Chapter 14: The Day Our Lives Changed Forever

AUTHOR'S NOTE

"Avoidance" is movieverse with much respect paid to book canon. I've borrowed Peter Jackson's actors to star in my book gap filler. So Faramir is a red head and Éowyn is 33, the same age as Miranda Otto when the “Lord of the Ring's” films were made.

As ever, thanks to Raksha and Shieldmaiden of Rohan for their Beta reviews.

Her husband was already dressed when Eowyn opened her eyes just slightly. She watched him as he paced around their living quarters. 'Mir is as uncomfortable about today's events as I am, Eowyn decided. She slowly rolled from side to side to massage the muscle aches caused by her enlarged form. Her movements were punctuated by the baby's fluttering kicks. You like that, don't you, she silently addressed her child.

“Come, let's get up,” Faramir said as he reached out his hand to help her out of bed. Eowyn groaned and then grinned as her husband kissed her cheek. His arms steadied her as she awkwardly rose to her feet. No one had forewarned her that being pregnant was a balancing act.

Pregnancy also put quite a strain on her wardrobe. She considered herself a woman hearty of body and strong of mind, as capable as any man. Nevertheless, Eowyn readily admitted her weakness for lovely gowns and jewels. Today she was to have an audience with the Queen of Gondor, the woman Eowyn once thought of as her rival. She had to look her best, not only to honor her husband but also to reflect well her position as Princess of Ithilien and heir to the throne of Rohan.

“How do I create a great impression six months into my pregnancy?” she sighed to Faramir. “Can you call Bethene to me? I need help with my wardrobe.”

Before summoning Eowyn's maid, Faramir teased, “I'm sure that you will impress the entire Royal Court with your greatness today.” He pinched her swollen belly. Before she could respond, he moved in and gave her a hug.

“It's lust that doomed me to this fate,” she squirmed half-heartedly against him.

Faramir released her suddenly. “And no love was involved along with the lust?”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, “Of course there was love, though I think I did not realize it at first. Don't you enjoy a bit of lust along with the love?”

“If I didn't you would not be in your current state,” he teased. “Love and lust are best when combined. However, if you still can't recall when you first felt love for me, at least tell me when you first lusted for me. Do you remember that, wife?”

“I recall those moments more clearly than the love part,” she confessed reluctantly. She sat down on their plush bed, cushioned by the folds of their thick coverlet. Faramir sat down beside her.

“It was the night after our picnic on the mountain.” Eowyn admitted. “I tossed about in my humble hospital bed, a sleepless wreck, torn by desire for the Steward and fear for my life.” She paused to see how this confession registered on her husband's face. He looked at her intently but did not register any surprise. “I recall telling myself, if I am to die at the hands of Sauron's forces, I will not die a maid. If we are to be doomed, I first will offer my body to the Steward.

“I didn't care if you thought me wanton and forward. I suspected that you were in love with me and might accept my proposal under the circumstances we faced. I feared one or both of us would be dead in the course of the upcoming days. I needed only to shore up my courage and wait for my best opportunity.”

“To seduce me?”

She cringed at his blunt words, but then said, “Yes, if you must put it in those terms, I wanted to seduce you.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” Faramir challenged, his blue eyes twinkling.

She leaned against him and shuddered, “Because the next morning our lives changed forever.”

Elfhelm's eored is waiting outside the Great Gate. The temporary gate to the second circle is complete and manned. Anborn's taken command of the regulars. They're behind it, as you have ordered. The Rangers who came with Anborn are now under Ornendil's command. They will soon leave to scout the areas surrounding Osgiliath. Who knows what they will find.” Beregond wiped perspiration from his thick brows after he delivered his report. The air was frigid in the room, yet Faramir's assistant sweated profusely. No doubt the man was overcome by his pre-dawn exertion, running liaison among the forces preparing for the city's defense.

“What is the situation in the third circle?” Faramir asked.

“Erkenbrand commands there,” Beregond said. “Half of the people still left in the city are gathered behind the gate for the circle's defense. Women and children, too. Everyone has come out to play a part.”

“The people understand the gravity of our situation,” Faramir spoke softly, his early morning sleepiness dispelled by Beregond's report. “I'm glad to hear that. Now the remaining folk in the circles above should be on their way to the Citadel. If the enemy gets to the Citadel, the regulars and the Rohirrim under Elfhelm should be positioned for the last defense. ”

Beregond nodded, “The Tower Guard is ready to help the women, children, and noncombatants evacuate through the passages into the forests.” Then he leaned in to Faramir, “My lord, it will be our doom down at the first circle, if the Enemy sends a force of the size we saw two weeks ago.”

“It won't happen,” Faramir assured him. “Their forces were destroyed here, thanks to Aragorn and the ghostly army. I strongly suspect that the Dark Lord has fallen for Aragorn's ruse and sent the bulk of his strength to the Morannon. The Captains of the West should approach the Black Gate today. They might already be there.”

They sat at the small table in Faramir's room at the Houses of Healing. A feeble daylight filtered in from the single window. Beregond's anxious dark eyes gleamed as he murmured, “Have you seen them then, Aragorn's host?”

“No,” Faramir admitted sadly, understanding his aide's inference. “Their way has always been blocked from my vision. I wonder now if this was Mithrandir's doing. But know that I saw into Mordor last night. Sometimes farsight seems like madness, yet incidents that I have perceived these past few weeks have proven true. That's why I am convinced that the last confrontation will happen today.”

“The air feels strange,” Beregond said. “I can sense that something is about to happen. Everyone that I've spoken to this morning is uneasy.”

Faramir chuckled bleakly. He rose from his chair and beckoned for Beregond to follow. “I doubt we will be attacked by a force that we can't handle, today or tomorrow. Unless Ornendil's Rangers discover enemies approaching Minas Tirith, our future is totally dependent on the outcome of the struggles of our friends and allies .”

“Our fate hangs in the balance,” Beregond said as he followed Faramir past the two Tower Guardsmen calmly in position outside Faramir's hospital room.

“Indeed,” Faramir spoke through teeth set tight against his mouth. “Go now to the third circle. I'm off to the White Tower in a few minutes. Let Calem know that I am ready.”

Standing beside the main staircase, Faramir watch his assistant race downward with the great strides of the very tall. Then Faramir turned and headed up the stairs.

One more matter to take care of, and then I can take up my office. My war office. I must speak with her before I leave. Our trip yesterday did not turn out as I had planned. She deserves an explanation.

When he arrived at the women's quarters, the nurses said that the Lady Eowyn had left her room more than an hour past. Perhaps she's gone off with Narmer for her training? Faramir thought. Just in case she hadn't, he headed down the stairs to the basement library. What little sun was out this dim morning scarcely penetrated the dank stacks and cold leather furniture.

He walked quietly into the garden but stopped before the ancient fountain. Eowyn stood near the wall, her back toward him. The overhanging first floor protected her from the light morning rain. She was almost unbearably lovely, her long golden hair flowing over his mother's starry mantle. He wanted to touch her but was afraid she would find such behavior unseemly.

“Lady, I must apologize for my behavior yesterday,” Faramir began awkwardly. “I was too concerned about conditions in the city to be a proper host.”

She did not turn. She hardly moved when he spoke. Had she known instinctively when he came into the garden?

Eowyn murmured, “I did not mind, my lord. I was fascinated by the city. But now it has fallen silent. There is no warmth or light left in the sun. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Faramir slowly approached her and regarded the brave, determined expression upon her profile. Yet he perceived her uneasiness. “It's just the first spring rain,” he explained. “We saw the clouds come in last night.” Her eyes glittered; how carefully she controlled her anxiety.

“I do not believe that any darkness can endure,” Faramir reassured her, all the while trying to assure himself. He reached for the lady's hand to comfort her. He was surprised with the strength of her grip. Rays of sunlight penetrated through the gray rain and lit the damp garden.

Eowyn regarded Faramir silently, studying his face. Then, to his utter surprise, she exhaled deeply, rested her head on his shoulder, and leaned her body against his. Faramir was thrilled to simply feel her pressed against him, drawing warmth and unexpected joy from their closeness. Could she possibly realize how much she meant to him? He said, “I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found.”

Lose what you have found?” she murmured into his shoulder.

There was no reason nor time now to answer her or consider what was happening between them. “I must leave,” he whispered reluctantly. “Will you see me off?”

Eowyn nodded her head. Her gait was unsteady as they left the library, still hand in hand as they passed the faithful guards waiting outside. She did not have trouble climbing the stairs, Faramir noted. But when they headed into the main hall, he was forced to stop so abruptly that Eowyn almost collided into him. Faramir's vision clouded, dimming the mundane sight of the hospital entry. Instead a vivid picture of three small figures scrambling across a landscape of black earth and steam crammed itself into his mind.

“What's the matter?” Eowyn's voice penetrated the vision. Faramir wiped his hand across his eyes. He saw the halflings, all three of them alive; they fought with each other. Was this what the quest had come to? Faramir thought in despair. Then his eyes cleared. His balance almost failed as he regarded Eowyn and the Tower Guardsmen not far behind.

“Did you feel that?” he asked ominously.

“Feel what?”

“Hurry!” he cried, pulling roughly on her unbound arm and gesturing for the guardsmen to follow. They ran past surprised nurses and visitors into the street.

The Steward's carriage waited outside, but something was clearly amiss. The horses were skittish and rebellious. They snorted and scraped their hooves restlessly at the cobblestone pavement. Calem tried to calm them, but the darker gray animal reared slightly, as far as the restrictive harness would allow. The other horse tossed his head, his eyes wild. Then they lowered their necks and, with great determination, tried to push the carriage backwards. Fortunately, the weight of the vehicle and the awkwardness of their harness prevented them from making much progress.

“I don't know what's gotten into them, Lord Faramir,” Calem called out as Faramir and Eowyn arrived.

“Eowyn, for your own safety you must come with us. Calem, help the lady into the carriage,” Faramir said swiftly. Then he approached the horses and put his hand on the closer animal's neck. The horse immediately stopped struggling and let Faramir rest his head on its neck. Faramir listened to the sound of the animal's veins pulsing in its great neck and perceived the cause of the horse's troubles. He straightened up and then put a hand on the muzzle of each horse. “I can feel it too,” he told them. “We must work together now.”

He climbed into the carriage and grabbed the reins and whip. “My lord, what are you doing?” Calem exclaimed.

“Driving,” Faramir said abruptly. “Sit beside Lady Eowyn and hang on to her.” He waited for the grumbling Calem to vacate the driver's seat. Then Faramir slapped the reins and cried, “Away! Away! As fast as you can take us.” The normally calm draft horses charged forward with the determination of battle steeds. The carriage took off with shattering speed down the cobblestone street.

The earlier rain had given way to sporadic sunlight that made the wet stones gleam. Families with children and goods walked swiftly on either side of the slippery road. Faramir felt Calem lean over from the back seat to yell, “Make way for the Steward.”

“Where are they going?” he barely heard Eowyn ask.

“Hopefully where we are going--to the Citadel” Faramir yelled back to her. The switchback that climbed to the seventh circle loomed just ahead. “Hold on,” he warned as they approached.

“Make way! Make way!” Calem roared at the fleeing citizens. Faramir pulled the reins sharply to the right. The horses dug in their hooves and wheeled around as quickly as they could. The carriage swung around awkwardly and skidded to the left across the wet stones. Pedestrians on their way to the seventh circle screamed but thankfully managed to avoid the unwieldy carriage.

The team's pace slowed measurably as the vehicle straightened its path, and they headed up the incline. “Away! Away!” Faramir insisted. “One last effort and we will be there.” The straining animals lowered their heads with determination and quickened their steps. In a short amount of time, they came to the seventh circle and approached the Great Hall.

Pulling the horses to a halt, Faramir handed the reins to Calem. For a second, an awesome scene came unbidden to his mind: Frodo, son of Drogo, lifting the One Ring on its chain over a lake of molten rock. But that vision dissolved as suddenly as it came. He had no time to consider what it meant.

Faramir leaped down from the driver's seat and assisted Eowyn out of the carriage. Behind it, the Tower Guardsmen swiftly dismounted their horses. The earth beneath Faramir's feet trembled. He yelled, “Nem, to the Tower and order the people out of the building right away. Marod, clear out everyone still left in the Great Hall. Calem, get the carriage away from the buildings. Eowyn?”

But she headed off, joining the scattered groups of people moving across the plaza. “Move away from the buildings! Away from the buildings!” Faramir cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled from deep in his diaphragm. He spied Eowyn's golden hair and the glittering blue robe among the throng.

Then a great gasp issued from the people already at the walls. Faramir's eyes automatically looked East. The great limestone prow that constituted the Embrasure raised and then lowered over an unearthly wave. That wave[*] then continued beneath the plaza, rolling at least three feet high, cracking the pavement, lifting and dropping the trees, statues, and buildings.

“Hold on to each other!” Faramir shouted as he moved through the confused and terrified people. He raced toward an elderly couple and wrapped his arms around them, steadying them, as the wave harmlessly lifted and then dropped them, like pieces of driftwood on the Great Sea. The clamor of moving earth, shifting stone, cracking concrete, and screaming people was deafening.

“Was the fall of Numenor really like this?” Faramir wondered as his hands loosened their grip on the old people. He started to follow the crowds when a voice whispered low, inside his head, “Alas, you could have had me.”

Faramir froze in place. He recognized the tempting voice that had beckoned to him when he first beheld the One Ring on its chain at the point of his sword. The ring twirled in his consciousness, alluringly bright and painfully beautiful against a fiery backdrop of red hot lava. It called again, “What wonders we could have wrought.”

“Wonders?” Faramir lips formed the words. Then the bright glimmer of the Ring seemed to dissolve into a curtain of dust. But the curtain was insubstantial. It parted to reveal a fearsome army clad in shimmering mail in the late morning sun. Faramir was now positive that madness had overtaken him forever. He could not control his vision. Some other force guided his mind to the front of the host, where a mounted figure shone in an aura of light brighter than any he had ever seen. The Elven Queen, at the summit of her power and glory, smiled at him and said, “It is done, Steward of Gondor. Return and rejoice with your people. Farewell for now.”

Raising her hand, she released his farsight from her control. Faramir's mind felt curiously light and clear as ice on the coldest winter day. The beauty and grandeur of the Citadel of Minas Tirith, and the imminent peril to it from natural disaster overwhelmed him. He moved ahead to Eowyn just as a massive cloud of smoke, dust, and ash rose above the Ephel Duath[**].

The terrifying cloud rose higher and higher above the mountains of Mordor until it collided into the already dissipating rain clouds. Shafts of lightening forked out of its mass, tormenting the harmless weather clouds.

“It reminds me of Numenor,” she heard Faramir say just above her ear. She felt his hand on her unbound arm, leading her away from the wall.

“Numenor?” she asked.

“When the Valar sent the great wave to destroy it,” he said.

She whirled about, “This cloud is not the work of your Valar. I know who sent it. I will not go to my doom without staring its cause in the face.”

Avoiding Faramir's attempt to grab her, she strode to the wall, wedging herself next to a Fountain Court Guard among the frightened Gondorians. “I fear this is the work of the Enemy,” the Guard said. He removed his elaborate helm in despair. “Sauron has gained the Ring and sent the cloud to finally cover us with darkness.”

Eowyn looked out beyond the Pelennor Fields. The ominous cloud rolled West over the lands beyond the great river, moving relentlessly toward Minas Tirith. A stifling hot East wind spread over the city in advance of the cloud, bringing with it biting dust and the stench of rotten eggs. She gasped and stepped backward, trying to regain her balance, covering her eyes from the sting of the fumes. She could barely see Faramir through her tears as he reached for her.

“Sauron has the Ring!” she sobbed. She stood directly in front of him, her right hand clenched in a fist at her hip, defying Faramir to tell her otherwise.

“No. No,” he said, barely audible above the din. He grabbed her wrist with both hands and said, “Frodo's quest is complete. I believe that the Ring has dissolved into the Cracks of Doom. Now the great volcano collapses and spews its contents. ”

Through her burning eyes, she stared at him in disbelief. He squinted in the sulphurous air. Her heavy mass of hair flew over her shoulders and face, covering them both in a tangled gold curtain. Without warning, a counteracting blast of wind rushed in from the West, so powerful that it lifted Eowyn a few inches off her feet. Faramir grabbed her, holding onto her desperately. “It's the winds of the Valar,” he sobbed into her shoulder. “It must be.”

The west wind thundered through the plaza. Amazed citizens, some of whom had been knocked down by the gust, walked in a daze to the Citadel's walls. Eowyn's hair was now seriously tangled in the clasp at the neck of Faramir's cloak. Joined together by circumstance, Eowyn and Faramir walked with the others, their eyes fastened eastward. The cloud of volcanic dust from Mordor rose to form a wall of unfathomable height when the rampaging blast of West wind confronted it. Unable to resist the greater force, the dark cloud rolled backward just beyond the Ephel Duath. Then it dissipated, revealing a bright blue sky over the Land of Shadows.

At Eowyn's side, the guard of the Fountain Court said, “I never thought I would see this day. The Valar have finally heard our pleas.”

Unclear as to what that meant, Eowyn looked to Faramir. His hair gleamed red in the sun; tears streamed down his face. “The Dark Lord's reign has ended. I do not think the Valar had a part in his downfall. But I do think that the Valar turned back the poisonous cloud from the collapsing volcano. Look at the mountains of the Ephel Duath. The fog bank that covered them my whole life is gone. For the first time, I can see what the tops of those mountains look like.”

For a moment more they stared in wonder at the mountains beyond the Pelennor. Then Eowyn turned and tried to untangle her hair from the falcon-embossed clasp on Faramir's cloak. “I'm sorry, my Lord Steward,” she grinned, “but my hair refuses to let you go.”

“Two hands are needed for this task,” Faramir beamed as he untangled the strands. “I am glad you are with me on this day. I have not lost what I have found. A hope and joy have come to me that no reason can deny.”

His face bent down toward hers and he kissed her brow. Eowyn trembled. A thrill unlike any she had ever known swept over her body. She waited expectantly, unable to restrain her joy. But rather than giving her lips the hoped-for kiss, Faramir's mouth erupted in a surprised yelp as his body was raised above hers. The Guard of the Fountain Court had grabbed him by the legs and now lifted him above the crowd, bellowing, “The Steward of Gondor!”

Then Eowyn felt hands at her hips. Nem and Marod, Faramir's loyal Tower Guardsmen, had found her and lifted her onto Nem's shoulders. “The Lady of Rohan!” Nem screamed. Eowyn screamed too, in delight and in real fear as she tried to maintain her position on a shoulder not broad enough for her behind. Marod raised his arm for her to hold as he marched beside Nem, trying to clear a way through the growing crowd.

A continuous stream of people made its way onto the plaza, Eowyn noticed from her elevated vantage point. Rather than moving aside for the guards and their upraised captives, the citizens of Minas Tirith crowded around them. They called out Faramir's name and then her name, as though she were the Queen of Rohan on a formal state visit. She was amazed and slightly dizzy, straining against Nem's protective arm across her lap.

The guards slowly made their way toward the Great Hall. Faramir and his bearer lagged behind. Men cheered, “Long live the Steward!” Women grabbed Faramir's hands and kissed them. A little boy raced up to Nem and pulled on Eowyn's skirt, “Are you the woman who killed the nasty gull?” he asked. Eowyn gaped at him in surprise, then nodded her head.

“Away with you,” Marod said gently as they continued toward the great fountain, where the Steward's carriage waited. Beside the fountain, the skeleton of the ancient tree still stood unharmed. A young girl placed a hastily constructed circlet of flowers around one of the stunted tree's branches. The two guardsmen set Eowyn down carefully, mindful of her broken arm.

A minute later, Faramir climbed into the carriage. He stepped onto the driver's bench and began to sing an unfamiliar tune to the crowd. The guards picked up the tune. Calem the driver withdrew the white banner with the silver embroidery from its post on the carriage's side and waved it in the air. Suddenly everyone was singing except Eowyn. The Rohirrim sang to celebrate great events, but she never would have imagined the formal and sometimes staid Gondorians to burst out in song. And in Elvish, no less. Her skin prickled in awe, even though she couldn't participate. When the tune ended, Eowyn whispered to Calem, “What were you singing?”

“It's called “The White Tree.” It's the song that supposedly was written shortly after the last king departed. It talks of how we of Gondor remain loyal to the lords of the White Tree,” Calem explained. “You might call it the song of our land.”

Faramir stepped down from the driver's bench but remained standing behind it. He said, “The White Tower of Ecthelion still stands despite the earthquake. And we are still here. Orodruin has suffered the fate of Thangorodrim of old, but Gondor has been spared Beleriand's and Numenor's doom. I've ordered food and wine to be distributed in the third circle this evening. It will be makeshift, and the food not nearly as bountiful as the occasion deserves. But the city needs to have a proper celebration tonight.

Lady, I'll have Calem take you back to the Houses. Please tell the good people there what has happened and invite them, even that steely old Narmar, to the event this evening. so you will have plenty of time to dress in your finest. Be ready by sunset.”

ABOUT THE SEISMIC EVENTS IN THIS CHAPTER

* Earthquakes—rollers and shakers

In my years in California, USA, I learned that the non-scientific folks here describe earthquakes as rollers or as shakers. I decided that the earthquake that strikes Minas Tirith as the ring dissolves should be a roller. My description is based on the eye witness account of my office mate at the time.

He was walking with his children along their quiet street one lovely October afternoon in 1989 when the Loma Prieta earthquake struck the San Francisco Bay Area. My friend lived about 10 miles from the epicenter of the quake. He literally saw his street rise and fall about two feet as a wave moved across it like a wave on the ocean. According to him, the pavement cracked, and cars, buildings, and people were lifted, then dropped. Loma Prieta was estimated as a 6.9 to 7.1 earthquake. I decided that the earthquake that struck Minas Tirith must be equivalent to the great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906—about 8.1 on the Richter scale, thus the rolling three foot wave.

** Volcanoes

I imagine Mt. Doom to be a strata volcano, the type of volcano that spews forth great clouds of gas and steam so noxious that people die from inhaling the fumes before the ash and lava come to cover up the land. My inspiration for the explosion of Mt. Doom came partially from the Return of the King film, but mostly from the eruptions of Mt. Saint Helens and Mt. Lassen, both volanoes in the Cascade Range of the Northwestern United States.