In Doubt

Éowyn stared at the mantle, stroked it with a trembling finger, and breathed the soft scent that clung yet to the heavy folds of cloth.  She knew that she clung to it as though it were a love token – as though she were a lover – but her mind would not concentrate on anything else.  Two or three times a day she would return to her room, trace the stars at the throat, and ruminate on this beautiful piece of clothing.

She should have insisted that Faramir take it back – it was a cruelty to keep his gift, and yet tell him that there was no hope.  She wanted to give it back to him – she wanted to make it quite clear that she could not, she did not return his feelings. 

And yet she remembered the look in his eyes when she had tried to return the mantle – the poised blankness as he had veiled all feeling.  She knew what it must have cost him to shield her from his pain – she did not want to ask it of him again.  She could not.  To sense the pain that ripped through him at her rejection, to see it in the subtle changes in his stance, the direction his gaze would take – oh it was more than she could bear.

Éowyn shook her head at her reflections – vanity.  Was it not vanity to assume that such a man would entertain even the slightest thought of her?  Why must she assume that gallantry and kindness were signs of anything but his own fine nature?  It was more than likely that all his attentions to her were the courtesy of one invalid to another.  She should not presume that they were anything else – why waste feeling?  Could she not learn a lesson from her most recent experience?

She laughed shortly, her fingers tightening on the soft material – she did not think Faramir had a betrothed hidden away.  He did not act like a man bound – at least she did not think so, but then her own perceptions had so recently shown themselves to be faulty that she put little trust in them.

She stood with a jolt and walked to the window; this way madness lay.  It did no good to think recriminations at herself, or anyone else.  Idly she wondered when she had learned to distrust her own judgement to such an extent.  She felt as though her thoughts had been stirred together, mixing in ways no one could ever have expected – and now she was left to find some order in the blend.

Oh how tired she was of these eternal circles of thought.  Her spirit was fagged from the endlessly shifting scale that was her heart.  She stared out the window – the sun was shining, the White City radiant.  A wave of impatience ran through her heart; why could she not make a decision?  All were happy in these renewed days save her, and she walked and pined in the gardens, and for what?

What if she was hopelessly fickle?  The other did not want her, and, she began to feel that she did not want him.  Did she not deserve at least some happiness? 

She left her room and walked through the corridors, pondering the word – happiness.  What was happiness?  Could she find it now, or had she lost too much?  They would want her to be happy – Théoden and Théodred.  Éowyn did not have to consider this for a second – it was a marrow deep knowledge.

She picked at her sling with her free hand; what was happiness?  How did one find it?  She snickered suddenly – Théodred had always said she made things hard for herself.  Though he had spoken with regard to her swordplay – her insistence on fighting ‘honourably’ against a foe with more than twice her strength – she felt the truth of those words once again.

Could Faramir make her happy – and could she do the same for him?  There lay the heart of the problem – if it were so, well then none of the rest of it mattered.  Perhaps he did deserve a wife who had not seen as much as she had – who had a heart unstained, innocent of grief or despair.  Perhaps he deserved a wife of Númenorean blood, one who would not leave him to face his last years alone.  But, if she were his choice, if, despite all her apprehensions, he did love her, why could she not accept him?

Éowyn moaned under her breath, cursing her hesitancy.  She could not do it – she could not make herself believe that he might feel anything for her.  After all he had never actually said it.  How was she supposed to know?  He had said some things that might perhaps have meaning…but they were only so many riddles.

She started to walk again, trying to ignore the voices raised in song outside.  For her part, could she love Faramir?  Already she loved him too well to offer him anything less than a full heart – he was too good a man; he deserved nothing less.  And he had heard her speak such words as she had thought would only win her revulsion.  He had understood and, though she did not understand how, he had purged of the shame that had haunted her since the Wormtongue first laid his eyes on her in desire. 

Éowyn stifled a sob; Faramir had made it all right.  What a foolish, simple-minded thought – but it was the truth.  Her mind was not tortured by the past when he was near – he would not let her belie herself, even in thought.

She stumbled into the entrance hall – her thoughts had engrossed her to such an extent that she had missed the step.  An arm caught her elbow and steadied her – she looked up and saw Faramir’s face.  He seemed to smile involuntarily when she met his eyes.  Éowyn flushed deeply, remembering when he had touched her before, the gentle graze of his fingers against her skin.  She thought his hand lingered, but couldn’t be sure – she was no judge of time at such moments.

She turned to face Merry, a smile blossoming easily across her face.  His joy was infectious, even to a mournful creature such as herself.  He was dressed in the livery of Rohan, and Éowyn bent to examine it.  She swallowed a lump in her throat and said, “It becomes you well my squire.”

“Are you not coming to Cormallen, Éowyn?”

She gestured to the arm that hung uselessly across her front.  “I must abide here still Merry – I am at the pleasure of the healers.  Would you tell my brother that by and by I shall come?”

“Of course, but…”

“And if it please you, give my greetings to your kinsmen, and all the rest of your fellowship.”

“But can I tell them you are well?”

She saw a look of sorrow in Merry’s eyes and knew not how to respond – he thought she tarried for grief.  Well perhaps he was right; for certain she had no desire to join in all the rejoicing, or to see Aragorn in all his joy and splendour.  She was hateful. 

Still, she did not want Merry to fear for her, and so she said, “You may tell them…that I am better than might have been expected, though I am not yet well enough to leave these Houses.”

Merry looked unconvinced and might have said more had Faramir not tactfully intervened.  His greetings and messages to the King were to be conveyed, and Éowyn could see Merry straining to remember the exact wording.  She thanked Faramir with her eyes for this reprieve.

Perhaps it was an unlucky chance that Merry saw this, or perhaps he had observed more in days past than Éowyn had been aware of, but he gave her a look as he left; and such a look as made his suspicions quite clear.  There was no way to tell him that he presumed too much, and so she stood with Faramir and watched him depart.

A heavy ring rested now on the third finger of his right hand.  He saw her glance at it and said, “It is the ring of the Ruling Stewards.  It was retrieved, so that I might hold office till the King returns.”  Éowyn winced at the thought – how it must pain him to wear it now.  His face fell, and she took his hand in compassion, wishing she could ease his sorrow.

 “You are a fitting bearer Faramir.  Many good and noble men preserved this kingdom – who should see the return of the king, but the noblest of all?” 

He smiled at that, and though she knew he disagreed with her, she was glad to see it.  His smiling face was so close to hers that she could scarcely breathe – some breathless feeling had possessed her, half fear, half she knew not what.  He took a careful breath and said, “It may be many days before I see you again my Lady.  I shall have many labours in healing this city.”  A healer called to her, and she dutifully, with a heavy heart, obeyed his command, wondering when she and Faramir would say all that needed to be said.