*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 11

Joy

*~*~*~*

And so it was over the course of the next week that Éowyn began to improve immensely. Whether it was the natural course of the disease or the soothing effect of Faramir's presence, no one knew for certain. But by the third day after his return she was allowed to take brief walks in the King's gardens so long as she took her husband's arm. For this she was perhaps more glad than for anything else.

It was on such a walk in the garden on the fifth day after her awakening that Éowyn and Faramir received visitors. In the morning, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth arrived, along with his youngest son and daughter, Amrothos and Lothíriel. Imrahil, having heard only of Éowyn's illness, was overjoyed to see her outside.

Faramir's uncle was a kind man, and from all accounts, an excellent leader. Upon meeting the Prince for the first time, Éowyn had understood the man she would marry, and how he had acquired his gentle nature. It was clear that Faramir's mother Finduilas must have been like unto this man of Dol Amroth. From paintings in the House of the Stewards, she had seen that Faramir looked very much like the men of his family, but that his eyes—warm and grey, loving and knowing—had been his inheritance from his mother.

Imrahil was also a man of great knowledge, and liked his niece very much. As was their custom when he came to visit, the widowed Prince of Dol Amroth took Éowyn's arm in her walks about the garden, and the pair spent most of the morning together, allowing Faramir to attend the King. Imrahil was much like Faramir, and so she quite enjoyed his company when she could not have her husband with her.

And so the elder Prince entertained Éowyn until midday, when she joined the King and Queen for a meal for the first time since she had collapsed. The royal couple were overjoyed to see her doing so well, as was Faramir, who gave his uncle a wary look. "Have I not often told you, Uncle, that I do not hesitate to shoot poachers?" he asked, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Imrahil laughed, and Éowyn shook her head. "Nephew, it is hardly poaching when the victim is so willing," said he.

Faramir helped Éowyn to her seat as she replied: "I wonder that either of you would trouble yourselves with me."

As the guests from Dol Amroth, Aragorn, and Arwen took their seats as well, Faramir tipped her chin up and kissed her, long and full. Only when the King cleared his throat did Faramir draw back, and Éowyn felt her cheeks warm a little. Then the Steward took his seat beside her and patted her hand affectionately. "Shall we begin?" asked the King.

Faramir was unabashed. "Whenever you wish, my liege," said he, smiling.

The meal was progressing pleasantly enough until they heard a commotion in the corridor beyond. Éowyn thought for a moment that she had heard a familiar voice, one which she had not heard in many months. She threw a glance at Faramir, who looked just as confused as she.

"The King is in here," they heard a servant say, and then the door opened, revealing Éomer-king of Rohan in the hall.

Still in full riding gear, he looked magnificent, truly regal, despite the obvious contrasts between Rohirric and Gondorian royalty. "Éomer!" cried Éowyn.

He stopped short. "Éowyn!" Confusion filled his countenance as well, and he looked at Aragorn. "You said my sister was ill, Lord Aragorn."

Éowyn turned to look at the King, who said: "I must apologize, Lord Éomer. When I sent word to you, she was ill, with little hope of recovery on the horizon. But five days ago she awoke, and has been steadily improving."

While the King spoke, Éowyn arose and met her brother midway between the table and the door. They embraced, and it was long before Éomer released her. "It is good to see you well, sister," said he.

"I would you had come on happier tidings," said she. "Will you not join us now?"

Queen Arwen rang a bell, and some time later the King of Rohan had joined the table. "My uncle Prince Imrahil you know," said Faramir, as Éomer took his seat at his sister's side, "but have you met his children?"

"His sons I have met, but I do not believe I have met his daughter," said Éomer, fixing his eyes upon Lothíriel.

Éowyn smiled. "Brother, this is my husband's cousin, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," said she.

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady." Éomer nodded to her.

"And you, my lord." She smiled kindly and glanced at Éowyn. "Yet I am sorry we had to meet under such circumstances."

"Ill my sister may have been," said Éomer, "yet she is well now, and so we have no cause for sorrow."

The servants arrived with the next course then, and the meal passed quite pleasantly, with plenty of food and conversation to be had. Éowyn noted with growing amusement how often her brother's attention travelled to Lothíriel. She had no doubt that his advisors had been telling him to marry (and that he had been resisting for as long as possible) but he was quite obviously struck by the dark-haired beauty seated across from him. For her part, Lothíriel reacted to it with the manners of a Princess, polite but never encouraging. Yet after a particular exchange, Éowyn caught the girl's eye and smiled, and Lothíriel turned her attention to her plate and blushed.

"How long will we have the pleasure of your company, Éomer?" asked Aragorn, taking a long draught from his glass at the end of the meal.

"I had thought to stay until I was assured of my sister's recovery," he replied, "but seeing her here in such health changes my plans."

"Surely you will not leave the city soon," said Lothíriel. "I understand you have not seen your sister in some time."

"No, I have not," Éomer replied, smiling at Éowyn. "I am not expected to return to Edoras for some weeks, and so I will stay here a little while."

The next hour passed with the group still seated around the table until a servant knocked on the door. "Begging your pardon, my liege," he said, addressing the King, "but the Warden of the Houses of Healing has come to see to Lady Éowyn."

Faramir immediately stood and helped Éowyn to her feet. "Where is your maid?" he asked. "For she should help you."

"Oh," said Lothíriel, "I hope you will not be angry with me, cousin, but when Mithlomi was finished attending me, I sent her to bed. She seemed very tired."

Éowyn smiled. "I am glad you sent her to rest," said she. "Had you not, I likely would have myself."

Lothíriel stood. "Then let me attend you in her place," she replied, walking around the table and taking Éowyn's arm.

Faramir laughed. "Cousin, there are maids enough here to wait upon Éowyn."

"Yes, but since I deprived her of hers, I should make it up to her as best I can." She gave her cousin a gentle nudge with her elbow. "I am certain you have much to do."

Éowyn looked over her shoulder at Imrahil, who was smiling. "And when they are gone," said the Prince, "Lothíriel shall put Éowyn to sleep with talk of the latest fashions and gossip from Dol Amroth."

"Nay, Father," said she. "I shall let Éowyn talk of horses and put me to sleep for once."

Éowyn laughed and headed to the door. "Come, Lothíriel, it is not good to keep the Warden waiting."

Once out of the room, Lothíriel lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cousin, does your brother always stare at ladies thus?"

Éowyn stifled a laugh. "No, he does not! I have seen that look from him only once in my life, after he first rode one of the Mearas."

"The Mearas? A horse?" Lothíriel crinkled her nose as they started up the stairs. "A fine compliment he pays me, then."

This time Éowyn did not bother to stop her laughter. "It is a high compliment, cousin. For he is Master of the horse-lords, and those creatures our people cherish so are his first love." She gave the girl a sly look. "If you intend to tame him, you will have to learn to love his horses as he does."

Lothíriel sighed. "I suppose you must be—" She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and flushed a deep red. "Cousin, I said naught of—of taming him!"

Éowyn kissed her cheek. "No, you did not. Perhaps he will turn you wild."

The Princess of Dol Amroth glared, her cheeks still quite bright. "I had wished you good health, but now I wonder if that is what was best."

They reached Eowyn's room then, and she gave Lothíriel's hand a gentle squeeze. "Come, cousin, you know I tease you."

"Yes, and you do it quite well. I wonder that you were sick at all, if you are able thus to combat with the spoken word."

They opened the door then, finding the Warden on the other side. He was quite pleased to see her in such spirits, and having been assured that she had eaten well, he began to examine her.

Eventually he pronounced her free of the disease, if a little weak, and requested that Lothíriel ensure that Éowyn drink plenty of water. The Princess of Dol Amroth took that to mean that she was to fetch Éowyn a pitcher of water immediately, despite Éowyn's protests that it could wait. Then as the Warden began to pack his bag again, he said: "The Lady Arwen asked me to speak with you of something particular."

Éowyn had started to rise, but upon his speaking again, she returned to her chair. "What is it?"

The Warden turned and leaned against the table. "When were you last. . .indisposed?"

The lady looked at him curiously. "You know when I have been ill."

He smiled a little and looked down. "No, my lady. I meant your monthly indisposition."

Her eyes widened. "Do you mean—"

"You may be with child." He met her gaze steadily. "When were you last indisposed?"

She bit her lip. "It has been near to three months."

He furrowed his brow. "Did you suspect nothing?"

"At first," she said, nodding, "but then the fever took me, and I was not sure if the earlier symptoms were not more of the disease."

The Warden shook his head. "No, and that is why Lady Arwen wished me to speak to you." He touched her shoulder. "You know of the dangers involved."

Éowyn nodded. "Am I likely to lose another?" she asked, her throat tightening.

He smiled sadly. "Many women who lose their first children go on to birth many babes. Yet some cannot safely conceive." He sighed. "We will not know until the time comes, I fear."

She nodded again. "I understand." Her fingers began to play with the necklace that hung around her neck, almost without her realizing it. "When can I know for certain that I am with child? I would not wish to worry my husband for no cause."

"If another full moon passes and you have not been indisposed again, I believe you will have cause to tell him. The other symptoms you have experienced will confirm that." The Warden lifted his bag and walked to the door. "I bid you good day, madam."

Éowyn stayed seated long after he left, until Lothíriel returned. The Princess poured her a tall glass of water, and Éowyn drank it quietly while Lothíriel talked of what she wished to do in the city during her stay. At last, she asked: "Éowyn, am I boring you? You are too quiet."

She shook her head. "No, Lothíriel, it is all right. I only have much to think of now."

Lothíriel knelt before her. "What did the Healer say, Éowyn? Are you yet ill?"

Éowyn smiled. "No, I am not ill." She took another drink from her glass. "But I have much to think on nevertheless."

*~*~*~*

Dinner that evening was held in high state. With royal visitors from Dol Amroth and Rohan both, the Court of Minas Tirith assembled, and Faramir found himself amongst the nobles for the first time in two months. Many of them expressed their happiness at seeing him in Minas Tirith, but in the height of summer, he was beginning to long for the cool woods of Ithilien again. Only Éowyn's presence, her improving health, and her smile made him glad to be in the city once more.

Minstrels wandered about, playing the ancient tunes of Númenor, Elven melodies, and love songs. Even Legolas treated the Court with a few songs from Mirkwood. When the singer approached Faramir and offered to let him play and sing in his place, Éowyn smiled. "Did the King ever demand a song of you?" she whispered as the man walked away.

Faramir leaned back in his chair and set his arm about her. "Aye, and I wrote it too. Did you not receive it?"

"It must have come when I was ill," said she. "And with you here, I had not thought to read the letters that arrived during that time."

He drew her a little closer and kissed her temple. "It will be among my letters, I am certain," he replied.

Then Lady Arwen stood from the head of the table. "These minstrels are delightful, but I wish to hear another," said she, a small, almost mischievous smile on her lovely face. "Lord Faramir, will you not indulge us with a song?"

"If the Evenstar requests it, I will oblige," said he, smiling a little as well. The minstrel who had approached him earlier gave him his lute, and Faramir began to sing:

"In all the land there is none so fair
As the maiden in the hills.
And no man has come to know her name,
But they call her Meredil."

The minstrels joined him then in the folk tune often heard in Henneth Annûn. It was a lively tune and Faramir saw many of the children dancing about in one corner of the great hall. Yet his gaze strayed oftener to Éowyn, whose eyes shone with delight. Unpracticed though he was, he sang the ballad full and strong, even daring to end it on a long, high note which resonated through the room.

Great applause followed and Faramir made ready to give the lute back to his owner, but then the King stood. "Lord Faramir, have you an answer for my challenge?" he asked.

The Steward struggled to keep his countenance serious, but knew he failed in it. "Yes, Lord Aragorn, I have," he replied. "Would you wish me to sing it now?"

Aragorn nodded, his eyes alight with mirth. "I would."

Faramir began to pluck the strings once more. "Then I shall sing of Éowyn the Valiant, the White Lady of Rohan." He glanced up at Éowyn, whose cheeks were flushing pink, and gave her a small smile before he began to sing once more.

In Edoras a flower grows,
The purest bloom of lily white,
But fairer than the winter's rose
Is she who took up sword to fight.

Her beauty rivals her great deeds,
Yet few of those who walk this earth
Do know her courage that exceeds
So many men of noble birth.

Though Aragorn did bid her stay,
Fair Éowyn took up her sword,
Dressed as a soldier for the fray,
And rode with the horse-lords to war.

And with her came a hobbit brave,
A Perian, her uncle's squire.
In battle there she sought her grave,
And that was her heart's one desire.

In battle there at Pelennor
She proved her mettle with the sword.
Yet Théoden did fall before
The enemy, Nazgûl abhorred.

But Théoden fell not alone,
For with him stood brave Éowyn.
And with a strength to man unknown
She stood between shadow and kin.

"Begone, and leave the dead in peace!"
She cried, her helm still on her head.
But heeding not the king's fair niece,
The Nazgûl turned to her and said:

"Come not between me and my prey!
Lest you gain what is worse than death.
For if you hinder me today,
You rue the day you first drew breath."

Her sword rang as she answered him,
With words unfalt'ring disagreed.
So came the Nazgûl's words so grim:
"No living man shall hinder me!"

"No living man am I!" cried she,
And then she threw aside her helm.
Her golden hair, unbound, flew free,
And in him fear did overwhelm.

The Nazgûl readied his attack
Upon the faithful shieldmaiden.
And yet for help she had no lack,
For with her stood the Perian.

Though wounded sore, he would not leave
The Lady, were she without hope.
But with a deadly blow she cleaved
The wingéd beast the Nazgûl rode.

With its fall the shadow passed,
But safety did not stay for long,
For from the wreck there came at last
The Nazgûl, tall, threat'ning, and strong.

He swung his mace and crushed her shield.
Her arm was broken, and she fell.
Yet in all this she would not yield,
Though she could not his blows repel.

But lo! The Nazgûl shrieked in pain
And did not harm fair Éowyn!
The Perian had not yet slain,
But he had saved the shieldmaiden.

And when he struck the Nazgûl down,
Brave Éowyn lifted her blade
And drove it twixt mantle and crown:
There sword did break and Nazgûl fade.

Rather more nervously than he would have liked, Faramir played out the last chord and glanced around the room. Slowly applause began, until it filled the hall and resounded. Faramir bowed to the guests of the Court and returned the lute. Then Aragorn stood once more and smiled at him. "An excellent song, my Lord Steward, though I think perhaps it needs a little work."

Faramir laughed. "I would not deny that, my lord. But it fulfills your challenge, as you said nothing of the quality of song to be written."

A broad smile upon his face, Aragorn turned to Éowyn as Faramir walked around the table toward her. "What say you to this, Lady?"

She rose as he reached her and regarded him with amusement. Then suddenly she grasped his collar with both hands and pulled him down, kissing him rather firmly. Though surprised, Faramir hardly objected, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. This time there was no discreet cough from the King; despite the laughter and murmurs of the Court, Faramir did not release her until he deemed it time.

As they took their seats again and Imrahil began to speak of events in Dol Amroth, Faramir whispered in Éowyn's ear: "You seem tired."

She raised a brow. "It is you who tires me, my lord."

"This is likely to last several hours," said he. "And I speak only of my uncle talking. Should I take you back to your room?"

Éowyn shook her head. "You need to stay, I fear. It has been too long since the Steward was often seen at the King's side."

"Then shall I send for Mithlomi?"

"If you insist."

A few minutes later the handmaiden appeared and escorted Éowyn from the hall. Faramir gave Mithlomi instructions to ensure that Éowyn would lie down for at least an hour, and then said that he would join them as soon as he could.

Despite the empty chair beside him, Faramir did manage to enjoy the rest of the evening, much of which consisted of his brother-in-law and his cousin dominating the conversation with a spirited discussion of some sort. At this he smiled, wishing every moment that he could leave and be with Éowyn.

*~*~*~*

By the time Éowyn got to the top of the stairs, on Mithlomi's arm, she was very glad that Faramir had seen fit to send her to her room. Normally she would have recoiled at the idea that she had to be pampered like that, but in her tired state she still had much on her mind, not the least of which was the suggestion from the Healer that she might be with child. Éowyn smiled slightly at the thought. If it were true, Faramir would do almost anything for her, so long as it did not endanger her health.

On that front he was firm, and had indeed enlisted Mithlomi to work with him. Faramir had sent her to lie down for at least an hour after supper, and so she did, but no more than an hour. Past that much she rose and sat by the fireplace, reading a book from the shelves in the room while Mithlomi scurried about, tidying things that had been tidied a thousand times already. There was little else for the maid to do.

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she remembered was something soft, warm, and utterly familiar pressed against her lips. Without opening her eyes Éowyn knew that Faramir was waking her with a kiss. A moment later he pulled back and gazed up at her, having knelt before her. He smiled gently. "Must the sleeping damsel always be awakened with a kiss?" he asked.

Éowyn set her book aside at last. "If I may have thee as my Prince every time I must wake, then yes."

"Then I shall oblige thee." He lifted her hand and kissed the palm, then her wrist. "To bed, my love. I will be with you in a moment."

The Princess arose, and after her husband's exit she undressed herself and donned her nightgown. She slipped into bed, and soon it became a struggle to stay awake, yet she did not wish to fall asleep before Faramir returned. He was not tardy, however, in returning to her. When he entered the room once more, he did not even pause to straighten a stack of books piled precariously on a table. Instead he sat on the bed, facing her.

He touched her cheek. "How do you feel, Éowyn?"

"I am as well as could be expected, my lord," said she. She meant to ask the same of him, but she was distracted suddenly by a long mark on his arm which she did not remember. A pink line ran from his shoulder to his elbow, and Éowyn stared at it in surprise. "My lord, what is this?" she asked.

She brushed her fingers against it, and Faramir flinched away. "Nothing," he replied.

"Nothing?" said she. "That is a scar, and a new one." Éowyn frowned. "You did not tell me you had been injured."

Her husband looked away, and she thought she saw a hint of embarrassment on his countenance. "You will laugh when you know what happened."

He recounted the tale of how he had been injured, and Éowyn resisted the very strong urge to laugh. The very thought of Faramir, husband of the White Lady of Rohan, being thrown from his horse and thus injured was almost comical. Yet she kept her expression as sympathetic as she could—after all, it was not as if she had never been thrown from a horse herself.

"But it will heal," he said at last, "so there is no need to worry."

"I would not," she replied as he turned and settled next to her, pulling the covers over them both as they sat with backs to the headboard. "You worry enough for both of us."

He stopped at her words and turned a look of exasperated playfulness to her. "Your tongue is your sharpest weapon, Lady," said he.

Normally she would have had a retort at the ready, but she simply smiled for him and settled into his arms. "I feared something like this would happen while you were away," said she.

"That I would be injured?" he replied, fingers toying with her hair. "I feared something would happen to you, that you would be ill and I would not be here to help you."

Éowyn turned her face to him and asked in genuine curiosity: "What does the Captain of Gondor fear?"

Faramir's countenance turned grave. "Many things," said he, almost absently. "Some things I once feared and fear no more, yet others I will fear all my life."

He was obviously in a generous mood that night, for he soon said: "After Pelennor I was afraid to sleep, for fear I would never awake." His fingers had traveled down to stroke her neck, and Éowyn shuddered slightly. "After I learned what my father had done, I could not sleep with a fire in my chambers, not until the night I took you to my bed. I did not wish you to know what a coward I was, not on that night."

"No one could think you a coward, my lord," said she, resting her hand against his chest, "least of all, me. And you did overcome that fear."

"Only for you," he replied. He took a deep breath and brightened his voice. "And what of you?" he asked. "I am being too generous tonight if I expect to tell you all and have nothing in return."

He smiled at how she shifted under his words. Over the last two years he had learned just how wonderful it was to discover something new which they had not discussed, even if it brought back painful memories. For these new conversations created new memories which helped to heal the wounds left by the old.

"Must I?" she asked.

"Aye, my lady, you must," he replied, kissing her brow. "I did bare my soul to you."

With a look of annoyance, she said, "You know I did fear being placed in a cage, or worse, to be placed on a pedestal. Yet you will not allow me to stop there, will you?"

"No."

Her expression sobered, and she drew a deep breath. "I feared Wormtongue," said she, her voice almost a whisper. "I feared his influence over my dear uncle, and I feared he would make me into something worthless, to be cast off at his earliest convenience."

Faramir stiffened, his arm around his wife tightening. "What mean you?" he asked, his voice stern.

"The others left for war," she continued. "They escaped his poison. Yet I could only stay and serve my uncle. I could not be truly useful to my people while Wormtongue held sway." She took a shuddering breath. "And yes, he would have boarded me, had I not repelled him. Often he would seek to be alone with me, and when he was. . ."

Faramir did not protest when her voice trailed off. Instead, he pulled her to his chest, holding her as tightly as he could, as if to fight back the memories of the traitor by assuring her of his presence. The shape of her slender frame in his arms helped assuage the anger that stirred within him as well.

After a time had passed, he kissed the top of her head and said, "I fear becoming a father."

Éowyn sat up slowly and stared at him, her cheeks traced with the paths of tears. "What mean you, my lord?"

Gently he brushed his fingers against her smooth skin to wipe the tears away. "I fear becoming like my father," he replied carefully. "He was a good man, Éowyn, and a just Steward when it seemed that the King would never return to his people. He found in my brother the son he wanted and his rightful successor." He paused. "I was secondary, less worthy. My father rejoiced over Boromir's triumphs, while I was sent on minor missions, things less glorious. I was far older than I should have been when I realized that those were not the things a father should do nor the words he should say, and ever since I was a young man, I have feared that I would do the same. My father's blood runs in my veins as well."

Éowyn touched his unshaven cheek, tears renewed in her eyes. "But it is not blood that makes a man," she said. "I was born a shieldmaiden among the horse lords of Rohan, but here am I in Gondor, Princess of Ithilien. By blood I would be a warrior still, but by choice I am your wife." She sighed. "You have seen this fault in your father, Faramir, and you will work to ensure you do not show more love to one child than to another. I trust you to be a good father."

As he pondered her words, she added, "I am tired, my lord."

Such an admission was beyond rare from her, so he wasted no time in drawing the curtains closed around the bed and helping her to settle. Éowyn was asleep in only a few minutes, but for some time Faramir lay awake, thinking about the conversation. Above all else, his wife's tears kept resurfacing in his mind, and he wondered at her recent displays of emotion. She was not one to cry often, so it was doubly surprising that she had shed tears so easily just then. In fact, she had not been so emotional since her pregnancy the previous year—

Faramir inhaled sharply. It was entirely possible, judging from comments Mithlomi had made before his departure for Ithilien, that Éowyn was with child again. The healers had been puzzled at how quickly she had succumbed to the fever, but this complication would explain that away with ease. And indeed, she had already regained the weight she had lost due to the fever, and was continuing to gain weight little by little. It was possible, very possible, and so Faramir drew her a little closer and kissed her brow.

It seemed that all his fears were rushing to a head with that realization; for beyond his fears at becoming a father were his fears about Éowyn's health. Faramir knew what the healers had told him the previous year, and now he regretted his recklessness, if indeed she carried a child. Though he wanted children and had wanted them for some time, he now knew that his wife was more important to him than any number of children. Without heirs he knew that the House of Mardil, the House of the Stewards, would end with him, but it was a risk he could not take.

*~*~*~*