"Poison may be healed," Faramir says. "Come here, Èowyn."
He places a hand briefly on her back, guiding her towards a nearby wall. They face North, but he looks downwards at the rest of the city. The siege was but a few days ago, and most of the city is empty--the men riding East with the Captains, the women and children evacuated. But still some have remained, either to aid those who must remain for duty's sake, or to aid those who could not leave, or because they refused to abandon their homes. Most of those visible are older or younger, not fighting age, but all have one thing in common: they are busy.
Faramir gestures as he speaks. "See, there--that man on a ladder mending a roof, or that woman leading her donkey, or that merchant hawking his wares...they do not know you, will likely never do more than see you at a distance. But they live today because of your choices. For if you had not slain the Witch-king, the city would surely have been overrun." His eyes flicker to her face, then back to the streets below. "Your actions were not for nothing. You could not save your uncle, and I know how that must grieve you. But though the glory you sought is hollow next to that grief, it does not mean your victory is as empty. To me--"
He breaks off for a moment, his hand tightening a little on the rock wall, his eyes fixed. The man on the roof moves slowly but with precision, placing each plank of wood carefully and affixing it. "To me, the glory is not in the battle, but afterwards," Faramir says finally. "In the picking up of pieces after all seems broken. We must sing songs of valor, I think, for the horrors of war are very great. But what do we fight for, if not to make way for peace? That--" He nods his head towards the man on the roof. "That is the victory. Not a slain enemy on a field, but the rebuilding that follows.
"But before rebuilding, there must be healing, must there not?" Now he looks back at her. "Which takes time, and I think you have allowed yourself but little time for it, though your wounds were deep." He does not mean merely the injury to her arm. "Perhaps you will yet pay a price for your desertion of your appointed duty; perhaps you already do, in your awareness of it. I am not your judge. But you need not yet find your path. First you must build the strength to walk it when it becomes clear to you."
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He places a hand briefly on her back, guiding her towards a nearby wall. They face North, but he looks downwards at the rest of the city. The siege was but a few days ago, and most of the city is empty--the men riding East with the Captains, the women and children evacuated. But still some have remained, either to aid those who must remain for duty's sake, or to aid those who could not leave, or because they refused to abandon their homes. Most of those visible are older or younger, not fighting age, but all have one thing in common: they are busy.
Faramir gestures as he speaks. "See, there--that man on a ladder mending a roof, or that woman leading her donkey, or that merchant hawking his wares...they do not know you, will likely never do more than see you at a distance. But they live today because of your choices. For if you had not slain the Witch-king, the city would surely have been overrun." His eyes flicker to her face, then back to the streets below. "Your actions were not for nothing. You could not save your uncle, and I know how that must grieve you. But though the glory you sought is hollow next to that grief, it does not mean your victory is as empty. To me--"
He breaks off for a moment, his hand tightening a little on the rock wall, his eyes fixed. The man on the roof moves slowly but with precision, placing each plank of wood carefully and affixing it. "To me, the glory is not in the battle, but afterwards," Faramir says finally. "In the picking up of pieces after all seems broken. We must sing songs of valor, I think, for the horrors of war are very great. But what do we fight for, if not to make way for peace? That--" He nods his head towards the man on the roof. "That is the victory. Not a slain enemy on a field, but the rebuilding that follows.
"But before rebuilding, there must be healing, must there not?" Now he looks back at her. "Which takes time, and I think you have allowed yourself but little time for it, though your wounds were deep." He does not mean merely the injury to her arm. "Perhaps you will yet pay a price for your desertion of your appointed duty; perhaps you already do, in your awareness of it. I am not your judge. But you need not yet find your path. First you must build the strength to walk it when it becomes clear to you."