Amongst the Ruins

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'' - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.

Chapter One: Fear and Kindness

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will." - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre.

Eowyn paced the confines of her new chamber in Minas Tirth's Houses of Healing, feeling impotent and ill at ease as she stared out at the brooding darkness of Mordor in the distance. Just yesterday she had gone before the Steward, pleading for release from her prison, but she had been once again denied her freedom, receiving an Eastward view in compensation.

She stopped before the open window, her eyes drawn to the eastern shadows once more. The brave shieldmaiden suppressed a shiver at the sight of it, the evil in that place so tangible even from so far. Smoke stained the air, dark tendrils of it creeping resolutely across the fiery sky towards Gondor's capital. Her fists clenched then, as she stood thinking with despair of her brother who had ridden towards that Darkness only a few days before. Would they have arrived at the Black Gates yet? Nay, that seemed too soon, but Eowyn realised with frustration that the only person whom she might know that could tell her when to expect the Army of the West to reach their destination was the very one whom she wanted to avoid. Little could she explain her fearful sentiment to herself, since the Steward had been gracious and warm to her – despite her frosty exterior. The object of her thoughts walked into the gardens below her window and memories of their encounter the previous afternoon came back to her.

As soon as she had seen him she had known him, before he had even turned about she could see that the tall figure atop the walls was not that of the old Steward, Denethor, nor even his boisterous elder son, Boromir. Even as his name was given she had known him to be Faramir, the second son of Denethor. Now Steward himself.

He had lifted grey eyes as stormy and deep as the sea, and she had reeled at the pain they spoke of, dropping her own as she sought to avoid the reminder of her own loss. They had spoken for a time then, and he had regarded her steadily as she spoke of her desires, her wish to follow the captains to war, rueful understand bright in his ever-changing gaze.

"I am also a prisoner of the Healers…" he had said, and she had sensed - for a moment - something like shame or reluctance in his words, half whispered as they were, and it was indeed with shame of her own that she realised she had spared no thought as to why this man remained in the Houses and was not with the Army. It was clear though that he was wounded, for his handsome face was pale beneath its tan and there was a tightness about those kind eyes that bellied his otherwise stoic, pain-free expression. Her shrewd gaze swept over him then, noting that his left arm was bound to his side, largely hidden beneath the green cloak he wore, and Eowyn did not miss the way he held himself straighter as he noticed her attention, as if in defiance or embarrassment, though not a flicker of either emotion passed across his noble visage. She felt that rather his pride rose to the challenge of her gaze and allowed herself a small smile. Here was a true warrior of Gondor.

Once more he asked her if there was aught else he could give her, for freedom he could not grant.

"My window does not even look eastward," she had said sadly, unsurprised that he seemed to understand her unspoken desire, vowing that he would see to it that her chambers were moved so that she could gaze after all their hopes. In the next moment, however, he did surprise her, asking bluntly for her companionship. Yet she chaffed fearfully at his attention, surprised by his forthright manner, and so it was that despite his gallant civility she could not bring herself to agree to his request. Nay, to do so would be to feel again – for already he had stirred more feeling in her than she had allowed since leaving the Golden Hall at Meduseld, breaking into her defences with each swift glance of those piercing eyes. And she had no wish to feel again, to live again. To do so would only bring more pain.

He had accepted her refusal with a smile tempered by disappointment and she had promptly fled.

It was only now that Eowyn realised that the Steward's disappointment may have been caused more by loneliness than her vehement denial of his poetic words. She frowned in recollection of them now, wondering what honesty in his bearing had forestalled a derisive, cynical snort that surely any other would have received for such flowery praise. Yet it was true that she had sensed no guile in him and she blushed anew at his compliments, suddenly struck that his earnest, eloquent words and strikingly handsome features combined to render him a threat. Somehow she had no doubt that the strange combination of traits he possessed, masculinity tempered by gentleness, would draw her to him. As it had in Aragorn. She shifted uncomfortably, recalling the fool she had made of herself before the northern ranger, silently vowing not to let herself be deceived into misinterpreting feelings of warmth and kindness once more. Her pride could not countenance such another lapse of judgement, nor her heart survive another blow so soon.

Her musings were gratefully interrupted by a knock at the door as the elderly Healer, Ioreth, bustled into her room, a bowl of reeking porridge wafting from a tray balanced on one arm. Eowyn's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Good morning my lady! You're up early! Did you not sleep well?" Ioreth exclaimed, only years of dealing with recalcitrant patients rendering her immune to Eowyn's surly glares as she changed her dressings and applied salves to her wounds.

"Nay, Dame Ioreth, I am afraid I find rest elusive," Eowyn said distractedly, her face turned back to gaze out of the window. Ioreth obviously took note of her wandering attention for a moment later she sighed and shook her head sadly, muttering and tutting to herself.

"Another of my charges who finds little rest under my care! He's not slept more than a few hours since his fever broke…"

"Was he very badly wounded?" Eowyn asked curiously.

She was surprised when the older lady stilled and met her gaze gravely. "Aye, my lady, it is a miracle he still lives at all, but there are those who have always said he lives a charmed life, evading death where others cannot. Tis nonsense of course, only his great skill has kept him alive, though being so modest he would never acknowledge that - only those failures that none but himself see. Though perhaps his father could be said to be the cause of that; it would be fair to say he sees...oh, dear... "

The Lady's brows rose at this detailed account and she suppressed a smirk as Ioreth recollected herself, holding her tongue of the gossip that had begun to flow from it so freely.

"I had not thought him to be quite so grievously wounded," Eowyn mused.

Ioreth chuckled at that, though there was little humour in the sound, "Aye, Lord Faramir permits few to see his weaknesses. But you must have met him already?"

"Yesterday," Eowyn acknowledged with a nod.

"That is well, my Lady," the Healer said with a matronly smile, "He has few friends left in the City now that those remaining under his command are gone to the Black Gates and Eru knows how he mourns for the passing of those he lost in the retreat from Osgiliath. Only a handful of his company made it back to the City gates alive, and then only because of the Captain's stalwart defence even as he himself was felled by a poisoned dart. I am sure he would welcome your friendship."

The White Lady felt guilt swell up within her as she realised how lonely he must feel and vowed that she would at least reconsider his request for company. Perhaps he simply sought her companionship so that he might divert his thoughts. She realised that they were not so different after all.

So it was that as the morning turned to afternoon the Lady Eowyn came once more before the grave Captain who turned about at her approach, his sharp ranger's ears alerting him to her movements. She had a moment to register the fleeting glimpse of surprise that passed over his face before he schooled it into stillness once more.

"My Lady, what may I do for you this fine day?" He greeted her with a perfunctory bow as she came to a standstill.

Eowyn felt colour rise in her cheeks as a flash of anger and embarrassment warred within her at the fact he seemed to know she did indeed want the companionship she had spurned and she heard the coolness of her response with a distant wince.

"Nay, Lord. I came only to thank you for the promptness with which you saw to my room being altered."

He shook his head, mercifully ignoring her tone or else blithely unaware of it. She fought the urge to squirm and he bestowed a flicker of a smile on her then, causing her to blush; nay, this astute man could only be ignoring her tone with a gentlemanly tact and understanding that made her both grateful and ashamed.

"It was naught." He said, "I am only sorry I could not do more for you."

Eowyn dropped her gaze then, Faramir merely standing patiently before her as if sensing she had something else to say.

"Perhaps, My Lord, there is one other thing which would ease my mind…"she said hesitantly.

"You have but to name it and I will see it done, if I may," he assured her.

"Then, might I ask you if I may join you in your walk?" she asked, thinking to broach the subject of the Army.

"I would be delighted to have your company," Faramir said, and she could hear the warmth of true pleasure in his voice.

She approached him warily, unsettled by the quiet admiration and attentiveness in his gaze, her body tensed in readiness to flee should anything like the praise of the previous day leave his lips. Yet he remained silent, and the lady felt relief as he turned to lean on the walls overlooking the Pelennor, likewise taking in the bloodied corpses piled upon the field and the smouldering ruins in the distance. The latter she regarded curiously, recalling Ioreth's words earlier in the day and Faramir spoke then, as if reading her mind, and his voice was heavy with grief as she watched him from the corner of her eye.

"That was the city of Osgiliath. Once it was a great place, full of music and peace. Now it lies in ruin – teeming with orcs and filth."

"It must have been a heavy blow to lose..." Eowyn said gently as regret tugged at the Captain's features.

"Aye, for it was our last line of defence between Minas Tirith and the river. But it was already overrun when we reached it."

He fell silent, and Eowyn wondered what horrors he had seen there to give his face so haunted a look. After a few moments he sighed, dragging himself from whatever dark reverie held him prisoner, meeting her gaze once more with a wan smile.

"Forgive me, I was - "

"I understand," she said simply, with a shake of her head. "I am sorry for those you have lost."

He looked back at her steadily and she felt as if a wordless understanding rippled between them as his expression softened, "As am I for you."

Eowyn avoided his gaze, fighting to retain her composure before him. Tears beaded in her eyes before she could control them even as she jerked her head in wordless acknowledgment, her reluctance to continue speaking obvious. It was once more with grateful relief she noticed the young Captain turn away to allow her a moment to steel herself against reality. Emboldened by his sensitivity she swallowed her pride and asked in a whisper,

"How long to the Black Gates?"

She looked intently at the pale stones beneath her feet as she spoke, not trusting herself to meet the gaze she now felt so keenly upon her for fear of the pity she dreaded to see. But there was only a flash of sorrow, quickly stifled as the captain wrested control over his features.

"At least a week, perhaps even ten days," he answered in an equally hushed tone, his gaze drawn back to the East as if by will alone his eyes could pierce the veil of distance. But even his keen ranger's gaze had no hope now of sighting the Army and silence fell between them once more as they each grappled with their thoughts.

"My Lord?" A tentative voice caused Faramir to turn about, anxiety clear on his face. "Damrod has awoken. He asks for you, my Lord."

Faramir let loose a sigh of relief and sagged, grasping at the low walls of the garden with his unbound hand. "Thank Elbereth," he murmured. He turned to the messenger, smiling so widely that dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. "That is glad news indeed. I will come to him, and all the others, as soon as I may."

"You need not delay on my account, my Lord," Eowyn interrupted, determination clear in her gaze. "But if I may, I would come with you and see those of Rohan who also reside here."

"Forgive me, my Lady, but the sick rooms are no place-" the messenger spoke hastily before Faramir could respond, but it was with a sharp eye and a low voice filled with warning that the tall Captain forestalled the young lad's interruption even as Eowyn's eyes flashed with ire.

"You would do well to remember whom you address. Lady Eowyn is no swooning maid; she fought on the Pelennor and defeated a foe greater than any man, and as such if she desires to speak with her men it shall be so. We shall come presently."

The messenger flushed and bowed an apology to Eowyn before departing, though she scarcely acknowledged his words, busy as she was gazing at the Gondorian at her side in surprise.

"There are few who would defend my actions as you just did," Eowyn said, not sure herself if she could countenance and defend them quite so honestly. She found herself subject to his penetrating stare then as he turned about to face her once more. He regarded her silently for a moment, and she dropped her head to avoid his gaze, feeling stripped bare by the understanding she saw shimmering there, and he waited until her gaze came back up to meet his own before speaking once more.

"There are many more than you think, my Lady, and as for myself: I admire what you did." He said simply.

Eowyn left the ward with the warm feeling of gratitude swelling in her heart. She had been welcomed by her people with cheers and good humour, and all had been awed by her deed. She had been humbled and shamed by their devotion to her and was glad she had asked to see them, vowing to do so each day in penance for her desertion of those others who had needed her help and protection. In time she made her way back to the garden where she found Merry in close conversation with the Steward. Both looked grave and Eowyn was shocked to see tears rolling down Merry's cheeks. She watched as Faramir sank to one knee before the hobbit, resting a hand upon his shoulder as he met his gaze and spoke softly. She could not hear what was said but was warmed when Merry gave a watery smile in answer. Feeling as she were interrupting at a sensitive moment she chose to hail them loudly, feigning ignorance of what had transpired.

"Wes du hal!" she called, raising a hand in greeting.

Merry spun about and his face broke into a weak grin at the sight of her as Faramir rose to full height once more, his gaze heavy with private thoughts. He gave a quick but wan smile of greeting which faded rapidly from his face as a messenger arrived to see him. He excused himself and hurried off to meet the man, holding a conference with him at a bench at the far end of the garden. They watched him for a moment before Merry blew out a sigh and gave a shake of his curly head.

"They give him no rest," he murmured.

"Nay, he gives himself no rest I think." Eowyn responded sagely, wondering when she had developed such a keen sense of insight, but then perhaps it was only because she herself would give anything to have her time and mind occupied and be of use. She seated herself upon one of the low stone benches framing the paths, Merry following wordlessly, concern clouding his normally rosy disposition.

"Aye, perhaps you are right," he said, "He is an honourable man, and responsible for so many. I cannot imagine what it is to bear such a burden!"

But Eowyn could. She knew what it was to be responsible for others, and a heavy weight it was indeed. How could he face it so selflessly? She mused on what little she knew of the Steward for a while, pondering his strange character: it was true she had deemed him gentle when first they met and his insightful instincts had made themselves known, and though she had also seen in him a formidable warrior, she sensed in him now a more subtle undercurrent of steel, for he was one quick to set aside any consideration of himself in favour of the duties and cares that bound him to others. His sense of honour was obvious, if quiet, and Eowyn found she could not help but admire his reserve in this matter for she was too used to Rohirric boasts.

Their contemplative silence was broken when Ioreth bustled over to them with a tray. Merry's stomach rumbled loudly as she unpacked the selection of cheeses and dried meats before handing them each a plate and Eowyn could not help but grin as the hobbit shrugged by way of explanation.

"I missed second breakfast!"

A/N: TBC...