Duty

As they walked together to the Houses of Healing after the oath-taking ceremony, Éowyn cast several glances towards Faramir.  He did not turn to her, but presently he said, “Is there aught you wish to ask, lady?”

Éowyn flushed slightly, but she asked in a steady voice, “The king—is he truly coming?  Does he intend to take your place?” 

“I expect Lord Aragorn to present his claim,” Faramir replied. “I will answer him, after conferring with my Council.”

“Answer him—you can refuse him, then?”

“Do you wish me to?  Are you concerned for me, Lady Éowyn?”  There was a hint of mirth in his voice.

“Nay, I am only wondering—o, very well.”  She turned to fully face him.  “Yea, I am concerned for you, Lord Faramir.  You speak of Gondor like one speaks of a beloved lady.  What will become of you if you are no longer its lord?”

For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the trees above them.  Faramir’s gaze was gentle yet unyielding, and Éowyn knew that not even the Nazgul had deterred this man.  

“It is very kind of you, lady.  Did I sound like a lover when I spoke of Gondor?  Perhaps.  But I was not the Lord of Gondor until recently; I never thought I would be.  I find I like my new duty, but I have not grown to love the authority.”

Éowyn thought back to their early days in the Houses of Healing, when it had seemed very likely that the Host of the West would perish, and Minas Tirith would face another siege—one they might not survive.  

Even then, when being the Lord of Gondor seemed more a burden than an honour, she did not recall Faramir uttering a bitter remark.

She could well imagine him surrendering his place to Aragorn with the same grace and quiet dignity.  

  

“Do you have lands of your own, Lord Faramir, that will remain yours, should you no longer be the Steward?”

To her surprise, Faramir smiled happily. “You do worry for me!  My family owns lands in Minas Tirith and in some other regions of Gondor.  Some of my forefathers, not to mention some of their ladies, were shrewd administrators.  I am a Captain of Gondor; I have a seat in the Council.  Are you satisfied?”

Éowyn’s cheeks flushed.  Surely he did not misunderstand and think that she was assessing his prospects as her suitor?

Yet the worry in her heart prevailed and she pressed on.  “Even if you accept Lord Aragorn’s claim as the King, please think of yourself, Lord Faramir.  He should give you a position befitting your lineage and qualities.” 

Faramir regarded her steadily.  “I will not bargain with the King, Éowyn.  Either I accept his claim and serve him completely, or I let Gondor remain without a king.”

After a brief pause, he continued kindly,  “But I do not make light of your concerns, which are right and for which I am grateful.  Everyone has treated me and my brother as princes; my father was a king in all but name.  

“I have wondered, too, how it would be to serve someone other than my own father.  Yet what is the use in wondering?  I will do my best to fulfill my duty, as I always have.”

Éowyn had tried her best to fulfill her duty, and it drove her to despair.   Now, while she still thought the role assigned to her was unfair, she also felt like a child who lacked the discipline to apply herself to a task.

“Have you always been content with your duty, lord?  Do you not have anything that you wish for yourself?”

“In this I have been fortunate.  I love my land, my lord and my people.  My deepest wish is to protect Gondor, and that has been my duty.”

Éowyn glanced at him.  The wind ruffled his dark hair, and for a moment, she wondered how old he was.  At times, he looked young; at others, he seemed a sage of great age and wisdom.

She said hesitantly, “Yet I have heard that you prefer the solace of books and music to the clash of swords in battle.”

Faramir’s gaze did not waver.  “Ah, you have heard some people talk of me?  Yea, there were times when I wished I could spend my days reading and writing.  But when it comes to defending our land and people, there really is no question or reluctance. I believe most people think the same way.”

His voice grew softer as he continued. “You have borne burdens I have not, Éowyn.  You had a courage the match of a Captain’s.  Was it not a great pain to see your land threatened, your lord consumed by despair, and yet not allowed to fight to defend them?”

By now, Éowyn was no longer surprised that he understood her.  “You men are fortunate,” she said, a note of envy creeping into her voice. “Your duty allows you to defend what you love.”

“But you have defended your lord at the end, lady, against such a deadly foe.”

He looked at her with understanding and great respect. Yet, under his gaze, Éowyn felt compelled to examine and acknowledge her failings.

“I deserted my post,” she said in a low voice, admitting it more to herself than to him.

He regarded her.  “What was the post which you deserted?”

“Before my uncle left for battle against Isengard, he charged me with leading our people to Dunharrow,” she replied.  

“I completed that task,” she continued.  “Then, after the battle at Helm’s Deep, he came to Dunharrow to muster our people to ride here.  He did not give any further instructions to me, yet neither did I return the rod he gave me, nor did he appoint another to lead.”

Éowyn paused, remembering.  “There was Marshal Erkenbrand.  Theoden King appointed him to lead the defence in case of any attack.  But I was the only one left of the House of Eorl.  Everyone understood that I should lead the people as the daughter of Eorl.”

They had almost reached the Houses of Healing when a cold breeze swept past them.  Éowyn pulled her mantle tighter around her body.  Her eyes fell on Faramir’s cloak, which had loosened slightly from its clasp.  Almost without thinking, her hand moved to adjust it.

Her fingers brushed the fabric, lingering just briefly on his shoulder before she realized what she was doing.  

Their eyes met, startled, her hand still resting on his shoulder.  His expression was one of astonishment, as though she had done him a great honour.

They both looked away quickly, the moment stretching between them.

“Thank you,” Faramir said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically uneven.

Then he asked, “Shall we take a longer path?  Thus we may continue our discourse.”

Éowyn nodded, her cheeks warm despite the cold weather.  Together, they turned away from the entrance, their steps now slower.

“What compelled you to ride to Gondor, Éowyn?” Faramir asked.   “Did you wish so greatly to join the battle?  Or had the duty at home become unbearable?”

He spoke about the burden of duty as one who had experienced it, and it dawned on her that he was not a strange being born with infinite forbearance.  He, too, had felt the burden of duty.  He had become the man he was through many conscious choices, effort and resolve.  

“I sought death,” she said, deciding that his plain question deserved a plain answer.  "And if I could perform some glorious deed before I died, that would be an added blessing.”

“Why did you seek death?”  He asked as one might ask a weaver or a healer why they chose their trades—a simple inquiry.

“I was weary of my duties.”  She looked away, setting her gaze on the winter blooms lining the stone path.  

“In recent years, Theoden King had sunk into despair and old age feebleness,” she continued.  “Gandalf healed him just before they rode to Helm’s Deep.  I had grown weary of waiting upon faltering feet.  Since they faltered no longer, and had ridden to win renown, I thought, why should I not do the same?”

Faramir remained silent, as if knowing that this was not the only reason.

She spoke again, in a softer voice.  “As the King declined, some had whispered insolently, ‘What is the House of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs?’  

“I felt such pain and anger when I heard that, but I could not help suspecting that it was true, at least partially.

“And if Gondor fell, the Enemy would not stop there—Mordor’s creatures would come for Rohan, too.  Rather than die in captivity, I chose to die in battle in Minas Tirith, to have my death remembered, sung for years to come.  If I had to die, I would choose how and with whom I would die.”

As she uttered her last words, Éowyn saw Faramir’s expression tighten, as if a shadow had passed over him. 

She saw pain in his eyes.  He looked away briefly, then nodded for her to continue. 

“Did I say something wrong, Lord Faramir?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Pray continue, Éowyn.”

She hesitated for a moment, thinking whether she should ask what had caused him such pain.  

But he shook his head again and said, “Pray continue, Éowyn.  We will talk about me some other time.”

Éowyn nodded and returned to her reflections.  There was her bitterness about Aragorn—but she did not wish to tell that tale to Faramir, at least not now. 

Choosing her words carefully, she said, “And when Lord Aragorn and his companions came to Dunharrow, I had hoped that they would fight with us.  When he chose to take the Path of the Dead, I felt all hope was lost.”

Faramir’s brow furrowed at the mention of the Path of the Dead, but he did not ask, perhaps restraining his curiosity to let Éowyn finish her story.

But Éowyn felt she had spoken enough and was silent.  Faramir waited, giving her chance to speak again.  Finally, he asked, “Do you still seek death now, or wish for it?”

The answer came swiftly in Éowyn’s heart, surprising herself.   “Nay,” she said.

At her answer, she saw something in his eyes—more than the relief of seeing another person choosing life.  Was that joy, and admiration?

Although he did not ask further, she felt the need to say more.  “When I decided to ride to Gondor, all I thought about was my bitterness and my death.  I was not thinking about my people or who would lead them.”

Faramir smiled.  “I think you are wiser than you paint yourself, Éowyn.  Did you not send a message to Marshal Erkenbrand before you rode?  Or entrust a trusted person to lead the people?”

“I sent a message to Erkenbrand,” she replied.  “But still, I deserted my post.  My valour in battle does not erase that, does it?”

“Nay, it does not,” he said firmly.  “But neither does your rash decision—if we may call it that—diminish your valour and the great deed you accomplished.  Console yourself with the good that came from your riding here.  And you can still make amends for leaving your post.”

“Amends?”

“Amends to your people,” Faramir said.  “You once placed yourself above them, when you were weary and duty seemed unbearable.  Now that you have gathered new strength, place your people first.  Defend them when you return to Rohan.”

“But Éomer is King and he will be there; they will not need another to defend them,” she said, puzzled.

“Do we have to be rulers to defend our people?”  he replied.

Then he smiled.  It was such a sincere smile, which made Éowyn wonder why she had ever thought glory in battle was the only thing worth pursuing.

And he looked at her tenderly, which made her imagine that he found her remarkable despite her failings, and stirred all manner of wishful thoughts within her.

Then he spoke again.  “Shall we go to the Houses now?  I will not stop by, for if I do, I will be tempted to sit in the garden with you until the sun sets.”

She laughed softly.  “Certainly, lord.  Go, your duty awaits.”

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