Faramir Fiction Archive

Simbelmynë (PG)

Written by Iorhael

10 November 2008 | 613 words

Title: Simbelmynë
Author: i_o_r_h_a_e_l
Fandom: LotR FPS
Pairing: Éomer/Faramir
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Want to have Éomer (and Faramir, of course), but I just can’t.
Warnings: character death, but not one in the pairing, AU
Summary: Faramir comes to Éomer as deep loss engulfs the Rohan warrior.
Written for the sons_of_gondor trick or treat, for butterballer.
AN: Beta by my beloved mews1945.

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Éomer can’t remember her ever looking so frail and still, not at all the way she usually bears herself. She was a warrior.

She still is, Éomer’s heart whispers to him. He wants to believe that. He keeps telling himself that she is still fighting them. The black breath. Her wounds. And she will wake. Her soft smile will brighten his days again.

Yet, it might all be just a dream.

Éomer takes a seat next to the bed, only then aware of his shaking hand as he reaches out to brush a strand of fair hair off her brow.

“Éowyn,” he murmurs, gently pressing his battle-bruised knuckles against the too-gaunt cheek. “You can’t leave me alone. I can’t lose you. Not after even Uncle Théoden passed, too.”

“I’m sorry about … your sweetheart?”

Éomer is a bit startled by someone speaking quietly behind him.

“She is.” He turns around to be met with kind, compassionate eyes. “… Éowyn. Thank you. She is my beloved little sister.”

“She is such a fine-looking lady. Éowyn, said you? Was she not the one to slay the Witch King?”

Éomer smiles sadly. “She was. And she is deeply hurt because of that. She might not survive .”

“My sympathy, …” The other man pauses.

“Éomer,” he holds out his hand, and the stranger accepts it.

“Faramir of Gondor, at your service. Tell me, Éomer, what I can do to ease your heavy heart.”

Éomer sweeps a glance at the man lying in a bed next to his sister’s. He has heard of him from Aragorn. He knows Faramir must also be grieving at the loss of his own father and brother. Yet he offers Éomer comfort instead of seeking it for himself. Éomer arranges his chair so he faces both Faramir and his sister.

“Have you ever heard of Simbelmynë?” Éomer asks.

The puzzled look at Faramir’s face answers it all. Éomer cannot help but smile.

“It’s a small white flower which only grows on the barrows of the Kings of Rohan in our land in Edoras,” he explains.

“It must be lovely,” says Faramir.

Éomer nods, and gazes down, feeling defeated. Faramir needs to ask him two times before he responds.

“Éowyn said she would be very sad if she did not have simbelmynë on her grave.” Éomer looks up and away as he chuckles wryly. “And I assured her she would have them. There will be white blooms covering her grave. ‘Tis I told her – I told her…”

“Go on,” Faramir encourages him gently.

Éomer rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “Pardon me. I just can’t… I told Éowyn all those things when she was still conscious. How could I? I wish she would forgive me.”

Faramir shifts in his bed, and it should have astounded Éomer that the Gondorian then reaches out and squeezes his hand. In truth, all Éomer feels is warm and comforted and – safe.

“She will forgive you, for in truth there is nothing to forgive. Éowyn will only remember the brother she loves and who loves her so much.”

Éomer would have shattered into pieces when the healers announced the passing of Éowyn if not for a pair of strong arms gathering him close and silently coercing him to be strong.

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