Ch. 40 - Lost in Blue Eyes

“My Lord?”

Faramir blinked and then looked at his Squire, “Eirik, I am sorry.” He pulled the large blue mantle out of the satchel that he had sent the boy on an errand to retrieve and held it for the boy to see before draping it over his arm to stroke it gently, “This mantle belonged to my mother, she died when I was five. It always brings back many memories.”

Eirik looked at the cloak and judging from the look on his lord’s face, his mother must have been a lovely mum. It curiously made him miss his own mother, who was blissful still alive even after the horrors of the past weeks and living on the third tier.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Eirik.”

“I am at your service, My lord.”

“If you could leave me now. I wish to be alone.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Eirik bowed and placed his hand on heart and a concerned look on his face.

Faramir looked at him, “I’m all right, Eirik. But I thank you for your concern.”

Eirik bowed again and left.

Faramir looked at the blue mantle. It was his prize possession. It had been given to him when he was eight by his father, a rare moment of compassion and understanding. It had not lasted but he had the mantle of a reminder of that moment as well.

He had sent Eirik after it because he wanted to give it to Éowyn. He wanted to see her wear it. It was a reminder of his first happiness and his first grief. Her sadness spoke to him and he wanted to see her wearing this symbol of love.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Uncle! I am here!” Éowyn sat up in bed and for a few moments she thought she was back in Edoras.  She thought she heard her uncle calling.  Then she looked around and realised this was not her bower but unfamiliar surroundings.  She looked around again, breathing in and breathing out.  Slowly she remembered.  This was the Houses of Healing.  She was in Gondor and her uncle was dead.  She tried to stop the racing of her heart as she once again accepted this reality.  It all came crashing in around her.  

Sleep had not come easily for time out of mind. Ever since her uncle had begun his descent, upon Grima’s instigation, and his deterioration had become noticeable, at least to her.  She slept lightly, on edge should he need something during the night.  She sighed and swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stuffed them into the fur-lined slippers Alyrin had so thoughtfully provided.  She looked around at the borrowed clothes, her armor sitting off to the side, unused and now clean of battle filth.  Borrowed clothes; borrowed time.  She had meant to die in battle, but that goal like all the others was taken from her.  She felt bereft.  Devoid of purpose.  Empty.  She walked to the window as she shrugged on the borrowed robe, another gift from Alyrin. The sun had just come up.  She looked east for how long she was unsure.

A knock came at the door, “Come!” she responded perfunctorily.  Alyrin entered with what had become something of a morning ritual, two cups of tea.  Éowyn responded to her friend.  “Alyrin, thank you.”  She cast a longing look to the window and then walked to the little table where they shared morning tea, a strange Gondorian custom but Alyrin seemed to like it.

“Good morning, Éowyn!” Alyrin said cheerfully.  She was chagrined to see the empty, lost look in her friend’s troubled blue eyes.  “Did you sleep well?”

Éowyn settled into her seat at the table, snuggling her robe about her. “Not very.” She sighed, “I dreamed I was back in Edoras and thought I heard my uncle calling for me.  I tried answering but I could not find him!” Tears formed in her eyes.  “Then I woke up and remembered why I couldn’t find him!”  Éowyn struggled to not cry.  

Alyrin got up, “Oh my friend, these times are hard!” and knelt at Éowyn’s chair, “It will take time.  But it does no good to keep the grief stoppered.” She grasped Éowyn’s cold hands.  Éowyn sniffled, “Of course,” She threw her shoulders back and looked at Alyrin, “You are right!”  She looked pensively at her teacup.  Alyrin was probably right. But it was difficult to stop the habits of a lifetime. It was the story of her life.  After devastation and disappointment, she would set aside her emotions, pick herself up and move on. There was no other choice; her life demanded it, so many people depended on her strength.  But now what did she have?  Her uncle was dead.  Éomer had ridden off to an uncertain fate.  She had deserted her people in Dunharrow.  Duty had guided her for so many years.  She had nothing left.  She had given everything to a future that looked to be fading. 

She stared morosely into her teacup. “Éowyn?” she looked up from her cup and saw the concern in Alyrin’s eyes.  

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Éowyn apologised.  She sighed and then took a deep breath to shake off such dark thoughts as she had been having.  She gave a pained smile, “I’m not very good company this morning, am I?”

“Sometimes life crowds in and around and we can’t help but feel it is all too much.  But these are days when companionship is needed.  We will get through them.  You are not alone.” 

Éowyn smiled her gratitude for Alyrin’s word and indeed her presence. She took a sip of the sweet milky tea and tried to allow Alyrin’s optimism take root though it found ground that had toughened by disappointment and however much Éowyn wanted to believe in Alyrin’s optimism, life had been teaching her differently over many years.  She felt hollow inside and tired.  After Alyrin left to do her morning rounds, Éowyn sat for a bit gazing east.  She was not sure how long it had been but suddenly she felt like she needed to feel the wind on her face and decided to venture out into the garden.  She stopped at the archway and saw Faramir.  His back was to her and she could have easily slipped away but it was not in Éowyn’s nature to shy away from life, to hide.  And Faramir had been so considerate of her; she did not have it in her to slight his kind presence. 

“My Lord,” she said, rather more formally than she would have liked but it was always a defense used whenever she was feeling unsure or off balance.

Faramir turned and gentle blue eyes found hers, “Faramir,  please.”

The gentleness in his eyes took her breath away.  She was drawn to the kindness she saw there.  She could bask in it, but she could not let herself for more than a few seconds. “Very well,” she voiced in a voice just above a whisper, allowing herself to bask this much kindness, “Faramir.”  He smiled and it lit Éowyn’s heart before she could stop it.

Faramir looked uncertain.  He stumbled over his words,  “You were cold last night, so I brought you this.” He picked up the mantle from the bench and held it in both hands.

Éowyn gazed upon the mantle. It was a beautiful piece of work. Deep blue velvet with silver stars embroidered on the collar, armholes and hem. She touched it, and her fingers reveled in the softness they found. “It’s beautiful.” she whispered. She looked at Faramir, who held such a look of love, that it gave her pause.  She pulled her hand away, alarm ringing in her ears, “I cannot take this. It is too beautiful.”

Faramir’s face fell just a little, “Oh please. It was my mother’s. I want you to have it. And besides you’re cold. You need something.”

Éowyn looked at him, this sweet, gentle man.  He only wanted a kind word.  But she had nothing to give him. Not even herself. She was ungentle; doubted; she felt undeserving.  And he deserved so much.  She reflected on what Alyrin had said about him and his relationship with his father.  Her heart wanted to salve his wounds but she had nothing left to salve it with.  Nothing to give him. But she still allowed him to place it on her shoulders because she saw in his face to deny it would be to hurt him greatly and that was something she could not do. Not after all the attentiveness and warmth he had shown her.

Faramir looked at Éowyn in the blue mantel and she looked more beautiful than he could have possibly imagined. But she was shivering even as she was wrapped in his mother’s cloak.  He ached to touch her, to give her the comfort she so desperately needed, but he did not because he somehow knew she was not ready yet.  He knew in his heart he would wait for that day when she would accept him.  She already lived in his heart.  Her pain, her grief, her valor sat upon his soul.  There would be no other for him.

Éowyn ventured a look into Faramir’s eyes and she saw undying love and an immense pool of pity, though he tried to hide it.  The love she never sought and the pity irked her.  She would not be an object of pity.  She had a thought to take the cloak, hand it to him and run back inside.  But she could not hurt him, not after so much kindness from one who it seemed had received so little of it in his own life. So she stayed looking toward the east and thought of another man who asked nothing of her which was somehow easier to think on, though it brought its own attendant pain. 

Faramir followed her gaze, “Where do you look, Éowyn?” Though he need not have asked. The whole city waited for the answer she sought.

“Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?” she said, voice choked with emotion, “And he does not come? It is seven days since he rode away.”

Something struck Faramir as she spoke, she had said “he” not the army but “he”. Something Merry had said when first they spoke can to mind. He spoke of the closeness of Éowyn and Aragorn. He realised a portion of her hurt. The King who had saved Faramir and given him hope again. It was he that she mourned.

Thunderbolt though it was he put it aside for he could not think upon it at that moment. He turned to her, stroked her cheek and spoke to make what avowal he could, not knowing how it would be received, “Seven days, yes. Please do not think ill of me, but these seven days, filled with uncertainty and foreboding and grief, I have found joy, a joy I never thought to find. But it is combined with pain, because we know not what will come from the East. It pains me to think that I might lose that joy that I found. Selfishly I would not have this world ending, losing what I have just found.” Faramir looked into Éowyn’s eyes searching for anything that might give him hope.

Éowyn’s eyes were grave but soft.  She looked at this kind, gentle man who was standing with her having made an avow of himself.  She closed her eyes so she could not see the pain in his eyes. She had nothing left.  No hope, no direction, no duty, all the ways she defined herself were gone. How can you give when you have nothing? She began quietly, gently having no wish to see hurt in blue eyes that had probably seen so much rejection in his own life.  “Lose what you have found? I do not know what you could have found. Come my friend, Let us not speak of such things. Let us not speak at all. I fear an abyss is before me and know not if there is light in back of me. I await some stroke of doom.”

Faramir saw distance in her eyes. His heart bereft, “Yes, we all await the stroke of Doom.” he said hoping he managed to keep the disappointment from his voice.  And he said no more because in that moment all seemed to be held in total stillness not just for them but throughout the City. Even the rustling of the leaves and wind through the trees, time seemingly stood still. Their hands had sought each other and they waited. For what they did not know.

~*~*~*~*~

In the coming days Éowyn had bouts of despondency.  She still kept company with Faramir.  Their time was pleasant and undemanding; he spoke no more of joy discovered and the future but he was a stalwart friend offering her companionship and made the interminable waiting a little easier to bear.  Merry visited often and made Éowyn’s days lighter with his laughter and storytelling.  They bond grew for he was lonely, too.

Éowyn visited both Háling and Leoulfwine often.  It was late afternoon when she found herself at their doorway.  “My lady, how are you doing?  Please enter, you are always welcome.” Háling stated cheerfully.

Éowyn smiled and entered their room. Háling was recovering nicely from the sword wound he had taken to the arm, but she noticed that Leoulfwine was more subdued than he had been earlier.  She sat down next to the boy, “Leoulfwine, are you well?” 

“Granted he isn’t talking a mile a minute!” Háling chimed in, “Thank the Valar I say!”

Éowyn felt his forehead.  He was burning up.  “He is running a fever!” Háling’s changed from one of merriment to one of concern.  Éowyn checked Leoulfwine’s bandages on his head and on the shoulder wound both of which required stitches.  Both were clean and healing well.  Then she spotted it. It was a small scrape, just deep enoughalong the bottom of his other forearm which was now looking inflamed.  She looked at Leoulfwine, “How did you get this?”

Leoulfwine looked confused, “I don’t know.”  He shook his head and then winced after the motion.  

“Did you at any time have your gauntlets off during the battle?”

He shook his head again and it was obvious to Éowyn that he was having trouble clearing his head.  Háling interjected, “Aye he did! At one point after the battle was winding down he saw another Rider down with a stomach wound and it was bleeding pretty bad. He took his gloves off to apply some pressure and sent me to find a medic.”  

Leoulfwine swallowed hard and continued, “I was trying to clear a space to get to the wound and as I was doing that I sliced my arm on by an orc blade that had fallen close by.  I didn’t think too much about it as my shoulder and head were bleeding more.” He stopped and scrunched up his face, “I think I’m going to lay down a little. He stood up and swooned just a little before Háling steadied him.  “Háling,” Éowyn commanded, “Take him to bed and I will go and get Alyrin!  She is just a few rooms down.”  She dashed two doors down and saw Alyrin as she was leaving the room, “Alyrin!  Leoulfwine is not well, he has a fever and a wound on his arm looks to be infected.”

Alyrin rushed back with her to the room shared by the two boys.  She pulled up a chair by Leoulfwine’s bed.  She felt his forehead; he did indeed have a fever.  She checked the bandages for the stitches but they were fine.  It was the small slash along the bottom of his arm that was warm to the touch and a bit tender evidenced by the wince that covered the young man’s face when it was touched. She looked at Leoulfwine, “How do you feel?”

The boy replied, “Not good at all.  I feel feverish and a little chilled.  Also a little nauseous.”

Alyrin pursed her lips and said, “And you received this wound in the battle?” She was concerned because the battle was a week ago and this wound should have been tended.

“Aye, but it didn’t hurt all that much.  My head and shoulder were more of a problem.”  

Alyrin looked bemused, “  “I will go and get Master Healer!  He will know what to do.”

Éowyn sat on Leoulfwine’s bed, “I don't know whether your grandfather would be proud of you for helping the wounded or upset that you injured yourself in the process.”

Leoulfwine replied weakly with a chagrined smile, “Probably both.  And I always thought healing was the safer of the two options.” He laughed and it turned into a cough.  Éowyn’s worry flared anew.  

Master Warden came into the boys’ room and Éowyn got up to make room.  Alyrin followed with a basket filled with healing accouterments.  He performed the same assessments as Alyrin.  He examined the wound and slowly his face lost some of the concern from when he first entered the room.  “Well, the wound has not putrified, that is a relief.”  He saw the inquisitive looks on faces.  He answered those looks, “you see here around the wound, it is red and tender but it is not weeping nor are there any striations surrounding the wound.  That would not have been a good sign at all.” He continued his assessment.  “We need to wash out the wound.  It needs to be cleaned and then wrapped in a poultice to draw the infection out.  This is going to hurt, young man!  Éowyn, why don’t you sit in back of Leoulfwine and hold him and have him bite down on this.” He handed her a biting spoon. She did as asked and cradled Leoulfwine from the back, supporting him.

“Here my love,” she said to Leoulfwine holding the spoon, “Bite down,”  She smoothed his sweaty hair and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“What can I do?” asked Háling, wanting to help his friend.

Master Warden just realised he was in the room and needed something to occupy his worry.  “You can heat up this tea, not to boiling, mind you, but warm and then pour it into this mug.”  he handed the boy a clay mug.

Háling took the tea sachet in a small metal pan and the mug and started to warm the tea over the small hearth fire in the room with water provided by Alyrin from the box she had carried in.  

 “Alyrin, hold the arm steady and place this basin under it.” The master warden continued.  He first washed the wound with spring water and then said, “This distillation of my own creation can clear out wounds but it can carry a sting.”  He flipped a glass vial over with his finger stopping the flow.  He lifted his finger and a few drops fell into the wound. From the way Leoulfwine bucked Éowyn could see that “sting” was an understatement. “Sorry, Lad. You are doing fine!” Master Warden repeated.  “One more drop!” He lifted his finger again.  Leoulfwine again bucked but not as hard.  “Done, Lad, Done! You’ve done so well!” He washed the arm again with water and Alyrin emptied the basin into the bowl below.

Éowyn wiped Leoulfwine's forehead with her sleeve and kissed his forehead again, “You were so brave, my love, so brave.” 

“Only for you, my lady.” Leoulfwine whispered.  Éowyn smiled and smoothed back his hair placing another kiss on his forehead.

“Right,” The Master stated, “Now for the poultice and we shall wrap the wound in clean gauze and let the poultice do its work.”

“What is in the poultice, Master Warden?” Éowyn asked, curious.

“Well My Lady, it is coriander leaf and sage leaf crushed to release their essence and a little of honey to speed healing.”  Éowyn nodded fascinated.  She watched as Alyrin assisted in helping the Master the wrapping of the wound, he spread the poultice over the wound and then he wrapped the arm with a light gauze three or four layers thick.

“Now,” The Master turned to Háling, who was just pouring it into the mug as instructed and handed it to the Master, ”I have this tea brewed with Coriander, sage and chamomile to help reduce fever and to help him sleep.  He must drink all of it!” The Warden instructed as he was handing the warm to the touch mug to Éowyn. 

As both of Leoulfwine’s arms were currently incapacitated, Éowyn, still holding him from behind, held the cup to the boy’s mouth so he could drink it slowly.  She hummed softly as Leoulfwine drank.  The Master Warden noticed her natural soothing touch she had as she put the boy at his ease.  Soon Leoufwine drifted off.  Éowyn sat smoothing his hair gently.

The warden sat back and looked at Éowyn, “What caused you to start looking?”

“Well, he wasn’t his usual talkative self and I started to look for why.  His other bandages were clean and that's when I saw the wound.”  Éowyn said in a quiet voice as not to wake the sleeping young man.

“Good thinking and good instincts,” the warden asked, “did you ever study healing?”  

Éowyn blushed, “No, I just been injured a lot and I would talk to Leoulfwine’s grandfather, Leoulf, our court healer about how I could help some of the people of Edoras be with their ailments.” The master Warden looked at Leoulfwine, “He is Leoulf's grandson?”

“Aye?  Do you know him?”

“For years.  I have not seen him in quite some time but we write back and forth.  Small world sometimes.”

Éowyn smiled. “What else can we do for him?”  The Master Warden thought, “You are doing it right now” but he did not say that. 

“Well he needs watching overnight to see how he fares and we need to keep a watch over his fever.”

“I will do that!” Éowyn affirmed.  

“Very well, Alyrin, put the water and the cooling cloths near to where Lady Éowyn can reach them.  Wipe down his forehead and arms every so often to help him stay cool.  Good night to you my lady.”  Éowyn smiled.

“I will drop by a little later, check on him,” and you, Alyrin silently added.  

“Aye,”  Éowyn replied.

When Éowyn looked up Alyrin noticed that her friend’s eyes had lost some of the strained, haunted look that had taken up residence in blue eyes.  She smiled in relief.

Éowyn had found purpose, taking care of others Alyrin mused. She would talk to Master Healer about Éowyn making rounds with her. It would give her the chance to focus on something other than herself and it was what she had been asking for.  She came back later in the night and found Éowyn mopping Leoulfwine’s brow as he slept fitfully. “I hope the fever breaks soon.” Éowyn stated.  “Could you help me up.  I need to get up and I need a little help at this point.”  Alyrin helped Éowyn extract herself while not disturbing the boy too much.  Éowyn stretched painfully trying to shake out the pins and needles from the leg that been bent the whole time.  

“Éowyn, you take your rest.  You must be exhausted.  I will take over.”  Alyrin offered.

“No, I will stay.  He is one of my boys.  I will not leave him.” Alyrin tried to argue, but Háling spoke up as he re-entered the room.

“Tis no use arguing with her, my lady, when she has that look on her face.  Many have tried … and many have failed.”

“Thank you, Háling! I can fight my own battles,”  Éowyn looked at him with the air of a big sister, Alyrin noticed. “I will be fine.  I just needed to get up and stretch a bit.”

Alyrin sighed with one look at Éowyn’s she realised the truth of Háling's words, “I will at least bring you something to eat as you have missed supper. In that I will not be gainsaid.” Alyrin challenged.

Éowyn acquiesced, “I am a bit peckish if truth be told.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

That was where Faramir found her in the morning when he did not see her at breakfast.  Alyrin said she had tended Leoulfwine overnight.

“Should she have been?  She has still not fully recovered herself.”  A concern for Éowyn’s health drove the displeasured note in his voice.

“Begging your pardon, my lord.  But it was not Alyrin’s fault.  Once Lady Éowyn has set her mind to something, there is no stopping her.  And woebetide any who should try to stop her.” Háling interjected.

Chagrined, Faramir looked to Merry who was seated to his left, “Is this true?”

Merry nodded yes, his eyes wide, “She is a very determined lady when her mind is made up.”

Faramir finished his breakfast and needed to see for himself.  He laden some breakfast bits onto a trencher along with some sweet hot tea. 

“With a splash of milk in the tea.  She has grown very fond of tea with milk.”  Alyrin instructed.

Faramir splashed some milk in the tea and looked at the assembled crew, “Is there anything else or may I go now?” Merry looked about the assembled mob of the caring and said brightly, “Nope, I think that is everything. You may leave.” The hobbit finished with a mischievous grin on a face where the bruises were starting to fade. 

“Well thank you, Master Meriadoc, for your leave,” Faramir said with a smile in answer to his friend’s cheekiness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Faramir found Éowyn tending Leoulfwine, wiping down his brow and then gently wiping his arms down, minding the bandages in the path of the cleansing cloth.  He was enthralled.  Her movements were so graceful.  He could see her in profile and she was determined upon her task.  She looked at him and he did not have time to replace the look of love from his face.  “You are so beautiful,” fell from his lips before he could stop it.  He was delighted by the life and fire of purpose he saw briefly in her eyes.

The look of chagrin on his face after his inadvertent admission found its way into Éowyn’s walled off heart. He was not trying to cajole her, she knew this at her very core.  She could not love him, but some part of her was wondering why that was. Another piece of her wall dissolved, lost in blue eyes. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: The reference to when Faramir's father gave him his mother’s mantel is not canon; it is in reference to another story I wrote called “A Bond Remembered.” also on here.