*Some short sections of text in this chapter are taken from The Return of the King, property of J.R.R Tolkien & the Tolkien Estate. All of my fanfiction is not for profit.
News came early the next day that the army had reached the Morgul Vale. Keren knew that Dannor, marching on foot, would be more tired, less ready for battle, than the folk on horseback, and all she could do was hope that he stayed tired, as it meant he was still alive. She worried for Pippin too - surely one so small had no chance, other than to be a burden to those that were protecting him, like Beregond.
Then there was her newest, and strangest, acquaintance. She still puzzled over his description of her as an elf-friend, and it was a surprising, sad thought that he might not return, that she might never see him again.
As for Faramir, there was now a little awkwardness between them after the events of the night before, but both strove valiantly to pretend otherwise. That morning she helped him move to another private room within the Houses, smaller but more finely decorated, and the Warden finally got his room back.
"When exactly am I allowed to hear of my father's death?" Faramir finally broached the subject she had been dreading. "I'm well enough now to bear such tidings."
"Lord Elessar commanded us not to tell you until you were fit to take up your duties. That time is still far off."
"But why must I wait?" he asked. "Surely you see that not knowing what actually happened is making me dwell on all the possibilities of what could have befallen him?" he said, his hands clenching together as he knelt forwards in his chair. "In my mind I have seen him stabbed, or drowned, or burned. Please, Keren."
"My lord, I – " Keren felt for him, but was afraid to break her word. "Faramir," she corrected herself. "Were you close to your father?"
He looked sharply at her.
"All in this city know I was not. But that doesn't mean I don't grieve at his passing. He was a fine steward, in his way, and he loved my mother."
"Do you remember her?" Keren wondered.
"She died when I was five," he said quietly. "After my birth she became ill, and never recovered. I'm told many women are low in spirits after childbirth but this... whatever she had, I'm sure was what eventually killed her. I believe it began when father became the Steward and she had to remain here. She was not used to living away from the shores of Dol Amroth, and her heart began to fail. My father blamed my birth for her illness, her death, and he has never forgiven me."
Still and stony-eyed he sat, looking much like his father. There was no emotion in his voice, for the childhood wounds long buried had lost their potency. Keren wanted so much to take his hand, but was uncertain after the night before how to proceed.
"I believe my father feels the same about me," she said eventually. "My mother died when I was eleven, and he told me she was never the same after I was born. I didn't know any different. But when she died she seemed happy to be leaving, as if life was too sad for her to bear."
Both felt as if they had shared just enough, and Faramir, no longer wanting to speak of his father, stood and stretched.
"Let us shake off this melancholy mood. Will you join me for a walk in the gardens?"
"I wish I could," she said, "but it must be past ten, and I'm supposed to go to the Lady Éowyn. Although perhaps my sister could go..."
"Lady Éowyn?" Faramir asked. "Wait, Éowyn of Rohan, niece of King Théoden? Why is she here rather than safe in her own country?"
Keren blinked in surprise.
Of course he would not know she was here, she realised. My care of them has been quite separate.
"The sister of the new King of Rohan, now," Keren explained. "Her uncle lies dead within the citadel, slain in battle out on the Pelennor. She's in our care, for she was wounded."
"She fought?" Faramir wondered.
"Very bravely, by all accounts," Keren said, but then stopped herself from telling more of the tale. She did not want Faramir to know too much of the beautiful White Lady.
"I should really go to her..." she tailed off.
Faramir smiled.
"Very well, do your duties," he said. "I'm sure I'll survive a walk in the gardens alone. But come and find me when you're done, if you wish. Some time alone is good, but too long and my mind turns inward, to things I'd rather not think of."
She nodded, turning to leave. He touched her hand briefly in passing, and she tried not to let the joy show too openly on her face. Both were relieved that they had got through a whole morning with no mention from either of what had almost happened between them the day before. As the closing door parted them from each other they knew that whatever it was between them was still just as strong. Strange as it seemed to both, they knew they had been brought together for a reason.
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Éowyn stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself, dressed in naught but her nightshift.
"Good morning, my lady," Keren said. "Shall I fetch you a shawl?"
Éowyn turned sharply to face her, paler than ever. She was slightly short of breath, and Keren deduced that prior to her entering the lady had been pacing the room.
"You can fetch me some proper clothes," Éowyn said. "I mean to leave this room today, I'm going mad."
"Nay, my lady, I don't think that's wise," Keren said.
"You say no to me?" Éowyn replied. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, I have to get up or my mind will turn!"
Keren was shocked. Finally something other than indifferent coldness from the famed Shieldmaiden of Rohan.
"I understand that, my lady," Keren began, "but I can't allow – "
"No, you do not understand," Éowyn interrupted. "I have to get out of this - this cage. Do you know what it means for me, to be trapped inside? No - you know nothing about me or my life. You know nothing of how I feel being here, a helpless patient, almost always alone. When I'm awake I remember things I do not wish to remember, and when I sleep, for there isn't much else to do, I dream of those things. I long to talk to people, I want fresh air, and to see the mountains. I – I cannot..."
Éowyn gathered her breath, grimacing as she held her broken left arm close to her after trying to gesticulate with it.
"Please," she begged Keren. "I will not be gainsaid in this."
So wild was the look in her eye and so desperate was her voice that Keren feared the lady would make herself more ill in her distress.
"Alright," she said. "But you can't go far, you're too weak and your arm is still not healed enough for my liking. I suppose if I put it in a sling you may go for a short walk. I'll bring you a gown to wear, you and my sister are of a height. It won't be anything like what you're used to wearing I'm sure, my lady. I'll send for a seamstress later."
Éowyn waved her good arm as if to say she would be happy dressing in a sack as long as it meant escaping her room. Keren left swiftly.
The white kirtle, as it turned out, gaped a little around the chest, even when laced tightly, and Éowyn's long legs meant it allowed her bare feet to be seen. Éowyn tutted and awkwardly tried to pull on the boots she had worn in battle with one hand. Keren knelt to help her, and then proceeded to put her broken arm in a sling so she would not be tempted to try and wave it around wildly as she had before. She slipped a shawl over the lady's shoulders, to disguise the fact that the kirtle was too large.
"And now what is your plan?" Keren asked Éowyn. The lady had sat down on the edge of her bed, looking tired from her efforts already. "I can't allow you to go far."
Éoywn looked determinedly up at her.
"You will take me to the warden," she said, "and I will tell him I wish to leave this place."
Keren, knowing that Éowyn would not be argued with, helped her to rise. But she knew that the warden would not permit the lady to leave, for he respected Elessar's commands.
Together they went down the corridor, the White Lady's long strides, despite her weary state, meaning Keren had to do an awkward half-run just to keep up with her. She knocked on the door to the warden's office, and the two women entered, one far more confident than the other in how the meeting was to play out.
"The Lady Éowyn wishes to speak with you sir." Keren awkwardly stated the obvious. "Shall I wait outside?"
"Yes, Keren, please," the warden said, looking stern at seeing the lady out of her bed.
Keren retreated quietly and stood outside. A week ago, she realised, she had clung to this very door as she heard the news that Faramir had been struck with a poisoned arrow.
How long ago it seems, she thought, and how much has happened since then!
The lady's high and passionate voice carried out into the corridor for anyone to hear.
"Sir, I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
"Lady," the warden answered, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back."
Keren grimaced.
"I am healed," Éowyn said, "healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease."
Liar, Keren thought, but feeling respect for the lady's bravado.
"But I shall sicken anew," Éowyn went on, "if there is naught that I can do. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing."
Keren frowned. She did in fact have news of the army, but Éowyn hadn't asked.
"There are no tidings," said the warden, "save that the lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."
Keren was surprised to hear the warden speak at such length, and so candidly, but his words appeared to rile her charge.
"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter."
Keren raised her eyebrows.
The warden appeared to have no answer, and Keren heard him sigh heavily.
"Is there no deed to do?" Éowyn's voice rang out again. "Who commands in this City?"
"I do not rightly know." The warden sounded a little lost. Keren did not think he would have ever had a woman speak to him so abruptly before. "Such things are not my care. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."
No! Keren thought immediately. Don't bother him with this, he's healing himself.
"Where can I find him?" Éowyn's voice grew higher in hope and frustration.
"In this house, lady," the warden said, causing Keren to huff with annoyance. "He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know – "
"Will you not bring me to him?" Éowyn interrupted sharply. "Then you will know."
The door opened quickly, and a harassed looking warden caught Keren's gaze.
"Is the Lord Faramir in his room?" he asked her quickly.
"He's probably still in the gardens," she said blandly.
Éowyn swept past her, and gave her a look that bade her follow. Something about it made Keren think that she was not quite as comfortable as she appeared giving orders.
Does she want me there for support? Keren wondered. Little use I will be to her.
The warden led Éowyn to the gardens, Keren following behind, and there the three of them beheld Faramir standing alone by the walls, looking east.
"My lord Faramir," the warden said gently so as not to make him start.
Faramir slowly turned his face from Mordor, expecting to be told to go back inside and rest. He saw Keren just off the warden's shoulder in her familiar healer's garb, but standing next to her was a woman in white, unknown to him, with long straw-coloured hair flowing down to her waist. She was wearing men's boots, and a rough brown shawl over her shoulders. She was pale, and the sling around her left arm showed that she was injured. Taller than Keren by over half a foot, he could not deny that the lady drew his attention from her briefly. She stood still and graceful, but he could see the wild look in her eyes, and the quick rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to contain her breathing. It seemed to him she had the rather desperate air of a caged bird, fluttering on the brink of freedom.
"My lord," said the warden, "here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan."
Faramir gave a quick look to Keren with recognition at the name, then bowed deeply to the lady.
"She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping," the warden went on. "But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."
Neither Éowyn nor Keren cared for the apologetic tone he put into his voice.
Perhaps I could support her after all, Keren thought wryly. But Éowyn needed no support in the end.
"Do not misunderstand him, lord," said Éowyn, and Keren saw her fighting not to roll her eyes. "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. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on."
Faramir felt great pity for the lady rise in his heart, although he thought that was something she would not welcome. With a small gesture of his hand he ordered the warden to depart, then with a far longer look, silently bid Keren to go. He knew it would hurt her to be dismissed, and he of course did not wish for her to leave, but the lady deserved privacy.
Keren had to stop her lips from parting in disbelief. Never had he sent her from his side before. She had always been the one to leave, always with a promise to return. His gaze, though, was apologetic.
The quicker I have dealt with this, he tried to tell her with his eyes, the quicker we can be alone again.
She gave a quick courtesy, turned quickly and walked back to the Houses, unable to keep a feeling of unease from building in her heart.
"What would you have me do, lady?" she heard him ask Éowyn as she walked away. "I also am a prisoner of the healers."
She almost stopped dead.
He could not have meant it, surely?
A prisoner? Did he see her as a guard of some sort, who wouldn't leave him alone? But surely he wished to spend time with her, enjoyed their hours together?
Or perhaps all this time he was just being kind to me, she worried, and in fact he can't wait to get away.
The rest of the conversation was lost to her as she walked inside.
She felt strangely lost that afternoon. She had no charges to care for, as they were now busy. Together.
She decided to distract herself by going to the hobbit's room. Merry was awake and in fine form, cracking jokes, telling tales of his home. Keren saw the friendship that had quickly grown up between him and her sister. She had not seen Palen laugh so much in a long time, especially as the smallest moment of quiet would prompt her mind to wander to Dannor and their father on their way to the Black Gate. When Keren told her that her old white kirtle was now being worn by a royal daughter of Rohan she giggled in disbelief, before staring at the doorway, where someone now stood.
"Master Meriadoc," Faramir said as he entered the room. Only Keren, with her watchful eyes, noticed the sheen of sweat on his brow. Truly he was not at full strength yet. "I wish to talk with you."
"Do you wish for us to leave my lord?" Palen asked quickly, throwing a cautious look at Keren.
"I do not, but the Lady Éowyn asked for you to go to her Keren," he said.
"Then I will go to her, of course, my Lord." Keren tried and failed to hide her disappointment. Her heart was quickly made glad when, in front of the hobbit and her sister, he squeezed her hand. Keren noticed Palen staring at their entwined fingers.
"We shall see each other tomorrow?" he asked.
"If you wish it," Keren said simply.
"Always," Faramir replied. "Mistress Palen, you may stay if you wish."
Palen shook her head awkwardly and muttered something about not wanting to intrude.
"Please stay, Pal." This from Merry.
Faramir smiled at the near besotted look the perian threw at Keren's sister.
"Aye, stay – you may be able to answer my questions too," he said. "For you have spent far more time with the subject of them than I."
Questions about me? Keren wondered, and hope rose in her heart. The same thought seemed to have occurred to Palen as she shot her younger sister a look full of disbelief.
With a smug smile over her shoulder at Pal, Keren left the room.
When she reached Éowyn's room she saw the Lady valiantly trying not to look exhausted.
"Faramir said you wished to see me," Keren said, and immediately panicked that she had not used his title, but Éowyn seemed not to notice.
"Yes," Eowyn said wearily, "just to thank you for today."
"Oh," Keren let out, surprised. The lady had thanked her for her care before, but this was the first time she sounded as if she really meant it. "You're welcome, my lady, although I do wish you would get into bed now."
Éowyn readily admitted defeat and allowed Keren to removed the kirtle and her boots, before falling onto the layered mattresses.
"Was Lord Faramir of any help?" Keren asked tentatively.
Éowyn was silent for a moment before replying, and Keren first thought she had fallen asleep already. But then she shifted where she lay so that she could see Keren.
"Yes," Éowyn said, although she still did not smile. "He was kind, and very patient with me. He told me he will instruct the warden that I shall be able to walk in the gardens as and when I wish, so that I can always look to the east when the mood takes me. I don't think he knows what that means to me. All my hopes lie there, with the one who has command of..."
She cut herself off, and with those few words Keren knew why Éowyn had asked so fervently after Elessar, or Aragorn as she called him, and why she so badly wanted to know of tidings from the East.
Éowyn looked almost angry, as if daring Keren to comment on her slip.
"The Lord Faramir, he is a kind and caring man," Keren said instead, and Éowyn nodded gratefully. "He will do all he can to help you, I'm sure of it."
"Yes," she agreed. "He was...most courteous. I can see why all the people of this city trust him so keenly. You know him well?"
Keren knew not how to reply.
"I learn more of him everyday he is in my care," she said carefully,"but I have long known what a great man he is. He had little love from his father, but now he has the love of the whole city."
"He has your love?" Éowyn asked sleepily.
Keren wondered if it was a loaded question, but the lady looked close to sleep, so she decided it must be an innocent query.
"Yes, my lady," she said. "I believe all who know him learn to love him." She smiled to herself as she repeated the words of her prophecy.
Just none so much as I, she thought, as she watched Éowyn drift into sleep.
Éowyn had not mentioned that the Lord Faramir had told her she was fair, nor that he had asked her to meet him again in the gardens, for such things seemed unimportant when Aragorn was perhaps even now meeting his doom.
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Faramir retired for the night well aware that he had not spent half as much time with Keren as he, and no doubt she, had hoped that day. He would make up for it tomorrow. But he had felt he had to do his duty by the White Lady, and had gone to find out more of her from Merry, so he could understand what made her so distant and sad. She had cried when they had spoken, sounding lost and alone, and so cold and serious was she in the face of her unknown fate that he found himself awkwardly complimenting her beauty for want of something positive to say. He regretted it, for several reasons. After speaking with Merry he felt he understood her desire for renown and recognition, and her fear of pity. Palen also had told him of her desire to be looked on as an equal by men, not to be viewed as a burden by anyone.
He had given her a polite invitation to walk with him in the gardens, but when he had returned there with Merry in the evening they had found the garden deserted. She had not come, and he was surprised at the disappointment he felt. It would be easing a burden, he realised, to converse with another who had experienced the fell hand of the Nazgul.
He dreamt of Keren that night. He saw her as he had that first time, an unfamiliar face in the crowd by the gate, her dark eyes shining, that feeling of hope radiating from her. He looked for her green gown, but saw instead that she wore shimmering grey, and held in her hand something that produced so bright a light he could not see what it was. When he drew back in surprise he noticed two more figures. Beside her stood a woman he had never seen before - an elf, he realised, seeing her pointed ears. She was beautiful, with hair of midnight and eyes of mist. She wore a gown of blue, and a crown - a crown of Gondor. And to the other side of Keren, even stranger, stood the elf with silver hair that he had only ever seen once, and that but briefly, two days ago from the walls. He stood in fighting stance, his longbow ready to be loosed, the arrow pointing straight at Faramir's heart.
Images:
1. Lasting impression - property of Anke Eissmann.
2. Legolas - property of Olga Tereshenko. There are many great pieces of art depicting Legolas and his bow, but this has always been my favourite. I'm sure it's been used in many LOTR stories but it's truly stunning. The most dreamlike too, so perfect for this part of the story.