Mind

Posted: March 2003
Type: FCS, FCHet
Author: Trinity Helix
Website: http://trinitycross.net/lotrfan (my Lotr art and fiction site)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Tolkien owns it all.
Warnings: R (nothing graphic, but as the pairing says, this *is* INCEST.)
Characters: Faramir/Eowyn, Boromir/Faramir (implied), Eowyn/Eomer (implied)
Genre: Romance
Summary: Faramir finds peace. Third and final installment to "Heart" and "Soul".
Comments: Read 'Heart' first, the 'Soul'. This is Faramir's POV, and it will probably make more sense if you read the first and second installments of the trilogy.

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I think, not for the first time, that she is beautiful.

Her golden hair falls in waves down the small of her back, and her heart-shaped face is framed in gold. She is strong, my shieldmaiden is, and swift, and quick of wit and stout of heart.

Why then, I wonder, as I gaze at the woman who is to be my wife, do I not love her?

Eowyn of Rohan is everything any man could've ever wanted-- everything they could've ever dreamed of. In my heart I know that we are a perfect match.

So why don't I love her?

"Faramir?" her voice is soft as she turns to look at me across the room, her skin glowing from the heat of the fireplace. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing, my dear Eowyn," I say, forcing a tight smile. "Just… thinking."

She smiles slightly at that, and sets her book aside before coming to sit by my side. The couch is wide enough, and she keeps a handspan away from me, turning her pointed chin to look deeply into my eyes.

"Faramir, we are to be wed in one week," she says, making no pretense at subtlety. "I would think I know you well enough to discern when you are lying."

She waits for this to sink in before continuing.

"I am fond of you, and I think I may even grow to love you. As I have no desire, nor indeed any *need*, to marry for politics, this is the only true reason I accepted your proposal," she says, and I marvel at the eveness of her tone. "Eomer has his kingdom in hand, and Lord Aragorn rules Gondor well. There are no reasons for us to be wed save love, and if you do not feel this for me, then why did you *propose*?"

I mull over her words, my brow furrowing. Why indeed?

"Because I enjoy your company," I finally say. "Because it seemed like the right thing to do. And because you appreciate the same things I do."

Eowyn laughs at that, her voice low and husky with mirth. "Ah, my dearest Faramir," she exclaims. "Do you know you just described the characteristics of your drinking companions?"

"I don't drink," I answer defensively. "I trade stories with friends."

"You," she says, stabbing a finger at my chest. "'Trade stories' with your soldiers until the wee hours of the morning, and come home reeking of a distillery. And if that is not called 'drinking', then I am really a man underneath this dress!"

I raise a brow. "And how, pray tell, do you know of my whereabouts during the wee hours of the morning, my Lady?" I ask.

"My room is beside yours, Faramir," she says primly, folding her hands on her lap. "And I make it a point to know of your whereabouts…'

'As any good captain would," she adds archly.

I cannot help but laugh softly at this admission, reminded once again of her valour at the Pelennor Fields.

"If I would marry *anyone* my dear Eowyn, it would be you," I say, a bemused smile on my lips.

She sobers at the admission, and leans in close. "Then why do you gaze at me with such passionless eyes?" she asks. "If you were truly so fond of my person, you would tell me…"

The question is bold and to the point, as is usual of my lady. I contemplate lying, making up some tale of being spurned by a fair maid long ago, but dismiss the notion as unacceptably deceitful. Besides which, Eowyn would probably find me out.

I steeple my fingers in front of my face, breathing deeply. It has been years since his passing, and yet the wound is still fresh upon my heart.

To this day I have not shed tears for Boromir's death, and this hollow ache, even in what should be happier times, refuses to leave.

"I bear the grief of a loved one's passing," I say haltingly. "And as much as I care for you… It is hard, my lady. A heart that is broken cannot be given away…"

Her eyes are sad when she touches my cheek-- a bare brush of her fingertips and nothing more.

"Who is this maid that has broken your heart, dear Faramir?" she asks. "Tell me, so that we may go and offer flowers to her grave and death to her enemies…"

I laugh hollowly. "No maid, my lady, and he has been long avenged by his friends," I say. "As for his name, it is my secret alone to keep; even in death, the consequences of our love are far too great."

She does not speak for a long moment, and the silence thickens in the warm darkness.

Finally she opens her mouth, and chooses her words with great care. "I, too, have loved someone with great consequences," she says. "My nights have been empty and long without him, though our contact was precious little at best. It was a love not meant to be, and this we both knew... but we loved each other anyway."

She pauses at that and looks into my eyes, firelight burning in her gaze. "Sometimes, Faramir, nothing can keep great love apart," she says. "Not war, nor age, nor sex, and sometimes… not even blood."

Her eyes are unfathomable depths of sadness, and finally it clicks into place.

Eowyn's journey from Rohan had not been pleasant, and though she tried to hide it from me I knew of the tears she shed. Her ladies and comrades-in-arms had bid her hearty farewells, though but one face remained unbearably sad. She went to him last, I remember, and they bowed their heads together and whispered words that not even I could hear. Afterwards she had smiled sweetly, tears in her eyes, and kissed her brother on the cheek. Then she walked away from him, and did not look back.

*Eomer,* I think, and in her eyes I see that she knows as well of whom I speak.

For a moment I am afraid, but in her gaze I see no trace of reproach. In her gaze lies only understanding, and a deep sadness for the loss on my behalf.

"It is alright," she murmurs, and lays a hand on mine.

My eyes sting as I continue to look at her, marveling at the compassion she gives so freely.

"Let me ease your pain," she whispers, and when she takes me into her arms, the tears that have been withheld from me for so long begin to fall.

I am shaking now, my body wracking with sobs pent up for years. She holds me tight, my white lady of Rohan, and strokes my face with a calloused hand.

"It will be alright," she whispers, and in my heart, I know that it is true.

When I look at her again it is after long moments have passed and my sobs have quieted. Her face has become no less beautiful by the waning of the fire's light, and she sighs as I brush her lips with my own.

"Thank you," I say simply, and she draws me close and lays my head upon her breast.

"Perhaps…we are good for each other," she says contemplatively. "We both have wounds that run deep, and with time, maybe… we will heal each other."

I close my eyes as she strokes my brow. In the lull of the night, surrounded by warmth and the scent of her skin, I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The peace is welcome, and my mind finds rest in the circle of her arms.

THE END

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