Healing

Éowyn lay under a tree, her bright head cushioned on a cloak.  Faramir was glad that she seemed better.  The first day she had agreed to walk with him he had thought her almost wraith-like;  she was so thin and pale.  He had ached to see the tears that scarred her face when she heard his tale, and regretted the words that spilled out of him so surprisingly.  It was, he supposed, the shock at meeting someone who might understand.

He often coaxed a smile from her, but only on this day had she laughed.  As they walked by one of the ornamental pools in the gardens she had spied the red fish that swam there.  The fish clustered around her shadow as they always did, and today, for some reason, the sight had made her laugh.  He still remembered how glad her face had looked.

Faramir had laughed to himself as he remembered the words he had spoken to Frodo.  Men of Gondor loved the Rohirrim, for they were fair and valiant.  True it was, but his words had touched on something far greater than he had at that time understood.  Éowyn’s face hovered before him even in sleep and her voice sang a constant refrain in his mind’s ear.  But it was her words that fascinated him the most – she spoke haltingly of her grief for her cousin and her uncle, and yet at times she seemed to hint at some other great grief.  He wished he could solve the mystery of the despair that had sent her to the Pelennor.  Indeed he wished he could solve the mystery of her happiness – he wished to hear her laugh again.

He could not deny that she had lightened his own heart considerably.  On a day when the loss of his brother, indeed of his family, had rested on him with more than usual weight, she had spoken.  Éowyn had stayed near him throughout the day, perhaps guessing at his grief, and after they had sat together for several minutes in silence she had spoken.  “He was a good man.”

Faramir had stared at her in surprise as she continued, her voice halting.  “I only met him twice, but he seemed all that was good to me.”

He was curious, but said nothing as she continued.  “He was always a friend of Theodred, and came to my Name Day Feast, to represent Gondor.  I never understood why your father would send one of his most important captains, but I was grateful for it.  Your brother saved me from having to make a choice among all the guests for my first dance.  An impolitic choice could have caused trouble for my Uncle.”

Faramir laughed.  “My brother was always eager to save a beautiful woman from any trouble, ” but regretted his words when Éowyn shied away from him almost imperceptibly.

“He came to Meduseld last year to ask the gift of a horse.  He seemed changed to my eyes, more tired than he had been.”  Éowyn folded her hands in her lap and said, “I mourned for him when I heard of his end.”

Her words touched him in a way that no one else’s had, and he spoke from the great shadow that lay over his grief, “Yet for all his strengths, my brother fell to Sauron’s temptation in the end.  He failed in his duty.”  Éowyn touched his chin, the first time she had ever touched him, and said, “My lord, I know from Merry’s tales that your brother found his way back in the end.  Perhaps despair did drive him from himself, but it could not keep him.  He died as himself, and with courage and honour.”

Faramir wished he could bury his head in her hair, lose himself in her, but he could only kiss the hand she reached out to him.  He pressed it to his cheek and held it close as he felt himself weep.  He felt her stroke his hair, but shyly, as though she were uncomfortable.  When at last he could meet her eyes he said, “Forgive me, my lady, for burdening you once more with my sorrows.”

“My brother wept with me for Théodred; my Uncle wept when my mother died.  There is no shame in it, my lord.  He was your brother.”

She drowsed now beside him, and though he felt the air grow chilly he had no wish to wake her.  He suspected she had not been sleeping well – indeed, if her dreams were anything like his own he did not think it was possible that she could be.  Yet, now that the moon had risen above them, he felt obliged to wake her.

Faramir had heard her low cries of distress but it was only when she awoke that he realised she had been dreaming.  She stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful.  “Where am I?”

“The Houses of Healing.  In Minas Tirith.”  She was, he realised, trembling, and he thought to take her hand to soothe her, but she pulled away from him.  She wiped at the tears streaking her cheeks and laughed bitterly.  “Would you believe my countrymen think me cold?  I have wept more in these past days than ever before.”

“Éowyn, please, what is it?  What ails you?”

She put both hands to her face and seemed to take a moment to gather strength.  Faramir moved closer, to offer comfort if she would take it; but one slender hand warded him off.  Éowyn seemed to set her spine as she faced him, and her face was colder than he had ever seen it.  “Forgive me, my lord.  I was simply… remembering.”

“Perhaps…were you to speak of it…”

She laughed again, but it was not the joyful music he had heard earlier.  It was the cold mirth of the woman he had spoken with that first day. 

“You have honoured me with your tale my lord, so I shall gift you with mine, sad as it is.”

Éowyn took a deep breath, steadying herself, and said, “Speaking of my Name Day reminded me of other things…things I do not wish to remember.  I do not know how I should speak of this… My uncle had an advisor…”

“Grima Wormtongue.”

“How did you know?”

“Boromir spoke of him to my father and myself – he disliked him.”

“Your brother had the right of it.  Grima was a traitor.  He worked in league with Saruman; he betrayed his King and all our people for a few petty prizes.”

“Did he injure you, Éowyn?”

“Injure me… He followed me, stalking me as a cat stalks a mouse.  I could always feel his eyes upon me, sometimes even his stinking breath!  He was full of lusts – for power over my Uncle, over Rohan…”

“And over you.”

“How did you know?”

“Your face gives it away.”

“The things he used to say… I knew well enough what it was he wanted, though he never went so far as to state his intent openly.  And he would not leave me be, even now he will not leave me in peace.  Every night I see him, I remember…”

“The worst.  What did he do, my lady?”

“He came upon me once alone.  He tried…he tried to…”

“Force himself upon you.”

“Aye.  And though I warded him off, and he bears the scar of my defense till this day, after that I always knew what he could do.  I have never felt any security since that day…but I could not leave Théoden in the clutches of such a creature.”

“Your courage is great, my lady.”

“No greater than any other’s, my Lord.  I have never seen courage in myself, nor felt it.  I can only remember fear.  And I still do not understand why he did that.  Why would he prey upon me so?  What kind of man could have taken pleasure in my fear as he did?”

“Some are pained so by the sight of something higher than themselves, my lady, that they only wish to befoul it.”

Éowyn sighed.  “Well perhaps he has succeeded in that aim, if in nothing else.  There is nothing left of me except what has been twisted by fear.”

“You are wrong.”

Éowyn stared at him – her tears had left dry tracks on her cheeks.  Faramir spoke with energy, “It is not my usual practise to contradict a lady, but I will not hear you belie yourself.  Can you not see?  Merry is your devoted squire, the King spoke only well of you, and indeed even such as have known you for only a brief time think well of you.”  She had flinched as he spoke of the king but he paid it no mind. “All love you, Éowyn – can you believe us all so mistaken in judgement as to rate you higher than you are, if such a thing were possible?”

She shook her head at his words, and seemed to be blushing when she looked at him.  “You are too good to me, my lord.”

“Such a thing is impossible.”

Silence fell between them, and at last Éowyn stood and said, “I must retire, my lord.  Ioreth tells me the night-dew is bad for invalids.”

He kissed her hand once more and held for rather longer than was proper.  Éowyn stared at him; she did not seem to know what to say.  Eventually she managed to stutter out a few words. “I must…I mean, I am not…Goodnight my lord.”  She walked away from him with her usual grace, and he was left to think on what she had told him as he walked the gardens.