Eomer crept through the winding corridors on hesitant feet. His dark eyes shifted uncomfortably from side to side as he walked past each bed that lined the walls. Men lay bundled beneath blankets and thin sheets with wrapped and twisted limbs. The smell of old blood and festering wounds, open and running thickly, assaulted his nose. The warrior was hardened to battlefield trauma; he’d seen many horrible wounds and dealt out his own share of death. And yet the sight of these brave men lying helplessly, struggling against the effects of hatred beyond reason, unnerved him. A ragged, hoarse voice rose above the others and Eomer paused even as his brow drew down in a frown.
“Please, dame, stop fussing over me. Surely there are others who need your ministrations more than I.” The voice was gentle, but held the steel like quality of a man used to giving orders, not taking them
Curiosity got the better of Eomer and he peered around a curtain and saw a man, corpse gaunt and pale, struggling to pull the covers back over his naked frame.
“Tis nothing to be embarrassed over, Captain,” the woman stood over him holding a shallow pitcher. “I’ve helped many a man pass water.”
The pale cheeks flushed. “I’m not many a man, dame.” His voice softened when the woman blinked and drew back in confusion.
Eomer stepped back, reluctant to have his presence known, but his booted foot scraped loudly on the stone floor and he froze.
“Who’s there?” The woman called out.
Eomer sheepishly stuck his head around the curtain, coming into full view. “I did not mean to intrude. I was looking for Lady Eowyn.”
“I assure you we do not house the women with the men,” the woman wiped her free hand on her apron. “However, I did see her earlier, my lord, she was being helped to the baths.”
“Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?” Eomer’s eyes riveted to the man lying in the bed. Even beneath the pallor, he could see the fine, strong bones, the hint of a stubborn chin. Gray eyes, deep and intelligent, stared back at him.
From his bed, Faramir stared hard at the shadow against the curtain. The voice was low, harsh, an accent speaking of open plains and wooden halls; a Horse Lord, he guessed. He’d asked for Eowyn, the maid found on the plain. Her husband, perhaps. “Dame will be happy to show you to a room where you can wait for you lady wife.”
“Captain,” the woman protested. “I’ve got to sponge you off and get you fed. Someone else will have to help the young warrior.”
“Eowyn is my sister,” Eomer moved further into the cubicle. “I’m am Eomer, son of Eomund. My uncle is,” and he stumbled then, his tongue tangling with the images in his head. He’d found his sister and uncle on the battlefield. He’d escorted the body to lie in state in the citadel. “My uncle was Theoden, King of Rohan.”
Before anyone could say anything else, another woman came around the curtain from behind Eomer. She was bloodied up to her elbows and her hair hung in limp curls around her face. “You’re needed in the next ward,” she said without preamble. None was needed, as her state spoke for itself.
Eomer watched the women go and glanced back at Faramir. The pot rested on the floor and the man leaned out of his bed, reaching to catch it on the tips of his fingers. “Allow me,” he said, coming into the cubicle. He picked up the pot and handed it to Faramir. “Do you require assistance?”
“No, thank, you,” Faramir took the pot.
Eomer politely turned his back. “The wounded are still in danger, even with all the excellent care.”
“The fighting has been brutal. I am Captain Faramir, by the way. I should have introduced myself earlier, but I fear I was preoccupied.”
Eomer’s lips twitched. “Indeed, Captain, I suspect you had other matters on your mind.” He turned just as Faramir’s covers were twitched back into place. “Here.” He took the shallow pot and set it in a corner. A basin of cooling water sat on a table with a cloth. “You’d probably feel better,” he held up the cloth and eyed Faramir.
Once he’d stepped from the shadows, Faramir couldn’t quite keep his eyes off of Eomer. The warrior’s presence was a palpable force. He filled the small space from corner to corner, leaving Faramir feeling cramped and acutely aware of his own sorry state. “Someone will come,” he began.
“And I suspect they’ll receive the same treatment as that poor old woman,” Eomer moved the basin and cloth. He wasn’t unfamiliar with such duties. On the plains, sometimes the men acted as surgeon and nurse and mother to the injured.
“What of your sister?”
“You know how women can be when it comes to bathing. Despite her courage, she’s no different. Besides, I suspect that the women have other things to keep them busy, much more important things than playing page for me. I’ll wait for a bit and hope to see Eowyn later. But, since I have nothing else to do at the moment, I don’t mind making myself useful.” He sat on the bed’s edge and dipped the cloth in the tepid water. It was more than mercy that drove Eomer’s actions. He knew by the woman’s behavior that this was no ordinary captain, and besides, he’d already heard the name Faramir. The bits and pieces he’d overheard indicated that Captain Faramir was popular in Minas Tirith, considered a good leader and an excellent tactician. He’d lost both his brother and his father. They had a lot in common. “I understand that your brother was Boromir,” Eomer began by way of an opening.
“You knew him?” Faramir put his hands against the bed and struggled to sit up.
“Of him,” Eomer set the basin on the floor and moved to help the other man. “His reputation preceded him. As does yours, Captain.”
Faramir froze. “What could you have heard about me?”
Eomer bent down and gathered up the bowl and cloth. When he straightened again he saw a strange expression on Faramir’s face. “That you led the charge to recapture Osgiliath. A wasted effort, but one that bought you a bit of time, in the end.”
Faramir turned his face away. “A foolish tactic made not for military reasons but personal ones.”
Squeezing out the cloth, Eomer passed it to Faramir, holding it over his chest. “You can do this yourself if you’d rather.”
Shakily Faramir took the cloth and swiped half-heartedly at his chest. The water was cold against his skin and goose-flesh pebbled his chest and peaked his nipples. “Thank you. I just couldn’t bear being mothered by the nurses any more. They’ve treated me like--”
“An invalid,” Eomer finished. “I’ve heard the story of your charge. I think the people here didn’t believe you’d survive. You might not have, either, as I understand it, if it hadn’t been for Aragorn.” His eyes strayed to the dark disks and he licked his lips. With a shake of his head, he cleared his wayward thoughts. What in the world was he thinking, anyway?
“Thank you,” Faramir said suddenly, lowering the cloth. “It’s good to have a visitor and one who isn’t a healer or a courtier.”
Eomer felt his face grow warm. Why had he stopped? The rumors, of course, painted an interesting picture. And, in truth, he did want to know for himself. The second reason was Eowyn. On his last visit with her, she’d spoken at length of Faramir. They’d met briefly and his kindness had captured her heart. He could see why, too. Conversation with Faramir flowed freely, without any of the awkwardness one associated with a first meeting. His low voice seemed too gentle to belong to a battle-hardened warrior. He took the cloth back from Faramir. “I enjoyed meeting you. My sister, Eowyn,” he stopped wishing he’d not brought her back into the conversation.
Faramir smiled and it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds. “She’s a wonderful person. I’ve been lucky in meeting her.”
Eomer rose. “I had better see if I can find her. I’ve got to see to my troops as well.” His parting was awkward and he knew it, but suddenly he could barely stand to be in Faramir’s company.
Concealing his disappointment, Faramir bid Eomer farewell, figuring that it would be last he’d see of the brooding warrior.
*~*
Eomer listened to Aragorn’s plan with only half an ear. His mind replayed his conversations with Faramir and his sister. Eowyn’s enthusiasm for the captain bordered on the embarrassing. Eomer had never known his sister to be so taken with a man, which is why the jealous pangs crowding his thoughts were doubly disturbing. He’d been attracted to other warriors and wasn’t in the least shy when it came to relationships with men. This, however, was different as his sister felt the same attraction. Eomer wondered if, perhaps her affections were returned. With that thought, a cold rage filtered through his heart and Eomer realized his fists were clenching and unclenching. With an effort, he forced the thoughts and feelings aside and focused on Aragorn.
*~*
The healers finally allowed Faramir more freedom from his sick bed and he spent as much time as he could out of his room, seeking company among the other wounded. He moved slowly through the hallway, walking with the aid of a cane. Each trip out of the bed left him exhausted., but he was determined to build up his strength. He hated being perceived as an invalid. He’d only ventured outside once and the sight had left him so depressed that he’d wept. There, he’d met Eowyn and they’d fallen into conversation. He found her spirit and intelligence refreshing and had developed an attachment to her. With the introduction of her brother, Faramir discovered a new excuse to be in her company. Faramir felt guilty for using her to discuss Eomer, but he’d not seen the Horse Lord since that first day and he found himself starved for news of him.
As he shuffled around the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. The gods had either cursed or blessed him, and Faramir wasn’t certain which. The object of his thoughts materialized out of the morning mists and stood outlined in the pale sunshine. Beside him stood Eowyn and their heads were bent in earnest conversation.
“Captain,” Eowyn’s eyes lit with pleasant delight as she caught sight of Faramir. “Come join us.”
He hesitated. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You aren’t,” Eomer stepped back from his sister and tried to think of something besides the breadth of Faramir’s shoulders or his height. Taking his mind from those subjects forced Eomer to think of the gray eyes, clear and intelligent, and the sprinkling of hair peaking out from the top of his tunic. He cleared his throat and scowled.
Eowyn beckoned Faramir closer. “My lord, Eomer and I do not mind your company.”
“It’s good to see you again, Your Highness,” Faramir came forward and extended his arm in the traditional warrior greeting, thought better of it, considering Eomer’s status, and dropped his hand rather awkwardly at this side.
Eomer’s face reddened under his tan. He wasn’t officially crowned, yet. That would come on his return to Edoras, if he returned at all. “I’ve not been crowned yet,” he said with stiff lips. Anger flared in him and he couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was the luminous smile that appeared on his sister’s face the moment that Faramir appeared. Maybe it was the deferential way the captain approached him, as if he was unworthy to clasp hands. “Lord Aragorn has plans to lead a combined army to the Black Gates. If we survive, then perhaps I will be king of the Rohan, but until then, I am simply their commander.”
Faramir glanced away from the intense, dark eyes, focused his attention on the horizon. “I have heard about the battle plans, of course. Lord Aragorn’s reasoning is sound. I wish you luck.”
“Captain Faramir requested to lead his own Ithilien Rangers, but was denied,” Eowyn scowled at her brother as if he was personally responsible.
Eomer knew of Aragorn’s decision, as well. “Captain, your recent illness was the reason for Aragorn’s decision. Nothing else.”
Faramir’s eyes were cold as he turned to Eomer. “I understood his decision and the reasons behind it. They were tactically sound. Eowyn, it is good to see you up and about. I’m sure we shall see each other again.” He bowed to Eomer. “Your highness.”
Eomer remained silent as the stiff figure moved away from them, disappearing into the shadows. “His pride is sorely wounded.”
“Can you blame him?” Her chin lifted and a stubborn set came to her lips. “It is difficult to be left behind.”
“I know, Eowyn,” Eomer checked a sigh. “Come, let us not spend our precious time arguing about something we both agree upon. Instead, let me enjoy your company while I may.”
“You do not think to return,” Eowyn spoke quietly.
“It is unlikely,” Eomer took his sister’s hand. “And if I do not, then it is you who shall rule at Edoras.