Work Text:
Glory in Death. That’s what Éowyn always believed she had wanted. Always wising for the one thing she wasn’t supposed to have. For she, though a member of the House of Eorl and shieldmaiden of Rohan, was still just a woman in the eyes of everyone around her. A woman whose job was to sit a home while the men rode off to glory and renown, showing their courage in fearsome battles. All the while her courage, a match of even her brother’s, was to be locked away in a cage just as she was to be locked away to grow old and wither away never knowing the glory her soul sought. She against the consul of Aragon had gone after that glory. She had ridden into battle, had stayed by her kings side to the end, and had fought and struck down the Lord of the Nazgūl to protect him in his last moments. Her courage, skill, and strength proven but the glory of death eluded her as she was wretched from death and the foul spell that had befallen her by Aragon as her brother tells her it is truly his doing. Eomer didn’t stay long with the war with the Enemy still looming over them he left her in the House of Healing under the watch of the healers eyes and the news that she would have to stay behind again this time bedridden, while he went off again to a chance of glory, renown and death. The healers eyes did indeed watch her, they watched her like she was a wild mare who was ready to bolt at any minute, as she laid in bed at the mercy of them and her racing thoughts.
She was not strong enough to even leave her bed until the third day of her sentence caged in the House of Healing on this day she made her way to the Warden demanding her release or any news of the battle eastward only to be directed to the Steward of Gondor, a striking man with dark hair, wise kind eyes, and the aura of a great warrior perhaps greater than all of the other Riders, who like her was also held prisoner by the Warden. He did not have the power to release her or himself from the Warden’s power but did arrange for her to be moved have an eastern facing window and he only asked for one thing that she remain in the Houses so that he could see her. She didn’t know what to make of this request but abided by it did nothing to impede her and did more for her than him and he did hold up his word having her moved so she had a window looking eastward.
So she stayed in the House of Healing and she would walk the gardens, under the eye of the Warden who now watched her with a glint in his eyes as if he was up to or waiting for something to happen. What did he want to happen she did not know but he watched her especially when she walked the gardens and conversed with the Steward of Gondor.
The first day walking of the gardens was her fourth day in the House of Healing. Still no tidings from the East as she walked across the walls looking out over the white city and beyond. Lost in a daze she passed as a ghost clothed in white glowing under the sun until she heard her name called out. Turning she saw the face of Faramir before making her way down to him.
“My lord, how fare you this day?”
“I am better because of sight of you. Will you permit me to walk the gardens with you,” he extends his arm for her to take if she should so choose.
“That was part of the agreement, was it not. I am to be seen, to talk, and to walk with you,” giving her unbroken arm for him to take, “Now where in the garden shall you lead me?”
“I am not going to cage you in an agreement to me you do not have to walk with me just seeing you for one brief moment is enough for your beauty to speed my recovery.”
“You flatter me with your words but I will remind you that I am a shieldmaiden. My hand is not gentle but bruised, broken, and stained with blood earned, it can not help you heal.” Taking her hand in his he looks down into her grey eyes.
“Let me be the judge of that fair lady.”
So they walked the gardens, lush and teeming with abundant life, bright and green it was in the dimness of the world around it. They find themselves sitting under a tall tree shading them in a dim shadow. Sitting in the garden was like being in a small sanctuary from the evil that was ravaging the world just beyond the tall black stone walls of Minas Tirith, while she was stuck here caged by the Warden, left behind by her brother and chances of glory in death. Looking out she wonders what was happening as her brother and all the Captains rode to glory or ruin against the Enemy.
“You still wish to be there with them.”
“Yes my lord, my mind and heart did not change overnight. I still wish to gain glory and die like Theoden, but I am denied and am caged away here.”
“You have glory. You with young Master Merry defeated the dreadful Witch King when no man could. You gave us a chance to make it through the siege, alive.” He looks out past her towards the east grey eyes swirling like the storm on the horizon, “but still death may yet find us here, at least you will be ready to meet it however unfortunate that would be.”
Silence and stillness fell back over them as they looked out over the garden, the only disturbance was the healers coming out to gather certain herbs. The sun moved higher into the sky still making its climb through the sky as they sat there in silence the morning dew slowly evaporating around them as they felt the strange stillness over the world, as if waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to change, to see which way the world will fall. Will it fall into darkness or be saved for the light, would her story be part of it and would she be remembered for any renown and glory in deat-
“My lady,” his voice breaks the calm silence, “may I ask why?”
“Why what, my lord?”
“Why do you wish for death ?” His grey eyes seem to bore into her own, stopping any dry quip behind her teeth.
“My lord, have you ever wished to be something more?”
“ Yes .”
He laid on the field. He watched as friend and foe moved around him, sometimes just barley missing him. The blood swept through his leathers coating his hand in it as he tried to apply pressure to keep as much inside as he could, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He was going to pass out. He was going to pass out either from the blood loss or the intense pain burning through his blood. The arrow was still lodged in his body and he could feel it shift every time he breathed. The pain increasing with every beat of his heart. The arrow had been poisoned. He quickly thought about how maybe he wrong just a second ago. He was going to pass out from the poison and probably fade away into a deep darkness and probably never come back.
His thoughts quickly moved from the thought of what was his imminent death to try and hold on just a little while longer. If he was found soon he might make it. Make it back. Make it home. But what awaited him at home? Would his father finally love him? Would he at least have his respect? He did all of this, all of this just so for once his father might show even a little inkling that he cared for him. Because Faramir was not Boromir. He was too much like his father where Boromir had not been. Too much of a distorted image that started back at Denethor, showing him his own flaws. Faramir would like to believe that it wasn’t always like that. Like to believe that sometimes his father did actually love him as many others would say. But the words of others did not comfort him, did not satisfy the need to feel the love of his father, to hear say so those words himself. The words he so often heard Denethor say to Boromir without restraint. He wanted- it was getting hard to remember what he wanted as his thoughts slowed with his breathing and the last thing he remembered was the call of his name and the feeling of arms lifting him off the ground before everything faded to darkness.
She watched him for a while as he was lost in thought his keen eyes unfocused as he started out into the distance. She was just about to reach over to maybe snap her fingers in front of him when he suddenly turned back to her eyes still a little unfocused.
“I wanted to be loved and respected,” then he rose from the green grass and extended his hand to her, “now I do believe we have been out here for quite a while,” looking up she finally noticed that the sun had finished it’s climb sitting high in the sky shining right down at them, “we don’t want to miss lunch, and my wound has began to ache. I would like to see you again tomorrow if that is something you would like.” Taking his hand she rose, eyes looking into his for answers but he wore a mask well. Almost if not just as well as the one she wore herself.
“I did warn you. I have not a gentle hand that will help you heal.”
“My lady,” bringing her hand to his lips, “You have far gentler hands that many I have known.” So he lead her out of the gardens eyes gaining more focus as the moved slowly. After grabbing lunch they went on their separate ways of being fussed at by healers and waiting for any tidining of joy or of ill.
The next day came and Éowyn stood by the walls yet again and waited for Faramir to call her. She could not lie to herself she wanted to know more about him. Wanted to know where he went yesterday in his memories and if he might be someone who understood more than she originally believed. He seemed like he might truly understand what it was like to want to be something more than you were allowed.
“Éowyn,” his voice floated up to her from down the stairs of the great walls, “to the gardens?”
“Yes, my lord. May we sit under the green tree, I feel like we will not have many more days like this and I’d like to spend them in the lush green if not on the field of battle?”
“If that is what will make you happy then so shall it be, my lady Éowyn.”
They walked over and went to sit in the grass under the lush green tree. The wind blowing at Éowyn’s hair causing it to swirl around her like a golden curtain. She began to fumble for her tie to get it under control but before she could, she felt a hand reach up into the golden curtain. She stared at Faramir his hand holding a couple strands in his hand eyes showing a deep fascination with it.
“My lord?”
“I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t know what overcame me I should have asked before touching your hair,” he drops the strands reaching in his pocket pulling out a tie, “Do you need help with it?” Slowly nodding her head yes, she turned her back to him as he slowly and carefully, as if he was savoring it, braided her golden hair into a long but comfortable plait laying against her back, “There it shouldn’t bother you now.”
“Thank you, my lord,” turning back to look at him, “my lord, may I ask where did you go of to in memory yesterday and who’s love and respect do or did you want so much?”
“You may ask and I will tell you. I went back to the field where I laid wondering if I was going to die on the field and if through that would my father love me or would he love me more if I actually came back alive. But I will never know now.”
“Why not?”
“My father Denethor is dead, burned on his own pyre and wished to take me with him. Were it not for Master Pippin and Gandalf I would have perished in the flames and would have never looked upon your fair beauty.”
“That is awful! I am sorry for your loss and that you suffered such horrible things, my lord.”
“Fret not fair Éowyn, believe it or not I oddly find comfort in it. It is like he finally showed me he cared for me even if just in the slightest bit and though during a time of madness.”
“We do not have to talk of things that are so sorrowful. I say we should sit in the silence of the garden and take it in while we can.”
“I do as my lady commands.” So that sat in the garden a soft silence settling over them. They found a comfort in it while they still could. Then the day ended and they went their separate ways to be again fused at by healers.
The third day was like the other but they decided not to speak of heavy topics but of fond childhood memories, Éowyn recalled when she rode on her own for the first time, to her first sword fighting lesson, finally to the time her and Eomer’s hair got covered in sap causing them to lose a couple inches of length. She then listened avidly as Faramir spoke of the adventures he had with Boromir a sad smile spread across his face as he told her of time they both snuck out of their history lessons only to end up covered in mud as they tried to hide from their tutors, to when Boromir showed him to hold a sword properly and that to fight nobly but never make it easy for your opponent so if you could throw a punch you do it. So that day passed as did the formalities of my lady and lord.
The fourth day the pressure in the air began to change. It pressed down on them as they sat in the garden under their tree. With this change Éowyn looked over into Faramir’s eyes before speaking softly.
“I wanted to be loved and respected too. I wanted to be more than a woman. I wanted them to sing songs of my glorious death to be worthy of the same glory and renown as my ancestors. I wanted to die for that. I was never given the chance even though I was like my brother in everything but gender. That is why I sought death on those fields. I almost found it too. I would have been remembered as a hero and now what am I to be.” Throughout her whole speech not once does he look away from her but he nods and places his hand on her shoulder pulling her into a soft embrace where they stay, sitting under their tree as the air grows colder around them.
“You said you wanted to be. What do you want now?”
“I don’t know yet. What do you want now, Faramir?”
“I still want to be loved but it is from a different source that I seek to be deemed worthy of their love.” Silence finds them again in the cold air under the vibrant green branches. At least until the healers came to fetch them fussing about how it was getting cold for them to sit out there with no true cold weather gear and so the fourth day came and went.
The fifth day started with the bitter cold and talk of dread and of the fear of loss and grew even closer without realizing when it had happened Éowyn found her hand clasped in his and leaning into the comfort of his embrace and wanted to chase the feeling from the still lingering kiss on her brow. Éowyn in seven days trapped she had found someone, who she felt could love her but the thought was to much to bear and would only end in more sorrow like it had before. The clouds and cold then began to pass, the sun shines brightly down upon them as a shadow of a great Eagle flew in proclaiming the great victory and the city cried out in joy. The people’s voices rising up to join that of the Eagle’s.
Through the next few days she lingered in the Houses, walking again like a ghost draped in dazzling white, standing on the walls looking down on the city, ignoring her brother’s pleas to join in the celebration of glory in death. She did not wish to think of such things because where was glory in dying young? for what? to be apart off a ballad for someone to sing at a feast to become a legend? Why did they wish from death when maybe glory was found in something else like lif-
“Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?”
She looked to him, understanding what she wanted. And she said, “Do you not know?”
“Two reasons there may be, but which is true I do not know.” His answer brought a small smile to her lips for it was so like him but she quickly dropped it for she wanted to know if his flattery had been all bolster.
“I do not wish to play at riddles today Faramir. Speak plainer!”
“Then if you will have it so lady,” he said a knowing smile crossed his face, “you do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not”
“I wish to be loved by another,” her heart was beating fast racing in her chest, “But I desire no man’s pity.”
“That I know.” His speech continued but she did not hear it lost in the swirling thought until he called out her name-, “Look at me Éowyn,” She stared into his grey eyes swimming with emotion, “Do not scorn the pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn, but I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I love you. Éowyn, do you not love me ?”
He racing of Éowyn’s heart sped up and she stood under the sun’s rays, feeling loved and understood, “I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun, and behold! The Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, no vie with the great Riders, nor take joy in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.”
Faramir then laughed a merry sound she had grown quite fond of delight at the prospect of marrying her, of being with her, to make a new garden of their own.
“What would you have your proud folk of Gondor say of you: “There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?”
“I would, except I would change one thing, because only a fool would have claimed to tame you,” And there on the wall under the sunlight sky he kissed her, and she kissed back smiling into it as they felt their hearts left with joy. Hand in hand they went to the Warden and together proclaimed, “Here we stand and now we are healed.” Éowyn smiled at him and realized that what she now wanted could be summed up simply as an opposite of glory in death. She knew now what she wanted. Glory in Life.