If Faramir does not know how Éowyn feels, he can hardly be blamed-- for she barely knows it herself, anymore.
The relief and elation that had buoyed her spirits some days prior in the wake of Mordor's fall seem dissipated like smoke in the wind, her old fears and uncertainties replaced with some variation of the theme. For days, the wait had tormented her; all things poised as if on knife's edge. But the world had not fallen into ruin and doom after all. That is well, she sees now, no longer vying for death, but...
But. What path is open to her, now? She has tasted glory and renown, and it has brought her no satisfaction. And she has abandoned her people, those who needed her the most, to achieve this. That remains unchanged. What of homecoming; how will those folk welcome her? How is her role to be like, in Éomer's court? Eventually he will marry, and the new queen shall take her place managing Meduseld. What will be left for her?
Her brother as written to her anew, beseeching her once more to reconsider joining him in Cormallen; but how can she? How can she stand amidst their joy when she feels so discontented, so restless, herself? How can she witness Aragorn's triumph and glory, and not immediately be reminded of her foolish, childish infatuation? Embarrassment prickles in the back of her mind at the mere thought. Nay, her battered pride cannot take it. It is better to stay here in Minas Tirith, though she misses her brother. Merry, too, for all that the hobbit has barely been gone a few days.
Too, she misses Faramir, so busy tending to the City and its folk. Of course, she could never blame him for doing his duty. But their previous meeting in the Houses had been only barely less formal than their brief conversation immediately after the investiture ceremony, and Éowyn cannot help but wonder if perhaps their closeness and solidarity had been created solely by the dire circumstances and the fear of the ending of the world. Perhaps, he had merely allowed his better judgment to be clouded by the day's triumph and joy, when he had begun to speak to her of things she could not bear to hear then, and he had at last come to his senses. Perhaps it was simply her and her inexplicable heart, clinging to yet another noble lord showing her kindness after such long darkness. She does not know what to do, about anything.
Try as she might to keep herself busy, she feels so very lonely and hopeless again-- not unlike during those dark times living under Gríma's menace. It is all a veritable maelstrom of discontent, swelling and gathering and settling within her chest; a dull, hollow ache behind her breastbone. Éowyn knows the healers look upon her with pity once more and it irks her, causing her to snap at urgings to eat and drink her tea. As if that will make any difference. She tenses when she hears someone approach, hardly in the mood for more lectures.
But it is not some poor apprentice, Ioreth nor the Warden. It is Faramir, and her heart skips a beat before beginning to gallop wildly. Why is he here? She does not know, but his presence is nearly a tangible thing, his soothing voice burrowing under her skin.
Éowyn does not tear her gaze from the horizon, but the tension about her mouth and eyes softens, chin dipping just a little. "Is that why you have come all this way?" she asks softly at length. "To see the sun?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-12-10 07:49 pm (UTC)The relief and elation that had buoyed her spirits some days prior in the wake of Mordor's fall seem dissipated like smoke in the wind, her old fears and uncertainties replaced with some variation of the theme. For days, the wait had tormented her; all things poised as if on knife's edge. But the world had not fallen into ruin and doom after all. That is well, she sees now, no longer vying for death, but...
But. What path is open to her, now? She has tasted glory and renown, and it has brought her no satisfaction. And she has abandoned her people, those who needed her the most, to achieve this. That remains unchanged. What of homecoming; how will those folk welcome her? How is her role to be like, in Éomer's court? Eventually he will marry, and the new queen shall take her place managing Meduseld. What will be left for her?
Her brother as written to her anew, beseeching her once more to reconsider joining him in Cormallen; but how can she? How can she stand amidst their joy when she feels so discontented, so restless, herself? How can she witness Aragorn's triumph and glory, and not immediately be reminded of her foolish, childish infatuation? Embarrassment prickles in the back of her mind at the mere thought. Nay, her battered pride cannot take it. It is better to stay here in Minas Tirith, though she misses her brother. Merry, too, for all that the hobbit has barely been gone a few days.
Too, she misses Faramir, so busy tending to the City and its folk. Of course, she could never blame him for doing his duty. But their previous meeting in the Houses had been only barely less formal than their brief conversation immediately after the investiture ceremony, and Éowyn cannot help but wonder if perhaps their closeness and solidarity had been created solely by the dire circumstances and the fear of the ending of the world. Perhaps, he had merely allowed his better judgment to be clouded by the day's triumph and joy, when he had begun to speak to her of things she could not bear to hear then, and he had at last come to his senses. Perhaps it was simply her and her inexplicable heart, clinging to yet another noble lord showing her kindness after such long darkness. She does not know what to do, about anything.
Try as she might to keep herself busy, she feels so very lonely and hopeless again-- not unlike during those dark times living under Gríma's menace. It is all a veritable maelstrom of discontent, swelling and gathering and settling within her chest; a dull, hollow ache behind her breastbone. Éowyn knows the healers look upon her with pity once more and it irks her, causing her to snap at urgings to eat and drink her tea. As if that will make any difference. She tenses when she hears someone approach, hardly in the mood for more lectures.
But it is not some poor apprentice, Ioreth nor the Warden. It is Faramir, and her heart skips a beat before beginning to gallop wildly. Why is he here? She does not know, but his presence is nearly a tangible thing, his soothing voice burrowing under her skin.
Éowyn does not tear her gaze from the horizon, but the tension about her mouth and eyes softens, chin dipping just a little. "Is that why you have come all this way?" she asks softly at length. "To see the sun?"