pulling their heavy blankets over her. "Fetch her maid," said he, caressing Éowyn's cheek out of habit more than anything else. "She would want Mithlomi."

The younger of the two Rangers ran off, and Faramir frowned. Now that the shock was wearing off, it seemed more than strange to him that Éowyn should have survived the glade. He took her hand in his and rubbed it, trying to bring back warmth as he whispered her name. Then, as he and Damrod looked on silently, she opened her eyes. "Faramir?" she whispered.

"I am here," he said.

She turned her head to him, and he tried to smile. "You will be all right," he added.

A soft smile graced her lips. "But will you, my lord?"

In a poor mood for wit, Faramir rested his hand against her abdomen. "How is she?"

"He is well," she replied, resting her hand over his. "He woke me there in the woods, my lord. I walked in my sleep."

Faramir knew not how to reply, so it was well that Adûman returned then, having fetched Mithlomi. A heavy Ranger cloak that was a good foot too long for her covered her nightgown. It obviously belonging to Adûman, who was suddenly not wearing his cloak. "My lady!" cried the handmaiden, scooping some of the cloak up and rushing to the bed.

"Do not fear, Mithlomi," said Éowyn. "I am well."

"But what happened?" the handmaiden asked.

"She was walking in her sleep," Faramir answered quietly, "and made her way into the enchanted place."

The girl's eyes widened in raw fear. "Then how did she survive?"

Faramir stroked Éowyn's cheek. "That is a question only she can answer."

"Then none can answer it," Éowyn replied, "for I do not know." She took a deep breath. "They are not dead, Faramir."

He looked down upon her in wonder. "What mean you, Éowyn?" he asked.

"The men who disappeared," she replied. "They are not dead, but sleep in the glade. Their beards still grow."

Faramir thought on this for a moment. "Then how were you not also afflicted?"

She gave a weary sigh. "I do not know."

He leaned down and kissed her brow. "You need rest, my love."

Wearily, she nodded and said: "I am sorry."

"There is nothing for which you are to blame," he replied, brushing his fingers across her brow. "Sleep, my love."

Within a few minutes, she was asleep again, but through the night Faramir, Mithlomi, Damrod, and Adûman kept a close and fearful watch.

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Éowyn was feeling rather lightheaded when she awoke the next morning, and so she kept her eyes closed and listened to what was going on around her. There was a sea of voices, calm and smooth, and a somewhat rougher one among them. After a moment, her mind sorted through them and realized that the one that sounded out of place was her husband's, and that the others were Elven.

She yawned suddenly and blinked her eyes open. There on her left was Mithlomi, whose long, dark hair fell loose around her face. Before Éowyn could say anything, the maid had turned in her chair and said: "My lord, the Lady wakes!"

The handmaiden had interrupted the sea of voices, and a chair clattered on the floor. Soon Faramir appeared in her field of vision. "Éowyn!" he cried.

Éowyn squeezed her eyes shut as she yawned again. At length she looked up at him and smiled. "Good morning," said she.

He leaned and kissed her lips. "Good morning." With calloused fingers he brushed a few strands of hair away from her brow. "How do you feel?"

"I am well, my lord," she replied, in all truthfulness.

Faramir glanced up for a moment to the table where the Elves sat. They took the hint quickly and left the tent, and the Steward looked to Mithlomi. "You should dress yourself, Mithlomi, and return that cloak to the Ranger who lent it to you," he said.

"I must see to my lady first," she replied, a hint of blush rising in her cheeks.

Faramir smiled slightly. "I believe I can see to her well enough, Mithlomi."

The maid's embarrassment only increased at that remark, but she curtseyed in silence and departed. So Faramir helped Éowyn dress that morning, drawing the laces in the back of her gown, a little looser than usual. The gown had lately been made for her to accommodate her condition, but clothing in general was becoming uncomfortable.

When he was finished with the laces, Éowyn turned and found herself scooped into his embrace. Faramir held her tightly, and he kissed the top of her head. "I have rarely been so frightened," he said; and she knew of what he spoke.

"Nor I," she breathed, her face pressed against his chest.

He pulled back a little and met her eyes. "Would you be angry with me if I requested that a guard be set here at nights?" he asked.

Slowly she shook her head. "For the sake of the child, I would welcome it."

"Good." Faramir kissed her brow, and then suddenly kissed her lips as well. There was fire in his kiss then, a desperation which had been no stranger to them over the years. Yet here was a powerful manifestation of it, and Éowyn welcomed it, whimpering against his mouth as one of his large, strong hands splayed against the laces on her back and the other held the back of her head. She ran her hands up his back to his shoulders, sighing in contentment. It had been so, so long since Faramir had touched her thus: with his absence, her illness, and now her pregnancy, he had seemed almost afraid to. And yet Éowyn knew he had much to do, so she reluctantly ended the kiss.

After a few deep breaths, Éowyn rested her hand against his chest and looked up at him. "You should call the Elves back in, my lord."

He nodded and kissed her nose. "You are right." The couple turned back to the tent, and Éowyn was surprised to see Mithlomi there making the bed. Amused, Faramir pulled his wife closer. "How long have you been here, Mithlomi?" he asked.

"Quite long enough," the handmaiden replied, her cheeks pink.

Laughing, Faramir left the tent and returned a moment later with the Elven company. They all took their seats around the table, save Mithlomi, who ducked out of the tent for a time and returned with food for the group. She then sat out of the way, but watched the proceedings attentively, Éowyn noticed.

No time was wasted with prelude; Legolas immediately said: "Lady Éowyn, if you would oblige us, we would hear your account of what happened last night."

She took a deep breath. "I walked in my sleep," she replied, "as you well know. Yet in that glade I saw that the men are not dead. They sleep, but it is a sleep most unnatural."

The Elves glanced around at each other, and Faramir dropped his hand to Éowyn's lap, taking hers in his and squeezing gently. The habit of telepathic communication amongst the Elves was no doubt convenient for them, but as mortals not privy to such conversation, both Éowyn and Faramir found it rather irritating. At last Legolas said: "There is a deeper magic at work here than we first suspected. It is possibly an old device of the Enemy's, as he was a master of such power."

Faramir narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Legolas?"

"Those men who disappeared in the woods," said the Elf, "were all men who lived through the War, and many of them fought and killed to defend this land. The oldest and deepest power we know cannot affect those who are most pure, and since these men have seen war, they fell prey to it."

Faramir leaned back, his grip on Éowyn's hand tightening. "That cannot explain everything," he replied. "For you know that Éowyn has seen war, and she is clearly no maid."

"That is true, Lord Steward," said another of the Elves, "but she is granted some protection, perhaps because she carries one who is pure, without question."

Éowyn's eyes widened, and she glanced at her husband, whose countenance had blanched. "She is protected because she is with child?" he whispered.

"It may be so," said the Elf on Éowyn's right. "But if we are correct, then we may be able to break this curse. The White Lady may have given us the key."

"But she will have to enter the glade again," said Legolas, "if she and Lord Faramir are willing."

"My lord," said another voice, one which had not yet spoken. Éowyn looked over her shoulder to see Mithlomi standing, wringing her hands. "My lord, is there no other way? Could not—" She bit her lip before continuing. "Could not I go in her stead?"

A stunned silence followed, and the handmaiden looked to the ground. "I am not blooded in battle," she continued. "And no man has known me."

Gracefully Legolas rose from the table. "I do not doubt that you are indeed an innocent maid, Mithlomi," he said, walking around the table to where the handmaiden stood. "This is but a theory; Éowyn's survival in the glade fits this theory, but is it the only theory which it fits? I do not know."

"But—" Mithlomi began, but the Elf gently interrupted her as he reached her.

"We have reasonable assurance of the White Lady's protection in that glade, but not of yours."

He took her hand in both of his, which was by then trembling, and she looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. She glanced at Faramir and Éowyn. "Lord Faramir, you employed me in your house to see to the Lady of the Shield-arm, and to watch over her and see that she remains healthy and safe. Yet now when I have my chance to do what you ask of me, this chance will be taken from me!"

"Mithlomi, do you think you have not done much already?" Faramir asked. "Were it not for you, the White Lady might not have survived her illness this year."

Nor was Éowyn silent. "My dear Mithlomi," she said, "you need not do this for me. You have already fulfilled your duty, a hundred times over."

Legolas touched her cheek and turned her face back to him. "Maid-child of night you were called," he said, speaking the meaning of her name, "but your deeds have not been hidden away in the twilight from those who love you. This task has fallen to the Lady of the Shield-arm, and while you will help her carry this burden, you cannot take it upon yourself."

"My lord," she breathed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

He wiped the tear away with his thumb. "No, Mithlomi," he replied, shaking his head. "You will aid her, but you will not replace her."

The maid looked to Éowyn, and she stood and approached the pair, gently taking Mithlomi's hands in her own. "Like a sister to me you have become, Mithlomi, as though Théodwyn daughter of Thengel birthed you." Mithlomi's dark eyes met hers, wide and mournful. "You may be a servant and I a Princess, but you are not the only one who serves. I have a duty as well, to the people of Gondor; and for their sake I must do this. None else can."

The handmaiden took a deep breath and nodded. "If it must be, I will aid you in whatever way I can."

Éowyn smiled at her and embraced her. "And you will be richly rewarded, my dear Mithlomi."

In the meantime, Legolas had drawn Mithlomi's chair closer to the table, and the three returned to the conference. Faramir touched the maid's shoulder, and then took Éowyn's hand once more, his countenance grave. "If Éowyn indeed is the only one who can break this spell, how will she break it?" he asked.

"Clean water must be drawn from the spring which is defiled," said an Elf. "That is an old magic as well, to draw the pure from the impure."

"And once in fair Lórien," said Legolas, "the Lady Galadriel had a basin which, when she filled it with water, would show visions to one who looked into it. And with her Mirror she had a silver ewer, which had a magic of its own, for no visions would come if the water in the basin was not pure."

Then came a delightful harmony of Elven voices:

"Does this ewer yet exist?"

"Might not Arwen of Imladris know?"

"Could we send for it?"

Legolas raised his hand to silence them. "The Lady has departed for the Sea," he said, "so there is none left who uses her Mirror. Yet the ewer may have been lost, or the Lord of the Galadhrim may be unwilling to be parted from it." He lowered his hand. "We will send word to Lord Celeborn nevertheless."

Éowyn frowned and rested her free hand over the child. "The journey from here to Lórien and back would take six weeks in high summer, when the roads are clear. Yet the first snow has fallen, and more will come." She paused. "And the child will come in but three months."

The Elf Prince met her gaze steadily. "There is no time to waste." He looked to her husband. "Lord Faramir, you must send out riders."

Faramir released Éowyn's hand at last and stood. "And so I shall."

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