The Flight

Eowyn

I was passing by the orchard on my way to the stables when I saw my daughter leaning against a tree near little Húrin’s grave, which was scattered with fresh flowers, something Fíriel often did, though she had never known him. Despite its sorrowful associations, the orchard had always been a place of refuge for her; perhaps something in her knew that her beginning had been there.  I would have left her to herself, but she looked up at me with such desperate appeal that I hastened to her and caught her as she swayed blindly towards me.

‘Is it your head, my love?’ I said. She murmured ‘yes’, and I turned as well as I could while still supporting her, and called to my maidservant to fetch one of the guards.

All three of our living children were blessedly strong and seldom ailed in any way, but for some years Fíriel, when distressed, had been subject to fearful headaches which nothing, not even the hallowed remedy of athelas, could cure. On one occasion, when we were in the town house, we had even fetched the King to her, but he could not help; his skill seemed to work only in great matters, and this was a small matter, or so Fíriel always insisted when she came to herself. She would lie for a day, sometimes two, in a darkened room, and the whole household would go about on tiptoe until she was known to be better. During one of those days, I remember, a kitchen boy dropped a pile of plates with a splintering crash on the stone floor; for a week he crept about like a man caught in a shameful crime, and none of his fellows would speak to him, although Fíriel’s room was on the other side of the house and she could not possibly have heard a thing. Another time I was walking through the City when I heard a mother hiss to her two exuberant children, ‘Hush now! I want you as quiet as Lady Fíriel’s head!’ Fíriel smiled wanly when she heard this and said that she might mean many things to the people of the City, but had never expected to be a bogey to frighten children.

Faramir, of course, always knew when Fíriel was suffering, and would postpone any business that was not essential so that he could come to her. He could not take away the pain, but he would sit beside her for hours, holding her hand and occasionally saying or singing soft words to her, and often this would soothe her to sleep and she would generally, though not always, be recovered when she awoke. 

The guard came at a run, and on my orders reverently picked up Fíriel – looking like a man who has unexpectedly been given a treasure beyond price – and carried her to her room. We laid her on the bed, closed the shutters and prepared to leave her; as I turned to go she murmured, ‘Where has Father gone?’

            ‘To inspect the works at Minas Morgul.’

            She smiled faintly. ‘Not far to come, then.’

            I knew there was no need to send a message, and indeed, Faramir returned some two hours later and went straight to her. I returned to my still-room, knowing my daughter had the only medicine that would do her any good, and was surprised in the silence of the house to hear a sharp knocking on the door. It was Eldarion, and fond as I had always been of him, I was not pleased to see him now.

            ‘Is Lady Fíriel with you?’ he asked abruptly.

            ‘No’, I answered shortly, ‘the Lady Fíriel is not well.’

            ‘What ails her? Can I see her?’

            ‘She will see no one until tomorrow at least. She is very distressed, she has a violent headache and she needs complete quiet.’

            ‘But I must see her – if she is distressed it is because of me.’

            ‘Then the less she sees you the better.’

            We glared at each other, and at that moment, to my relief, another tall figure appeared behind Eldarion, who bit off the protest he had obviously been about to make.

            ‘How is she, my dear?’

            ‘Sleeping. I hope it will not be too bad this time. As for you, my lord’ – Faramir turned to Eldarion and spoke in the soft voice that made those who knew him tremble – ‘perhaps you will tell us what you have done to distress her.’ 

            ‘I’ve done nothing that should distress her,’ said Eldarion in a voice that would have made me smile at another time, for it was the voice of a sulky child. ‘I only asked her to marry me.’

            Faramir sighed. ‘And you thought that was unlikely to distress her?’

            ‘Why should it?’

            ‘Here my daughter is treated with honour. She is not accustomed to being mocked.’

            ‘Why should you think I mocked her? What greater honour could I do her?’

            ‘It is not an honourable thing to make a promise you know you cannot keep.’

            ‘I don’t understand.’ Eldarion raised his voice to an indignant shout, and then flushed with shame. Faramir answered in an even lower tone than before.

            ‘Oh yes you do. You know that the heir to Gondor and Arnor cannot wed with one of lesser blood.’

            Eldarion looked from Faramir to me and opened his mouth to draw the inescapable comparison, but seeking Faramir’s frown, shut it again abruptly. Faramir answered as if he had spoken.

            ‘The two cases are not alike. I am no king but only the king’s servant, to maintain the honour and safety of Gondor as best I may. Rohan and Gondor are bound together in the Lady Eowyn and myself even as we are bound by our marriage, and that is more important to me than purity of blood. You are of the purest race of Númenor and are bound to keep that blood unmingled as your ancestors have done through two thousand years.’

            ‘Then you forbid me to woo the woman I love, even if she loves me?’

            ‘Does she love you, Prince?’

            ‘Not yet,’ he admitted, adding defiantly, ‘but she will do, in time.’

            ‘I do not think so.’

            ‘Then it is because of you. You will let no man woo her because you want to keep her for yourself.’

            I looked at Faramir and flinched. He was so seldom angry that the prospect terrified me, though I had never borne the full weight of that anger.

            ‘For your father’s sake, whom I serve,’ he said, ‘I shall forget that you ever spoke those words. Be thankful that you are your father’s son.’

            There was a moment’s fearful silence, and then Eldarion hung his head, a guilty child again, and mumbled ‘Sorry, sir,’ and bowed to both of us and went out.

            Faramir sat down and started to turn the heavy Steward’s ring about on his finger, a rare but certain sign of anxiety with him.

            ‘Here’s a pretty tangle,’ he said.

            ‘What will you do?’

            ‘Send him home. No, escort him home, as soon as Fíriel is well enough. If neither she nor I can bring him to see reason, no doubt his father can, but he must hear both sides of the argument first.’

* * *

The promised explanation was never given, or at least not then. Fíriel slept quietly all that day, but in the morning, when her maid went to see how she was, the bed was empty and she was gone.

* * *

It seemed that panic spread through the household in a moment. As soon as we were sure that Fíriel was nowhere in the house or gardens, Beregond and Elboron began to organise search parties, while the women indulged in the most unseemly displays of collective woe which I had all I could do to silence. It lasted only for an hour or two before Faramir came out, frowning as black as thunder, and sent them all about their normal business. The Lady Fíriel, he said, was well and safe and would return in her own good time. People stared, murmured, but none dared to protest, and Emyn Arnen returned to an uneasy calm.