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 2: Éowyn and Ganwyn

The young man moved stealthily to a position behind a tree. A forest was the perfect place for an assassin to work. About eight feet in front of him was his prey, the Lady of Ithilien. She had stooped to dig some herbs from a group of plants. She was unarmored, but carried a sword and shield. The shield was resting on the ground, and the sword was sheathed. He noticed her long golden yellow braid across her back. It was time to strike. He was pleased to think that he would be the man who would kill the woman who felled the Witch-King. He would be the most well-known assassin in the world, after this assignment. Maybe he should return the payment from the wizard in brown (if he really was a wizard) who hired him. His years of assassin training were finally coming to profit. He had easily dispatched the guard who accompanied Lady Éowyn, and he had seen her daughter go in the opposite direction looking for herbs. He was convinced that he was now making a significant reputation in his bloody craft; however, this belief was soon shown to be vanity. As he drew his daggers and started to move around the tree, an arrow struck him in the back of his upper right shoulder. He stopped an instant to recover his balance, and then moved quickly toward his prey. Another arrow pierced the tree next to his head. He was concentrating so hard that he had not heard the shout which warned Lady Éowyn of her danger. By the time the tree was between him and his archer enemy, the assassin knew it was too late. Éowyn had picked up the shield and was facing him, with the unsheathed sword in her hand. He lunged at her trying to land a dagger strike with his left hand, but she parried the strike with her shield. She was faster and stronger than he expected. He tried to parry her sword thrust with the dagger in his right hand, but found, to his horror, that the arrow wound had severely weakened his off hand. He died instantly.

Ganwyn ran to her mother, her long pale blond braid bouncing behind her. The girl was joyful to have thwarted her mother’s assassination. However, Éowyn was still concentrating on her attacker. She carefully kicked his daggers away from his hands, and then she felt for the pulse in his neck to see if he was dead. She then removed the sword from his face, and wiped the blade clean. This sword was Herugrim, the battle sword of King Théoden of Rohan. Her brother had given it to her as a wedding gift, and it had not drawn blood since, until now. As her daughter approached, Éowyn examined the daggers carefully, then covered them with the bloody cloth and put them in her herb bag.

“Where is Bergrond? Some guard he is.” Ganywn said.

“Likely dead, these daggers are strongly poisoned. I recognize the tint of the herbs used. Someone really wanted me dead.”

“Bergrond can’t be dead, he’s too young, and besides, I like him.” said Ganywn.

“I guess I should thank you for shouting your warning to your preoccupied mother. You usually don’t say much, my lastborn.”

“I didn’t warn you, I was concentrating on my bow shots.”

“Someone did.”

“Maybe Bergrond is alive.” said Ganwyn, hopefully.

As they walked to where they left the horses, Éowyn asked, “How did you get behind him? I thought I saw you go in the other direction.”

“It’s a really difficult illusion that I have been trying lately. I thought I heard something behind us, and I wanted to know who or what it was.”

“So you cast the illusion without warning me?”

“It could have been nothing, and I really wanted to try out the spell again.”

“You say every spell you cast is difficult. Are there no easy spells?”

“They all are difficult, until you master them. Look! One of the horses followed us; I see hoof marks in the grass.”

“The rangers have trained you well, I don’t notice the hoof marks. By the way, since you are in a talkative mood, how many spells do you know?”

“About five.”

“Only five, but you spend so much time studying magic.”

“Not as much as I spend studying herbs or archery or tracking.”

“My gifted lastborn.” Éowyn said proudly, as she hugged Ganwyn and kissed the side of her daughter’s forehead as they walked.

The two white horses were grazing where they had been left. Bergrond’s grey horse was tied to a tree nearby and not far away his body lay in the grass. Near the body was a bloody rock. Éowyn checked Bergrond for signs of life, as Ganwyn held her breath. “He’s alive, but hurt. He took a bad blow to the head. He was fortunate the assassin didn’t stab him.” Said Éowyn.

“We were fortunate that father made us bring weapons.”

“I thought he was being too cautious when he insisted that we take a guard and weapons. Even if there were three orc raids today, they can’t be everywhere, as there aren’t enough of them anymore. Your father is a wise and prudent man. It took some time for me to get used to that. I have learned much from Faramir. My family tended to be more in favor of quick action, rather than reasoned action. That’s why they tend to have short lives. I’ve already lived more years than either of my parents.”

“Mother, you’re the Lady of Ithilien. You’re going to live forever.” Ganwyn said as she hugged her mother.

Éowyn began preparing herbs to clear Bergrond’s head, and herbs to staunch the blood on his still slightly bleeding wound. Gandwyn began collecting the herbs that would ease Bergrond’s headache, later.

Bergrond groaned as he regained consciousness. “What happened?”

“We were knocked out.” Said Ganwyn.

“Who by?” said the guard.

“The man who came to assassinate me.” Said Éowyn.

“Where is he?”

“Dead. Ganwyn saved me.”

“Mother, you’re the one who killed him.”

“But you’re the one who discovered him, and made it possible, lastborn. I would likely be dead, if not for you.”

The statement sent a chill through Ganwyn. She did not want her mother to die.

After tending to Bergrond for some time, Éowyn deemed him fit to travel. He did not seem to have a concussion, despite the hard blow. The three made ready to return home. As she mounted her white horse, Éowyn whispered in its ear, and the horse nodded as if in answer.

“What are you doing mother?”

“Thanking Snowfall.”

“What for?”

“With all you’ve been learning, you’ve forgotten the earliest thing that I taught you. In Rohan, we always thank our horse for its service to us, especially, a Mearas like this horse.”

“I had forgotten. Isn’t there legends that the Mearas can understand their riders.”

“There are lots of legends about Mearas. One is that they only let the Kings of Rohan ride them, but that clearly is not true, as I am not the King of Rohan.”

“You’re his sister.”

“But, not the King. Another legend says they can understand their rider and talk to their rider on critical occasions. However, they choose their riders carefully.”

“But horses don’t talk.”

“This one did. When I first met it, it apologized because its sire, Snowmane, killed King Théoden, my mother’s brother. It said it would repay the debt.”

“Did it? Did it repay the debt?”

“Yes, today!”

“How?”

Éowyn smiled at her lastborn, and did not answer.

After Éowyn, Ganwyn, and Bergrond left the area, a figure in a brown cloak approached the site of the assassination attempt. He was displeased to find the assassin dead, and shouted his displeasure for the world to hear, but only the animals of the forest heard. He was angry again when he could not find the poison daggers. They had been the payment to the assassin, and he wanted them back.

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