Ch. 38 - “This I will allow.”

Alyrin looked in on Éowyn.  She was concerned for her.  After three days the lady had been moved to one of the rooms that were reserved for patients who were in need of either longer term care or simple convalescence.  Her physical wounds were healing, but as Master Healer said physical wounds are only one harm that results from a battle.  Others can linger and “we must be aware of those as well," he had said when they were discussing Alyrin’s concerns for Éowyn.  She had seemed especially down after her young Riders friends had left the morning before.

“Good Morning, My Lady!”  Alyrin said as cheerily as she could manage.  Éowyn turned away from the window and the young healer saw from the sorrowful look upon that beautiful face it was anything but.

“Good Morning, Alyrin!”  Éowyn stated quietly with a slight smile that did not quite reach her eyes.  She truly liked the girl.  Girl, she thought.  She could only be at most a few winters younger than her.  She envied Alyrin.  She envied her serenity and the fact that she knew what she wanted and, Éowyn thought ruefully, she was allowed to pursue it.  She drew in a deep breath in an effort to dull the pain searing her heart.  

Alyrin wanted so much to be of assistance to this wonderfully valiant lady who it was rumoured to have killed the Witch King turning the tide of battle.  She wanted to ask if it were true, but Master Healer forbid that inquiry.  “Oh, My Lady!”  Alyrin ventured, “Is there anything I can get you?”  

Aye, A sword, my armor and a horse! Éowyn thought but truth be known she knew that she was still too weak to be of any real assistance.  Still, she must have some occupation to stop the thoughts that insisted on haunting her.  This in between existence was becoming too much to bear, and she would not be an object of pity. “Aye, Alyrin. There is. Can you get me raiment that is not this shift!?”

Alyrin looked conflicted.  She wanted to help her lady, but Master Healer had given instructions that Éowyn was to rest.  “Oh My Lady!  I cannot.  Master Healer gave strict instructions that you were to rest.”  She saw a flash of temper in Éowyn’s blue eyes, but she also saw her rein in that temper to be replaced with resolve.  Lord Éomer’s words leap to mind, “My sister is a very stubborn woman!”  She felt she was about to contend with that stubbornness at present.

Conversely, Éowyn looked at her with a slightly  wild look, “Please Alyrin.  If I don’t leave this room, if I can’t find something to occupy my time, I shall go mad.”  The young healer was surprised by the amount of panic she saw in Éowyn’s eyes.  Resolve and stubbornness she expected; panic she had not.  It alarmed her. 

Alyrin instinctively knew that sometimes rules needed to be broken, sometimes a situation called for different thinking.  She looked at the other woman and knew she needed to be heard. She then realised that she and Éowyn were of a similar size.  “Wait here!  I will see what I can find.”  The smile that she was rewarded with warmed her heart.  It was a smile of relief and a smile of kinship.  She flew to achieve her goal.

After Alyrin’s departure Éowyn sunk into the chair by the window and tried to tame the beating of her desperate heart.  Her brother, her boys and all those who were allowed to go forth were on their way to the Black Gate.  She yearned to be with them. Háláf, Aethelred and Herulinghad visited yesterday morning.  She had been glad to see them, but then a shadow fell on her heart when they said they were to move off to the Black Gate.  Once again, she was left behind.  Once again, she was to sing the Women’s Lament to her soul lest she should send the men off with a heavy heart.  A cage; once again she heard the metal bars slam shut.

Hours later, or maybe it had only been a few minutes, Alyrin came with a gown of dark green wool trimmed with dun colored hand spun lace with ribbon woven through the lace.  “It is my best gown, my mum made it for me before I came here for my apprenticeship.  She said I needed something nice for when I might be among the Quality.  I said I didn’t see that happening all that often.  She said that it was better to be ready for something that might happen than be left wanting when it does.”

Éowyn looked at the gown and tears filled her eyes.  “It is beautiful.”  She looked at Alyrin.  “You are very kind to allow me to wear this.”

“Well, My Lady. I’ve gotten no use out of it.”  She smiled, “And it looks like the kind of you might wear at home.”  She prattled a bit nervously, “Not that I know what the Quality wear in Rohan.  Minas Tirith is the farthest I have ever been from the Lebeninn.”

Éowyn smiled through her tears of gratitude, “It will suit wonderfully,” she stated overwhelmed, not by the dress, though it was very nice, but she never put much thought behind what she wore other than Audience Days.  It was rather Alyrin’s kindness and consideration which she felt unworthy of.  “Thank you.  Can you help me?”  Suddenly she thought of Waerith, her lady’s maid, not knowing if she were alive or dead as she had left to visit family in Aldburg the day before leaving for Dunharrow became a necessity, a lifetime ago or so it seemed.  So much had happened since.  She said a quick word to Béma asking his protection remain over Waerith, took a deep breath and tried to look forward and not back.

Alyrin threw the gown over Éowyn’s head and pulled it down.  Thankfully the sleeves were flared and not tight fitting so they were able to gently guide Éowyn’s injured arm through and then replace the sling so the arm could gently rest. Alyrin pulled the backstrings in to give the dress shape.  Her mother made it practical and easy to don because she knew that her daughter liked fuss-free clothes.  Éowyn looked down and felt beautiful.  “Thank you Alyrin!  You are too kind.”

The young healer flushed and waved off her lady’s comment.  “Her Lady”, that was how she had come to think of Éowyn.  “My mum will simply be pleased it is getting some use!”  She smiled, “I don’t think it ever looked this good on me.”

Éowyn gently admonished her new friend, “Pish!  I think it probably did.  You are too hard on yourself.” 

Alyrin blushed but she held no illusions about her appearance.  Her hair was brown and while she did not think she was unattractive she also knew she was not a beauty if the lack of male attention given was any judge.  Her sister was the beauty, she was the “smart” one or so the saying went.  She sighed, “Now then, properly attired, you can now leave the room.”

“Aye,” Éowyn stated. She touched Alyrin on the arm and looked into warm brown eyes, “Thank you.” 

Alyrin smiled and nodded, “I shall take you to the Master Healer, who is also the Master Warden and has charge over this place.”

Éowyn gulped and steeled herself to do battle with the Master Warden.  She must have occupation.  She needed it.  

They arrived the small office of the Master Warden.  Alyrin spoke with the Master first and then smiled at Éowyn as she left the office.  “He will see you now.  I will see you later in the day?”

Éowyn smiled and nodded.  She watched Alyrin depart and then took another deep breath to prepare herself.  She walked into his office was greeted by the kind, understanding eyes of an older man.  He had a careworn look about him as if he were used to carrying everyone else’s burdens.  She wondered if in times past she did not have that same look about her.  She announced in what she hoped was a confident voice, “Sir, I am in great unrest and I cannot lie longer in sloth.  I need occupation.”

The warden smiled kindly, “My Lady, you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend to you with especial care.  I beg you to return to your bed.”

Éowyn responded firmly, “I am healed,” she paused and replied honestly, “healed at least in body.  But I shall sicken anew if I am not given occupation of some sort.” 

The Master Warden looked at her, tall and proud and resolute; her right hand gripping the chair as she stared.  He bore testament to her pain and her doubt.  How does one heal another and yet rekindle her desire to live, when it is clear she sees no value in it.  It was not a question in all his years he could answer with any certainty.  She looked back at him after staring to the east.  

“Is there no deed to do?”  she asked desperation clear in her eyes.  Grasping at any lifeline, “Who commands this City? Mayhaps he can speak to my need?”

“Lord Faramir, by rights, commands this City.”

“Can I speak to him?  Where can I find him?”  Éowyn stated, then seeing the distressed look upon the kindly face.  “Pardon, I do not find fault with your treatment, Sir.  I have been tended most thoughtfully.  But where can I find the Lord Faramir?”

“None taken, My Lady,” the Warden stated quickly, wishing to set her heart at ease, “And the Lord Faramir currently resides here in the Houses of Healing.  He took serious injury but is now recovering,”  He paused.  “But I do not know–”

“Will you bring me to him?” Éowyn interrupted, desperation causing a harsh tongue, “Then you will know!”  The Warden eyed her then sighed and nodded his acquiesce.  Éowyn nodded and drew in a quick sigh, unsure whether to apologise again or to remind silent, a quiet shame washed over her.  She could not speak another word, explanation dying on her lips.  The master motioned her to follow him.  “Allow me to speak first,” She nodded and followed.  The master motioned to the boy standing at the entrance to the gardens.  It was Eirik, Faramir’s squire, he very rarely left Faramir’s presence entirely such was his loyalty to his lord.  “Eirik!” Master Warden called softly.  Eirik was his side within a moment of his beckoning. “Yes, Master Warden.”

The master smiled at the boy’s eagerness, “Go and inform Lord Faramir that I am here and one who would speak with him.”

“Yes, Warden.”  Eirik bobbed his head and was off to perform his task.

They waited at the garden archway and Éowyn saw Eirik speak to the tall man at the bannister looking toward the east.  The master spoke his name as he advanced, and the man turned.  Éowyn was immediately greeted with a pair of gentle blue eyes, whose emotions seemed to mirror her own.  She could not stop herself from staring as she watched him speak with his squire giving him a kind smile.  The Lord Faramir looked up again and the blue depths seemed to see her, she was caught by the gentle look in his light blue eyes, he seemed to see straight into her heart, past her defenses. There was no pretense or pretension, only an unnerving communion of sorts “...Not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City…” Éowyn suddenly was hearing what the Master was saying.

“‘Do not misunderstand him, lord,’ said Éowyn with fervor. ‘It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged.” She stated this all, wondering how she could admit so much to a man she had known for seconds.  Yet as she stared into the gentle blue depths, she could not help but admit all to this gentle man who had yet to utter a single word to her. “I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on.”

Faramir looked into blue eyes that seen too much.  It was as if he was looking into his own soul.  A restlessness and self-doubt laid upon a fierce desire to prove herself and yet was muted somehow. Discounted and put aside. Had he not felt as much; he lived a life for others yet always overlooked, always doubted by his father. Pity welled up within him for this strong yet fragile, beautiful white flower. He looked back at this lady who from her first glance had touched his heart with pain and pity.  Faramir realised he had not spoken for several moments. Éowyn looked at him expectantly,  Éowyn thought she had not been heard once again, a theme in her life but then in a strong, yet gentle voice as if he were speaking to a thing most precious in his eyes, he informed her, “What would you have me do, my lady?  I also am a prisoner of the healers.”   Éowyn’s heart filled with compassion for with this man as he looked into her heart.  Éowyn received his stare and though she saw grave tenderness in his eyes, she somehow knew that his fierceness in battle would be the match of any in the Riddermark. 

“What would you have me do?” Faramir repeated as Éowyn realised she had been staring He looked at her in admiration of both her spirit and her grief, “If it lies in my power I will do it.” He affirmed continuing to hold her gaze.

Éowyn looked on the Lord Steward ready to make her fervent petition but paused, she was caught by the gentle look in his light blue eyes, he seemed to see her, the portion of herself she kept hidden from others.  Normally this would have angered her, such an intrusion into her private self. But not so this time, in this moment she saw no mockery, no questioning, only compassion and understanding. It quite took her breath away, she shook away such thoughts, she had always scorned the women of the court for sighing over such ideas, such tropes in their silly romantic stories. She has derided such emotions. They were only to be found in the most banal of love poems. Now to her affronted consternation the truth of the emotion was laid before her. This gentle man, for she felt within her heart this to be true, stood before her, taking her breath way. Gamhelm's words from years ago came to mind, “You’ll know because you will see it in his eyes. Remember that.” The truth of those words as she looked into the Lord Faramir's eyes stunned her.  She ran from that realization; she rebuffed what she saw unwilling and unable to accept it and came at him in a strong purposeful voice, "I am well and I must have employment, I must be useful. And the Good Warden will not hear told of this! I beg to be useful.  I would have you command the Warden, and bid him let me go!” but at her core she knew the truth for she was still too weak.  Still it hurt her pride that he might think she were wayward and could not follow a task to its conclusion.  

Faramir was amazed that after her exploits and accomplishment she was still willing to rejoin the battle.  “I myself am in the Warden’s keeping and even if I had already taken up authority in the City, I would still heed the Warden’s words and fully heal.”

“But I do not desire healing,” She near shouted in frustration.  She stopped and took in a deep breath.  He did not deserve her temper.  “I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.  And yet I must sit and bide my time. I looked for death in battle if only to give my life some meaning. Now I am denied even that.  Give me some employment at least, so that I would be useful.”  Her words ended.  Mute entreaty remained a constant in her eyes.

Faramir looked at her with kindness and compassion.  Her soul cried out for duty, lest it should wither and die. Faramir understood that desperate need, that striving for something beyond herself, something to give her life meaning. He had spent his whole life in this search.

Éowyn could no longer hold that gaze that seemed to understand her too well and turned away. Hands on the balustrade breathing deeply trying desperately hard to contain her frustration, her feelings of utter uselessness.  Faramir saw the tension in her hands as she grasped the stone of the balustrade and pity wrapped his heart.  She stood as one who could withstand storms.  Her courage overwhelmed him, and her unrest unsettled him. That one so valiant, so lovely should be laid so low.  He thought before he spoke softly and gently, “It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength,” Faramir admonished softly spoken. He had no wish to give offense. “But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling.”

Éowyn closed her eyes in frustration, "I would have you know that I am not afraid. I fear neither death nor pain."

Faramir's heart was pieced in both admiration and grief, "What do you fear, My Lady?"

"A cage."  Éowyn stopped. The word was more than she had meant to say, far more than she had meant to reveal.

She looked at Faramir, not knowing what she expected to see, but a small almost admiring smile was on his face and the quiet compassion and understanding had not left his eyes, “We do not, cannot know what happens far away.  You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting.”

Waiting.  She looked fiercely to the East. Waiting.  The women’s lament came to mind unbidden.  It was all she was ever asked to do. But then an idea struck her.  Faramir was in the same position being forced to wait.  She looked upon him with new eyes.  A shared frustration perhaps. She was so tired of being alone. “The healers say I must stay abed for seven days more.  I tell you I am well.” She said a little more plaintively than she would have liked. “And my window does not look eastward.” A voice of youth and sadness.  She was seemingly unable to stop her emotions from flowing when looking into those gentle blue eyes.

Faramir smiled a little more and took her hands in his. "Your window does not look East? Well, in that, at least I can help. The rest we will have sit and wait and watch. And if you would consent," Faramir continued tentatively, hopefully, "to keep company with me and we can watch and wait together. It would ease my care and I should very much like that."

Eowyn looked quizzically, “How should I ease your care when I have no care for myself?  And I do not care for the speech of living men.  When I have no care to live.”

“Shall I speak plainly.”

“Aye, I would prefer it.”

Faramir looked at her, “ I say Eowyn of Rohan.  You are beautiful.  In no valley of Gondor is there no bright flower, no maiden borne that I have seen that can match your loveliness or your sorrow.  We may only have a few days more till darkness falls upon the world and I hope to face it steadfastly.  But it would ease my heart should I be allowed to spend these last few days of sun in your company.   As you and I have both fallen unto Shadow and were both brought back into the light by the same hand,”

She had listened to these earnest words with an amazed heart until the mention of the hands of the healer.  At that she stiffened, her shame reminded. “Alas not me, Lord Faramir.  I am still suffering in the shadow.  Healing is not mine to give.  I would be a shieldmaiden meant to die in battle.  My ungentle hand cannot even cure myself.  Think not that I forget your promise.  That I can walk free from my rooms.  And” she broke off here and answered from a heart that does not know how not to give. “Aye, I will walk with you though I do not know why you place a value upon this.  But because you have been kind this I will allow.”

Éowyn looked into his eyes and felt an ever so soft fluttering in her breast, like a bird trying to settle its wings on a patch of cool green grass, to take comfort and ease if only for a moment or two.