dramadramaduck Alternative Universe Meme
1. Childhood
The Lady Éowyn was only eight years old, but she conducted herself with the determination and self sufficiency that was characteristic of a child who had been orphaned at an early age. Though she was two years his junior, Faramir felt compelled to listen to her. While the adults - and their elder brothers, eager to wear the mantle of adulthood despite their youth - discussed matters of state within the Meduseld, the children escaped to the stables.
“We should not be here,” he murmured, as Éowyn slipped into the stall of a fine grey mare who snorted a soft greeting at the girl’s approach.
“You are not afraid, Faramir of Gondor?”
It was a challenge. He had no choice but to rise to it, shaking his head and moving to help her with saddle and tack.
“Never.”
Éowyn smiled in satisfaction, their eyes meeting over the stable door.
“Good.”
***
The same wind that tugged at their hair as they galloped across the vast plains of Rohan carried away the sounds of the angry voices that ordered them back to the city. Faramir could feel the bunch and pull of the horse’s muscles beneath his thighs and Éowyn’s thin white arms wrapped tightly around his waist and laughed in sheer exhilaration.
(He would feel guilty later on, perhaps, but, as Éowyn had reminded him when she had been coaxing him into riding with her, his father was displeased with him no matter what he had did. This act - as reckless and impulsive as it was - would make little difference.)
He had never felt so free.
2. Somewhere in Space
The air lock opened with a metallic hiss and Captain Faramir stepped forward to join the silver spacesuited warrior who stepped into the ship. He held out a hand to help Éowyn into the main cargo deck, which she accepted out of a need to be close to him rather than any need of assistance. With her free hand, she pulled off her helmet, shaking her long hair free. Faramir was struck, as he so often was, by the power and beauty of his wife, but this was not the time for dwelling on such things. They were at war.
“What of the enemy?” he asked, as soon as she was ready to speak.
“They are on the move, Captain. Commander Aragorn has ordered the fleet to begin the journey to the Pelennor System and ready itself for battle.”
“Very well.” Faramir switched on the intercom to speak to the pilot waiting for orders in the cockpit. “Beregond, set course for the Pelennor System.”
He felt Éowyn’s grip on his hand tighten, just a little.
3. An Arranged Marriage
Faramir had no doubt that the Lady Éowyn - dressed in white, her golden hair cascading down to frame her pale face and a band of silver at her brow - was the fairest figure to ever grace the white halls of Minas Tirith. Such elegance. Such radiance. She had captivated him on every one of her previous visits to the city and today proved to be no different. Only her eyes had changed. They contained a depth of sorrow that Faramir had never witnessed before. His heart ached to see it.
“My lords, welcome!” exclaimed Denethor, striding forward to greet Théoden and his party, the main members of which were Théodred, son of the king, and Éomer, nephew to the king and brother to Éowyn. The two leaders clasped arms in a gesture of familiar friendship, before, at last, Denethor turned to the woman in white.
“And greetings to you, my lady. It gladdens my heart to see you here on such a day.”
“I thank you, my lord,” said Éowyn, bowing her head to avoid his gaze. Denethor seemed to mistake the gesture for maidenly silence, which did not surprise Faramir. Since the death of his beloved wife, his father had been blind and deaf to matters of the heart. It was unclear if he even had such a thing left in his chest.
“Today is a proud day for Rohan and for Gondor,” said Denethor, turning from Éowyn to address the assembled crowd of nobles from both realms. “Our lands have been allies for time beyond memory, but, this night, we will be united by the bonds of marriage as well as the bonds of friendship. The Lady Éowyn, niece of Théoden King, is to wed my eldest son and heir, the Lord Boromir, High Warden of the White Tower.”
Faramir did not hear the cheering that rang through the hall in response to Denethor’s words. When Éowyn sought him out in the crowd, meeting his sorrowful eyes with her own, he knew that she did not hear them either.
4. After the Apocalypse
Faramir - once of Gondor, now of nowhere in particular - pulled up his hood when the rain began to fall. It seemed to rain a great deal, these days. Even when it was not raining, the sky was heavy and grey, reflecting the misery of the handful of humans who fought for survival in the remains of the lands that had once been their home.
(Éowyn had once asked him what he thought their world would be like if Frodo - poor, poor Frodo - had been successful in his quest to destroy the One Ring. Faramir had not been able to answer. It was difficult to recall happy memories of the past, let alone imagine anything other than the world they lived in now.)
Currently, Faramir was lying on his stomach in the long damp grass. A few scorched stumps and pitiful saplings were all that remained of the once mighty Fangorn Forest. The Dark Lord had razed the place to the ground many months ago, when it had first been suggested that a growing group of resistance fighters - elves and ents and a scattering of humans - had been using it to as a base for their revolution. As powerful as he was with the Ring on his finger, Sauron did not intend to leave his domination of Middle-earth to chance. Not after Isildur.
His men - a small group, but loyal and brave despite the hardships of life in this strange new world - were similarly positioned around him. They were too few to mount a serious attack, but groups of Haradrim and orc often used this route when travelling to the newly rebuilt tower of Isengard. For the surviving humans, always on the edge of starvation, the chance to supplement their forage with real food could not be missed.
As the supply train meandered closer to them, Faramir stretched out his hand, signalling his men to prepare to attack. He thought, briefly, of the Lady Éowyn. Of why he was still fighting when it seemed that all hope was lost.
He lowered his hand.
“Now!”
***
The remains of the raiding party limped back to their haven in the mountains. They had been successful - their packs were loaded with stolen food - but the cost had been high. Their return was not met with celebration.
Éowyn rushed out of the nearest cave, scanning the faces of the survivors with such intensity that only one - Bergil, son of Beregond - was able to meet her gaze.
“Where is Faramir?” she demanded, “Where is he?”
Bergil shook his head sorrowfully. That was answer enough.
***
When Éowyn had met Faramir for the first time, it had been in the aftermath of the final battle of the ill fated War of the Ring. Everyone she had known and loved - her uncle, her cousin, her brother, even the noble Lord Aragorn - had been lost to her. Only a cold and desperate fury - and her duty to the surviving people of the Mark - pushed her onwards. She had told him them that she had no tears left to shed, only cold rage in her heart. At the time, she had meant it. Now, however, she cried as if her heart was breaking once more.
She cried for missed opportunities and a life than could have been. She cried for the Race of Men, losing their fight for survival in the shattered remains of Middle-earth. Most of all, she cried for the man that she loved and lost without ever freeing her heart long enough to tell him her feelings.
5. The Future
Faramir watched silently from the doorway of the nursery as his beloved wife lifted their infant son - even now, six months after Elboron’s birth, he could scarcely believe his good fortune - from his crib and gathered him to her. The child made soft and nonsensical noises as she sang to him in the tongue of her fathers.
He’d had no intention of interrupting such a perfect scene, but his wife was a battle hardened warrior. She turned at the sound of his footsteps.
“Faramir?” Her eyes were shining and joyful. Her smile made his heart soar, just as it had every time since the first time in the Houses of Healing. “My love, we were not expecting you until nightfall!”
“I rode ahead,” he confessed, moving over to them to kiss Éowyn and Elboron before taking his fledgling family in his arms. There were still times when he expected them to be snatched away from him. His life, like Éowyn’s, had been littered with so many hardships and sorrows that happiness was often difficult to accept. “I could not bear another day without seeing you.”
She kissed him this time. Faramir smiled against her lips. They had an entire lifetime to accept - and, perhaps, add to - their good fortune. He intended to savour every moment of it.