Ch. 4 – A Heart in Shadow

Faramir watched as the White Lady of Rohan took her leave. He stood at the balustrade for some time looking without really seeing, his mind straying to pale blue eyes. As he looked again to the East, his mind did not travel the distance the Morgul Vale but rather stayed here in the hall pondering the troubled heart of Eowyn.  He looked to the doorway and noticed that Eirik still sat attendant upon his lord.  He smiled and motioned his squire to come forward, “Eirik, have you sat there all this while?”

“Yes, My lord.  It is my duty.” Faramir looked upon the earnest young squire, who had seen so much in these last few weeks, so much fear and blood; death and near destruction of his home city, so much for one so young and yet he had never wavered in his duty, “Thank you, thank you for your care and attendance upon me.” He placed a hand upon the boy’s shoulder and placed a kiss on the top of his head.  “Can you do me one more service for this moment?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Eirik’s eyes fair shone under the praise of his lord, “what is your will?”

“Can you bring the Warden of the House to me?  I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, My Lord.  At once, My Lord!” Eirik made to depart. Only to be stopped by his lord’s voice.

“And Eirik,”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“After you have done me this service, please go to the refectory and get yourself some breakfast, you must be very hungry!”

“Oh yes, My lord. I am at that! At once, My Lord!” Eirik bounded off to perform his office.

Faramir chuckled quietly, but only after Eirik was out of earshot for he minded to spare the young boy’s dignity.  He sobered, thinking that if the Armies of the West did not succeed such gentle service as Eirik gave to him would cease to exist.  All would fall before evil.  But he rallied with thought, all was not lost yet.  There was still hope.  

After several moments the Warden appeared in the garden, “My Lord, you wished to speak to me?”

“Yes, Master Warden,” Faramir confirmed, “please, let us sit” he motioned to a stone bench in the corner of the garden.

After sitting Faramir began, “Tell me all you know of the White Lady of Rohan.” He paused looking at his old friend, at something of a loss, “I-I wish to help her….a-and I need to know all I can in order to do so.”

The Warden looked at his Steward curious at the stumbling of his words. He had known Faramir for most of the younger man’s life.  Faramir frequented the Houses of Healing as a young boy and later as a young man seeking refuge from his father’s sharp tongue when his older brother was away.  He had a thirst for knowledge and an intuitive heart.  He was drawn to the healing arts.  He was an intelligent and kind-hearted man and would have made a good healer had he been born to another man and not the Ruling Steward. He had often mused that Faramir was indeed drawn to the healing arts to bring healing to others because he could not heal or salve his own father’s hidden pain.  An intuitive child wishing to help in any way he could. The Warden sighed, Denethor never understood his second son, always doubted his motives; always questioned his actions.  He never understood that Faramir, in his heart, only wanted to heal and protect.  He could not protect his father from himself so he would try to protect all of Gondor in his stead. 

It came as no surprise to him that Faramir should want to help the Lady of Rohan, but what surprised him was the sudden tentativeness he heard, the almost apologetic way he asked.  The Warden stated, “She had taken a grievous injury to the arm in battle,” He added she had fought valorously, defending Theoden King when he had been unhorsed as the Witch King had approached, “It is said,” The Warden leaned forward, “That she faced down the Witch King and dealt him the deadly blow…  And it is why she sickened beyond what her injuries were.” The Black Shadow had been upon her and only the King had been able to bring her back.

Faramir stared at him upon this revelation.  His heart was pierced with love and admiration for so valiant a lady.  Touched by the Black Shadow.  He shuddered with the thought of such beauty and valor to be brought so low.  He thought of his own harrowing brush with the Shadow.  To think of hers. His heart burst at the torment she must have endured.  

“That is all I know of her, My Lord,” the Warden said breaking into Faramir’s thoughts, “But if you would know more, speak with the Periannath, Meriadoc.  He came in with her and has seemingly known her long.”

“Periannath you say, a Hobbit?” Faramir asked,

“Yes, My Lord.  Shall I send for him?”

“Yes, Please. My Good Master Warden,” Faramir affirmed, “If you would be so kind.”

They stood and the Warden bowed and took his leave to summon good Master Meriadoc.

Faramir return to the stone bench musing upon the qualities of Hobbits.  The ones he had met along this journey to war were an amazing, brave, fearless lot. 

The Warden within a few minutes returned with said Hobbit, “My Lord,” he announced,             “Master Meriadoc Brandybuck.”

“Just Merry if you please.”  Faramir heard a bright, cheerful voice chime in. He looked up and saw walking across the garden, a Hobbit, seemingly just a little taller than Pippin, who was now, he remembered, traveling to the Black Gate.

“Merry?  Pippin’s friend?” Faramir asked.

“His Cousin, more like.” Merry related, smiling. “The Warden said you wished to see me?”

“Yes, Yes I did.” Faramir looked to the older man, “Thank you, Master Warden.  Would you wish to stay and join us?”

The Warden declined,“Thank you, but No.  There are matters that need my attention,” he bowed and then took his leave.

Faramir looked back at Merry, “Please, come and sit.” He motioned to the space next to him on the stone bench.

Merry hopped onto the bench, his slipper clad feet not reaching the ground.  “Do you mind?” he asked looking at Faramir while he pulled a pipe out of his pocket.

Faramir looked on in quiet amazement, and murmured, “No, No quite all right.” while hiding a grin at the funny, unabashed ways of Hobbits.  He looked on with fascination as Merry quickly lit his pipe and puffed a few puffs.  He gamely tried to begin, opening and shutting his mouth as sweet smelling pipe smoke began filling the air.  Merry looked at him quizzically for a few moments and then offered up a second pipe to him.  Faramir, who after slightly arching an eyebrow, accepted and Merry said, “Good Man!  Pippin said you were a good man.  And if he says so it must be true.  I can see that myself. Always trust a man who is willing to sit and smoke with you!” Merry said as he lit Faramir’s pipe.

“Pippin said that?” Faramir asked, after puffing a few brief, beginning puffs. He unexpectantly felt a rush of good feeling that Pippin, who had found a soft spot in Faramir’s heart with his stout ways, had spoken so.

“Yes, he did.”

Faramir had been told of what Pippin had done to save him.  He would never be able to repay the debt of honour to the hobbit.  That Pippin had spoken so well of Faramir made him very glad indeed.

“He is a good man himself,” Faramir avowed and as they both looked east, each offering an unspoken but no less heartfelt prayer to keep one Peregrin Took safe and out of harm’s way. They sat puffing a few puffs, “The Warden says that you among us here know Eowyn, the White Lady best.”

“That is true.” A smoke ring floated gently away.

“And that it was she that dealt the Killing stroke to the Witch King of Angmar.”

At this Merry grew quiet and still, pipe momentarily dropped to his side, “She and I killed the Witch King.” He intoned in a voice full of remembrance, so different from the bright and cheerful one he had had just moments before.

Faramir looked at Merry and the truth of his statement was written on the hobbit’s suddenly ashen face. Unspoken horror ran fleetingly across Merry’s pleasant features and then it was gone. “It isn’t really something I can talk about at the present.”  

“I understand, more than I care to, but I do understand.” They looked at each other as only battle-worn veterans can and a bond was shared.

They sat peaceably smoking pipes for several more minutes letting the present comforting aroma calm past horrors and hurts in as much as anything could. “Tell me about the White Lady, a-about Eowyn.”  Faramir ventured the use of her given name and looked sidelong at Merry seeking permission to use her first name.  Merry looking unperturbed at this, Faramir looked upon this as tacit blessing. “Why did she ride to battle? Why did she look for death?” Why is there such hurt in her eyes, he thought but did not say.

Merry sighed, “I don’t know if I can rightly speak to all.  I don’t know if I know all.  But I do know that she loved Theoden as her father, though he is only her uncle—was only her uncle.” Merry thought of Theoden and how they would never have that discussion of herb-lore and he felt sad and almost put his pipe away until Aragorn’s words came to mind, “Smoke then and think of him!  For he was a gentle heart and a Great King.  It should be a memory glad and honorable to the end of your days.”  In honor of Theoden King, Merry took a full breath of smoke into his mouth and let it commingle with memory then drift away; the memory staying firmly in his heart.   He looked at Faramir.  “There had much unhappiness in Edoras, I understand. Much poisoning of Theoden by one he trusted.  Eowyn saw it all and could only stand and watch her uncle sink into doubt then decrepitude.  She could do nothing. When the king’s mind was rescued and retreat to Helm’s Deep came, again she was not allowed to fight, only to wait.  She felt doubted and stunted.”

“Put in a cage, so to speak.” Faramir suggested thinking of the word that had slipped from Eowyn’s lips earlier.

Merry paused, “I suppose that is one way of putting it, Yes.”  He continued, “During the muster we became each other’s champion and confidant, you see neither of us were supposed to be here.  When Aragorn left the muster for the Path of the Dead, it really seemed to upset her.  They had grown close and I guess she felt let down in some way.  She had come to depend on him.  She didn’t say much about it. She just became grimmer and more determined than ever to join the host riding to Gondor’s aid.”

Faramir puffed on his pipe and pondered what Merry had said.  She was so different from any woman he knew.  Her valor, her sadness, they spoke to him.  He had known pain, grief, misunderstanding, doubt within his own life. He could well see it hers.

“I will say one thing more,” Merry said looking straight at Faramir, “She is kindness itself.  She took me under her wing, protected and encouraged me when nobody else believed I could help this cause in my own way.  She didn’t have to do that; but she did.  I would not see her hurt anymore.  If you can help her, I will be forever in your debt.”

Faramir held the hobbit’s earnest eyes for moments longer, “She is in my heart, Master Hobbit, I can only hope she will let me into hers.  I wish to ease her pain; if only she will allow me.”

Merry saw the truth of his words in his eyes.  He smiled then and sat back and drew a big puff on his pipe and coaxed a series of little smoke rings to gently float through the air. And together they stayed puffing, sitting on the stone bench.  At evening Faramir had taken to the garden once again knowing from the Warden this was her habit after evening meal but Eowyn did not appear.  Given Merry’s words earlier, he knew perseverance was needed. Hope was everything in these times; hope had been rekindled within him. And now he could only try to give it new life within Eowyn. He would be her lifeline, if only she would allow it.

The next morning, Faramir was again the garden at the balustrade and again looking East.  Something in his heart whispered to look behind instead.  Listening to his heart he looked up onto the balcony above and saw a vision in white, reddish blond hair gleaming.  She looked down and saw Faramir's mesmerized gaze, she paused as if unsure and then gently smiled down upon him.  Faramir felt a gentle warmth envelope him and he called out, “My Lady, Please come down and join me this morning.”  Eowyn hesitated and then disappeared from the balcony.  Faramir knew a moment of despair, then she came.  He smiled, extended his hand to Eowyn, “Come my lady, let us walk and keep each other company this bright morning!” Eowyn smiled, and lit Faramir’s heart.  And they walked and waited, together, as he promised they would.