Faramir Fiction Archive

Fairborn (PG)

Written by Paul Price

26 August 2011 | 24652 words

Title: Fairborn
Author: Paul Price
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Faramir

This is a sixteen chapter short novel detailing curious events and various adventures in the twentieth year of Faramir and Eowyn’s marriage. The adventures and events concern them, their children, their friends, the countries of Gondor, Rohan, Dunland, and Harad, and enemies they did not know they had.

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Chapter 16: Two Escapes and an Argument

As the orc carried her from the banquet site, Ganwyn knew she had to escape, and her small arsenal of magic seemed to provide the best chance. The opportunity happened quickly, and she took it. The orc dropped her and began to talk to its sovereign. She quickly worked and cast her illusion spell, and crawled behind a bush. Now she appeared to be lying on the ground, while she actually was behind a bush drawing her hidden dagger. Now she needed something of suitable size to take her place. She noticed a short log lying not far from her illusory form. She shifted her illusion from the current site to the log, and waited. An orc hoisted the log over his shoulder and continued the journey, following Grifa and Grifwyn. She prepared to follow them, but heard a sound and froze in place. Bergrond stepped stealthily out of the trees, carefully following the orcs. She called his name in a stage whisper. He stopped and looked around in confusion. Then he saw her and smiled broadly.

“Your mother said I should expect you to escape them.” He said quietly as he hugged her.

She was pleased with his reaction, as she had been smitten with Bergrond for the last year. However, he was unaware of her affections. Quietly, they began to follow the orcs.

“My illusion won’t last much longer.” She whispered to Bergrond.

Fortunately and unexpectedly, the illusion did not have to last much longer. Night had fallen, and the orcs and their leaders stopped in a rock outcrop near the edge of the woods. Grifwyn pointed to a tree and one of the orcs drove a spear through the illusory Ganwyn and into the tree. Of course, the spear did not penetrate through the log, but Ganwyn cast another illusion to make it appear as if she were pinned to the tree. Meanwhile the log with its attached spear tumbled to the ground, unheeded by the orcs and Grifwyn.

“I wonder if I could use a variation of this spell as an invisibility spell.” Thought Ganwyn. “No one seems to notice the results of some of the actions caused by the illusion.”

Suddenly, giant bats appeared over the heads of the Brown Wizards and their orcs. They scooped up the Wizards and the four orcs and departed over the mountains.

“There must be hundreds of them.” Said Bergrond, in awe. “They look larger than horses.”

After a few minutes, the bats were out of sight, and Bergrond turned to Ganwyn. “You can take the illusion away now. It’s rather gory, blood is everywhere.”

“I wanted them to believe it. They seemed a blood-thirsty group.”

“I don’t like seeing you bleed like that, even if it is an illusion.”

She was pleased by his sentiment.

Bergrond and Ganwyn went back toward Yark, and soon found Faramir and Anbor tracking the orcs. Both men were very pleased to see Ganwyn unharmed.

“Lastborn, your mother said you would escape, but I doubted her.” Faramir said as he hugged and kissed his daughter. “How far ahead are they?” He added.

“Too far. They were being carried away by giant bats when we last saw them.” Bergrond said.

“Giant bats?” Faramir said incredulously.

“There were hundreds of giant bats.” Bergrond said.

“So they escaped us.” Faramir concluded.

“That explains ‘ow three ‘undred orcs from the Misty Mountains got ‘ere unspotted.” Anbor said. “The bats won’t ‘ave many orcs ta carry back ta the Misty Mountains. We killed most of the orcs up in the mountains. Other than Theowyn, I’ve never seen anyone fight like Prince Imrahil.”

“Where’s mother?” Ganwyn asked.

“On her way to Minas Tirith. We received a message from Elboron that Theowyn was in the House of Healing there. Éowyn said she was sure you would escape unharmed, so she thought she needed to tend to Theowyn.” Faramir said.

“What happened?” Said Ganwyn with worry obvious on her face.

“Apparently, Theowyn and Halyn fought some trolls at Osgiliath, and were both hurt.” Faramir said.

“As if we didn’t have enough problems, Theowyn finds trolls to fight.” Bergrond said angrily. “She’ll get herself killed.”

“They apparently killed two trolls and found mithril armor and weapons. It’s the talk of Gondor. No one’s seen mithril arms in many years. For that matter, no one’s killed a troll in many years.” Faramir noted.

“Two women killed two trolls? I’d be amazed, but I’ve seen Theowyn fight.” Anbor said.

“What about the assassins?” Bergrond said. “Should Éowyn travel alone?”

“The people who hired the assassins think Éowyn is dead. She should be safe, for now.” Faramir stated firmly. He had stated the same doubts to Éowyn, but had been unsuccessful in curbing her desire to go to Theowyn. Now, at least, he could follow her to Minas Tirith.

At that time, Snowfall was swiftly carrying Éowyn down the road between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. “Good girl!” Éowyn said to Snowfall. At the speed they were traveling, they could have been in Minas Tirith by sunrise; however, Éowyn stopped to eat, and to graze and water Snowfall. She knew Snowfall was determined to get her to Minas Tirith quickly, but she did not want Snowfall to harm herself in the effort.

As they approached a familiar spot in the woods, Snowfall sped up.

Three men with swords stood in the road. One had a bandage on his head and on his left arm.

“Halt!” Shouted the damaged man, who was their leader, “you will not pass here without fair payment for passage.”

Snowfall ran through the three men and bowled them over. The outlaw chief took the worst of the collision, and was knocked ten paces from his original spot. The two archers who were hidden on opposite sides of the road loosed at Éowyn as she sped by. They narrowly missed shooting each other, as Snowfall was far faster than they anticipated. As she sped away, Snowfall made a laughing sound. After some confusion, the outlaws gathered and angrily carried their unconscious leader into the woods. “I think we need a better plan.” One of the swordsmen said, tartly.

About two hours after sunrise, Éowyn arrived at Minas Tirith.

“Halt, who goes there?” Said Captain Belegon.

“Lady Éowyn of Ithilien. Where is my daughter?”

“At the House of Healing. Would you like an escort there?”

“No. I know where it is. First, I have to tend to Snowfall. She has served me very well this night.” Éowyn affectionately patted Snowfall’s flank as she dismounted.

“Thank you.” She said to Snowfall, once the Mearas was well stabled. Snowfall nodded in answer. “I’ll see that you’re in pasture before the day is over.” Éowyn promised. Again, Snowfall nodded. Soon, Éowyn’s promise to her was fulfilled.

As Éowyn walked to the House of Healing, she heard a minstrel singing to an enthusiastic crowd in one of the city squares. He sang:

I sing of mighty Theowyn,
Slayer of a troll-thing,
And daughter of great Éowyn,
Slayer of the Witch-King.

Theowyn and her loyal companion rode
To Osgiliath, home of Kings.
With mithril chain and swords they strode
Looking for an adventurous fling.

Theowyn, Theowyn,
Daughter of Éowyn,
Protectors from our enemies
And from evil’s enmities.

Two large trolls they defeated,
One by battle and one by stealth.
Both warriors, the trolls exceeded
In power, size, and battle wealth.

And when the battle finished
And all blood had been shed,
The trolls were much diminished
And lay in the city dead.

Theowyn, Theowyn,
Daughter of Éowyn,
Protectors from our enemies
And from evil’s enmities.

Theowyn left the City of Kings
Wounded and bloody, but unbent
A great tale for bards to sing
A great epic for poets to vent

Mighty Theowyn, player of battle games
And slayer of orcs and Haradrim
Again achieved war-fame
For Gondor and her great kin.

Theowyn, Theowyn,
Daughter of Éowyn,
Protectors from our enemies
And from evil’s enmities.

Éowyn was amazed by the song, and the enthusiastic reaction to it. The crowd was particularly amused by the difficulty that the singer had singing “enmities”, but they obviously enjoyed the song. She listened to the entire song, then quietly slipped by the square unnoticed.

At the House of Healing she met its surprised staff. “How are things going in Dol Amroth?” One of them asked.

“The worst is over there. Soon the healers will be returning here.” Éowyn answered, then said. “Where is my daughter?”

“She looks much like you.” Alawyn said. “She is in the Éowyn room, where else.”

Éowyn had always been slightly embarrassed that they had named a room after her. It was the room she had occupied after the Battle of Pelennor Fields and where Aragorn had healed her of the Black Breath. She thought it ironic that in the years she studied there, she had spent so little time in that room. Now, she went to the room named for her.

“Firstborn, they will have to name this room after you, if you continue to collect wounds in pursuing battle-fame.”

Theowyn was surprised to see her mother. “I thought you were in Dol Amroth?”

“When I heard of your wounds, I came immediately. What were you thinking in fighting trolls?” Éowyn said to Theowyn. “Don’t you know when to run?”

Halyn answered, sheepishly, for them both. “We didn’t plan to find trolls. They surprised us. You know I don’t usually fight.”

“But you do fall out of trees that you shouldn’t climb.” Éowyn said sternly. “And my daughter draws a sword at any excuse.” Halyn had forgotten who treated her after the fall. Halyn had never told Éowyn that she was following Theowyn up the tree.

“Mother, we were exploring Osgiliath, and did not expect to find trolls there. However, once they found us, we had no choice but to fight.”

“When have you ever backed away from a fight, firstborn. The two of you killed two trolls, so now you’re both being sung of as heroes.”

“At least Theowyn is. I’m referred to as her “brave companion” in the song.” Halyn said ruefully.

“I’m proud of you both, but I’m also afraid for you both. You can’t court danger often without paying with your life.”

“You felled the Witch-King and his steed, and won great battle-fame.” Said Theowyn, accusingly.

“And came very close to death in this very room. I fought one battle in my life, and am renown as a warrior for it. I have healed many scores of people since, and am lesser known for those deeds, which I consider more difficult.”

“Mother, what would you have me do?” Theowyn asked, in exasperation.

“I would have you pick your fights more carefully. Do not throw away your life for no good reason.”

“Would you call these ‘no good reason’?” Theowyn said as she showed the two mithril mail shirts, the two helmets, and the weapons with which they had returned to Minas Tirith.

“I’ve never seen their like.” Éowyn said temporarily awed. “No, wait; I recognize the device on that helm. I’ve seen it in one of Faramir’s books of lore. These are legendary arms.”

“So, they were worth the risk.” Said Theowyn proudly.

“No, first born. I would rather have you alive than have these arms.”

“Thankfully, you have both, and both of us are healing well.” Halyn interjected. She knew that neither strong-willed daughter nor strong-willed mother would give in during this dispute.

“How badly were you hurt?” Éowyn asked.

“I have a broken arm and damaged shoulder and leg, and Halyn has a concussion.”

“You were fortunate. I saw trolls kill many men and horses at Pelennor Field. I even saw one kill a Mumakil.”

“I would rather not fight one again, but I may have to.” Theowyn said.

“Why would you have to fight one again?” Éowyn asked sharply.

“We left behind a trove of mithril arms and at least one more troll.” Said Halyn. She wanted to act as peacemaker, but Éowyn and Theowyn seemed determined to continue this.

“You will not go back to Osgiliath!” Éowyn said angrily.

“Mother, I’m a grown woman, not to mention the Thane of Emyn Arnen. I should be able to do what I want.”

“Did I mention that we are healing well?” Interjected Halyn.

Éowyn ignored Halyn’s comment. “You are a willful child who is going to get herself killed by her vanity and glory-seeking.”

Theowyn was hurt by her mother’s anger. Éowyn had always been supportive of her military training and her interest in weapons.

“I will go back to Osgiliath.” Theowyn said angrily.

“My concussion is virtually gone.” Said Halyn, realizing that she was not talking to anyone, but herself.

“I’ll lock you in a dungeon until you’re too old to fight.”

“We don’t have a dungeon.”

“I’ll build one. It’ll be done by the time you’re healed.” Éowyn said as she left the room, angrily.

“I’m almost healed now.” Halyn said with an amused smile. “I’ll break you out of the dungeon, if it’s not too large a crime.”

“That’s not funny.” Theowyn said.

“You should catch up to your mother and make peace.”

“No. She shouldn’t have said those things to me.”

“In other words, you’re still angry, so you won’t make peace.”

“So is she. Mother’s anger doesn’t fade as easily as Father’s.”

“Your anger doesn’t fade either. She won’t really build a dungeon, will she?”

“She will if she stays angry.”

Éowyn angrily strode the streets toward the Steward’s Tower. As soon as she reached the tower, she intended to summon a mason to begin planning a dungeon near the manor house in Ithilien. Those who saw the tall and impressive women were inclined to stay away as anger radiated from her face like light from the sun. However, her trip to the Steward’s Tower was brought to a sudden stop. She heard a song which caught her attention and brought her to a halt. One reason the song caught her attention was that it was mournful and sad. However, it was also in her native tongue, the language of Rohan. She seldom heard that language in Minas Tirith. The song was in a form which the Rohirrim called “the wedge”. The minstrel sang:

After you,
My heart is bone.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m now alone,
After you.

After you,
All food is hay.
I do not want to chew.
My gut is fey,
After you.

After you,
Colors are grey.
I do not like the view.
My eyes betray,
After you.

After you,
My friends seem cruel.
They all seem so untrue.
I am a fool,
After you.

After you,
I ‘m overthrown.
How can my life renew?
My hopes have flown,
After you.

How do I end this pain?
I burn for your touch,
But all I feel is rain.
I hurt so much.
Am I insane?
After you.

For many reasons, the song soothed Éowyn’s anger. The memories that the song recalled were not all pleasant, but they made her current woes seem smaller. She thought of the dark time when she thought she loved Aragorn and he seemed lost on the Paths of the Dead. She had wanted to die, and had intended to die, but had lived.

She thought of the many proposals that she had received as a young woman. However, King Théoden had rejected all the proposals, undoubtedly influenced by Gríma. As the years passed and she approached the age of twenty-five, she mourned that she would never wed, but she had wed.

She remembered something now that had not occurred to her before. Faramir was among those prospective husbands. Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, had sent a proposal when Faramir was eighteen and she was seventeen. She had not known Faramir at the time, and did not relish being married to a foreigner and a stranger. Now, she had been married to this exceptional man for twenty years.

She remembered the birth of Theowyn. It had been a difficult, painful, and bloody birth. However, the birth of her firstborn had changed her life in more ways than she could consider. Faramir had been ecstatic, and she had been happier than at any time in her prior life. Theowyn had been feisty and energetic from birth.

It seemed that in Éowyn’s life, joy sprang from sorrow and pain.

When she finally arrived at the Steward’s Tower, Éowyn no longer had thoughts of building a dungeon for her firstborn.

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