Author's Note: Once again, a long delay in writing. But, a man at the mall
who looked incredibly like David Wenham, paired with my newly repaired (and
virus-free) computer, has driven me back to my work. Enjoy!
Chapter Thirteen: Amarae
Mordor, no longer heated by the fires rising from the Cracks of Doom, was a chilly, desolate place, devoid of heat, inhabitants, or any kind of cheer. The light was dreary and weak, barely penetrating the thick covering of clouds still lingering from the time before the Great War. Unfortunately, that was all during the day; night was almost hellish when it came to living conditions. There was a frost every evening, lasting well into the morning, freezing all of our food and water. It was pitch black at all times; no moonlight or star rays could get through the haze. There was a total absence of sound, which drove me nearly mad. I had never been able to sleep without sound; as a boy and later, a young man, in Minas Tirith, I slept with the window open so I could be lulled to sleep by the sounds of a city at night; in Ithilien, as a Ranger, there was always the rustle of leaves, the sound of the waterfall; even in my home in Ithilien now, I slept with the window open to hear anything I could, and when Eowyn forced me to close it because of the cold, I wouldn't close my eyes until I could concentrate on the steady whisper of her breathing.
Eowyn, always my thoughts drifted back to Eowyn. On the third night since entering Mordor, I lay on my cot in my tent, blanket pulled up around my ears, thinking of how much I missed my darling wife. Her face was behind my eyelids; every time I tried to close them and catch a fleeting wisp of sleep, I saw her smile and was immediately racked with guilt and loneliness. The thought of causing her pain, the thought of leaving her on angry terms, the thought of being separated from her at all was unbearable. I suffered through nearly four hours of this. Finally, being sick of being sick with myself, I sat up and got dressed, throwing on my heaviest traveling cloak and thickest boats. I could not keep still while thoughts of sorrow drifted through my mind, and sleep was far beyond my grasp.
Pushing open the flaps of my tent, I looked about in the dim torchlight. Two guards were standing on either side of my doorway; they blinked owlishly at me as I regarded each of them in turn.
"Prince Faramir," began one, whose name was Reathor. "My Lord, it is not yet the second hour of the morning; we won't be riding for some time."
"Yes, yes, I know," I answered, looking off into the ink surrounding us. "That torch," I added suddenly, pointing to the one by his companion's side. "Give it here."
Reathor's companion gently picked up the torch and handed it to me. "If you don't mind me asking, my Lord, what is it you're planning to do?" he asked uncertainly.
"I'm going for a walk," I said simply, pulling the hood of my cloak up around my face.
Reathor's mouth fell open. "My Lord, a walk? In the freezing cold? In the very early morning? In the dark? In Mordor? Alone?"
"Yes, that was the plan. I shall be back by dawn. Make sure to tell the other guards when you switch duty. Go find another torch; it's freezing out here."
With a sharp nod, I brushed past them, feeling uncharacteristically harsh. I usually was not so short with my soldiers, but for some reason, I felt a driving need to go out and explore, even if it was in the bitter cold and darkness of Mordor at night.
My boots crunching on the frozen ground, I set off to the northwest, where a long line of jagged rocks stretched out over the plain for as far as I could see. They were natural, I could see, but they made a great added defense to the outer reaches of Mordor. Interested, and feeling just a bit reckless, I strode toward them, not even bothering to think if some evil creatures still dwelt between these ancient boulders and the long, winding mountains. I had first caught a glimpse of them the day before; we had come into Mordor by way of Minas Morgul. It was a very silent and disturbing place; our group had gone through the ancient stronghold as fast as we could. The strangeness and lingering evil of the place shook even Eomer, whom I had never before seen unsettled. As we made our way onto the Plains, I began to look about, fascinated by this place that had always been so close to me yet shut off by the looming and terrible mountains. Now, because the evil behind them was destroyed, they didn't seem so foreboding, but Mordor was how I had pictured it- a waste, distasteful and almost disgusting.
As I neared the rocks, I realized that they were closer together than I had originally thought; in fact, there was barely enough space in between for a normal sized man to squeeze through. I peered between two of the boulders; on the other side seemed to be a thin, but long stretch of plain. Sucking in my breath, I tried to force myself through, yet the bulk of my cloak and my many layers prevented me from doing so. Curiosity (which I always considered to be one of my most dangerous faults) nearly driving me crazy at this point, I pulled of the cloak and stripped off two layers, leaving me in just my undershirt and leggings. Regretting my decision, but not enough to make me turn back, I grabbed my clothes in one hand, the torch in the other, and tried again.
With a heave, I forced myself through, and I immediately began throwing on my clothes again. After I was successfully bundled again, I held the torch out and looked around. The plain sloped downward, with rocks blocking most of it from view. I swore lightly under my breath; this would be a wonderful place for an enemy ambush, and I could have just wandered into a dangerous trap. Still, my usual warning instinct wasn't alarmed, so I crept along, inching around rocks as I went.
As I progressed in this manner, I was startled to hear the clicking of rocks, followed by the sound of footsteps. Immediately I pressed my body flat against one of the boulders, trying to keep my torch out of sight. There were more footsteps... more... They stopped for a moment, and then continued, haltingly. There was no mistake.
They were coming closer.
I reached my free hand to my belt and withdrew my dagger. There was only one pair of footsteps that I could hear; I had the advantage, the light, and the readiness. I began to move slowly, so that I could position myself and see my possible attacker. Halfway through this attempt, I heard a bump, the sound of someone stumbling, and then a high pitched scream and a thud.
No longer wary, sure that the other person was on the ground, I whipped myself around the stone to face whoever it was that was there with me. There was no one there. Whoever it was was still further down the plain.
I was creeping closer, not wanting to give up the element of surprise, when I heard the sobbing. I lowered my weapon; it sounded very close. Cautiously, I peered around a rock obstructing my view, and raised my torch to see.
At the sudden light, the person sitting on the ground in front of me started, trying to stand and then falling again with a small cry of pain. "Wait!" I said, hastily putting my dagger back into my belt and then extending my free hand. "Wait, please! I don't want to hurt you!"
The person turned to face me and with a small shock I realized that it was a young Easterling woman. She peered at me with dark, angry eyes, then pulled the hood of her cloak so far up that I couldn't see her face. She didn't try to stand again, only edged backwards so that her back was against a rock. Immediately she began yelling something at me in her own language, one that I understood very little of.
"No! Stop!" I yelled back at her in what I knew was a horrible imitation of the Easterling language. "Peace?" I asked, taking a step closer, my arm still outstretched.
"You!" she suddenly barked in the Common Tongue. "You think that you can speak like my people? Who teaches you such things?" Her voice was rough and irritated, but it sounded somewhat amazed as well.
"I'm sorry I don't know much of your tongue; that was actually about all I knew. Please, don't be frightened, I want to help you. Have you been hurt?"
With a shrug, the hood of her cloak fell back, and I saw her face in the flickering light from the torch. Some of the anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by one of mild distrust. "Who are you? Why are you here? You are Gondorian, yes? What brings you here when you have such beautiful land already at your disposal?" Her accent was thick, but it was still easy to understand what she was saying; if I had any doubt, her facial expression could have conveyed the message just as well.
"I am here with my... companions." I hesitated to say soldiers, just in case this whole incident was an elaborate ruse. Perhaps if I appeared to be nothing more than a soldier myself, any evil that might be accompanying her might take no notice of me. "We are traveling to meet a group of Easterlings, including their king. We wish to negotiate the transference of some of the lands of Mordor to your people."
The young woman's eyes narrowed. "The King has sent word to you of the flooding, and your King has offered him land? It is sorrow that such a proud people must ask for land like children would ask for sweets. Your victory in the Great War has humbled our people very much." She looked bitter and turned her face away.
I knelt down on the ground by her feet, which were, to my amazement and slight horror, unshod. She was bleeding, and the skin looked badly cracked; her left ankle was swollen awfully. "I think that your ankle has been dislocated," I said softly, trying to put the young woman at ease. "If you don't mind, I would reset it for you."
She turned back to me and looked at me disdainfully. "Do not bother. I have no way to pay you. All that I have must be used for some other purpose; none can be spared for such creature comforts."
"My Lady, this is no creature comfort. I know not where you are trying to go, but you will get no further with your ankle like this. At the slow pace you will travel like this, it will be weeks before you find civilization; you will perish from hunger. Please, allow me to help you. As payment, I would only require that you tell me who you are, why you are here, where you are going, and why you have left your home." I smiled softly at her, trying to get her to warm up to me a bit.
She stared at me harshly for a moment more, then the angry look faded from her eyes. Pulling up her cloak and dress a little, she offered her ankle to me. She turned away from me as she spoke, as if she were ashamed of something. "My name is Amarae. I am an Easterling, as you can tell, a daughter of two peasants. I was married, and had two children, but my husband found a better wife, and I was cast off. So I am regarded as a dishonored woman in the eyes of my people. I have always been a very prideful person, which is a very bad thing for an individual, but wonderful for an entire people. I could not stand being looked down upon for something I could not have helped, so I found some money and started off to the West. To Gondor."
I nodded, squeezing her ankle tenderly, trying to find the exact place where it had become dislocated. "Where are your children?" I asked, trying to keep her talking. Aside from being curious, I knew that if she was concentrating on something else, the pain of what I had to do would be less harsh.
She seemed to understand this too, and kept speaking. "They are with their father. When a woman is cast off, she has two options. She can either see her children as often as she wants, or she can take a large sum of money from her husband and go to find her fortune. I stayed in my town around my children for a while, but when the shame became too great, I took the money and left. It is heartbreaking, but I felt I was shaming my children by being around them." She winced as I found the spot the needed to be moved and tightened my grip.
"What are you planning to do in Gondor?" I asked, trying my best to keep her calm.
"I was a maid in my former husband's home; that is where he met me and asked me to be his wife. I thought that maybe I could clean houses for some of the people in Gondor; I hear that there are some very wealthy and kind people in your realm and..." She bit her lip and stifled a cry as I twisted her ankle back into place. As the pain passed, she turned her face towards me and she smiled softly. "Thank you, kind man. You know quite a bit about me now, but I do not even know your name."
"Are you cold?" I asked, avoiding her indirect question. Without waiting for her to respond, I took off my cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked up at me quizzically, and I found that I could not hide myself from her.
"My name is Faramir; I am Steward of Gondor and prince of Ithilien," I said quietly, not wanting to sound proud or superior.
Amarae's eyes widened, and she immediately bowed her head. "I am sorry, my Lord; I did not know! Forgive me for speaking rudely, or of inane things; had I known who you were..."
"I probably wouldn't have gotten to know you as a companion, but only as a servant. Please, I do not want to be some high and distant monarch; I have never really cared much for such court formalities. If you would, Amarae, I would like to take you back to my camp. You won't be able to go very far on your injured ankle, and our mission will not be that much longer."
She nodded, keeping her eyes away from mine. I placed my hand under her chin and tilted her head so that she had no choice but to look into my face. "Don't act frightened; I will not hurt you. I don't wish to be your superior, but your friend. Please, do not treat me as if I am sacred. No 'My Lord', or other vague titles; Lord Faramir will do just fine for now."
Her eyes, very deep and clear, caught mine and she nodded. "Yes, Lord Faramir," she said. "I would like it very much to travel with you and your men."
"Very well then, it is settled." I placed the torch in her hands and then scooped her up into my arms. She was very light; I wondered how long it had been since she had last eaten. "Hold the torch in front of us; yes, like that," I instructed. I began to sneak back through the rock maze, which was considerably harder now that I was carrying more than I had come with.
"Amarae, how old are you?" I asked, suddenly curious again.
"I believe that I have twenty two years, Lord Faramir. Why do you ask?"
"And how old are your children?"
"My girl is five, and my boy, eight. Once again, may I ask why you want to know?"
"You must have married quite young," I said as we neared the boulders that formed the wall to the chasm.
"Yes, I suppose I was a young girl; thirteen maybe?"
"Twenty two," I mused quietly. "You are quite young still."
"Oh, and I suppose that you are very old? I believe that you are young and handsome," she said with a mischievous grin.
"I am married," I said, somewhat reproachfully. She was very playful now that she had come to trust me, and while that was nice, any romantic intentions would not be. I slid her through the boulders with ease, but as I was doing so I realized that I would have to strip to my underclothes again. "Amarae," I called to her from the far side, "Turn your back, close your eyes, and do not look again until I tell you."
After receiving her confirmation that she had done so, I undressed quickly, slid through with great haste, and threw my clothes back on again. Suddenly, I felt almost sick; what would Eowyn say if she saw me standing half naked in the deserts of Mordor with a young Easterling woman who found me to be handsome? I shook the unease from my mind; nothing sinister or unhonorable had happened. Amarae was helpless with her injured ankle; I could do nothing but protect her.
Once I had picked her up and started traveling with her again, she asked, "Is your wife very beautiful?"
The doubt returned, and I felt uneasy speaking to this girl of Eowyn. "Very beautiful," I answered truthfully. "Very kind, sweet, and trustworthy. I love her with all that I can; she is very dear to me."
"And do you have children?"
"A boy and twin girls."
"Ah," came Amarae's response. She suddenly became very quiet, and after a while I noticed that she had fallen asleep.
The first rays of dawn were making their weak appearance as I stepped into camp. Immediately, all eyes were on me as the men wondered what their Prince could be doing with a sleeping Easterling woman in his arms. Eomer regarded her suspiciously as I stepped toward him. I stopped so that we were facing one another; the men circled around us, waiting to hear their questions answered.
"Faramir, if you don't mind me asking, who is this?" Eomer asked, tilting his head and looking slightly bemused.
"Her name is Amarae. I found her in the desert earlier this morning; I couldn't sleep so I went walking to clear my mind, and this is what I happened upon. Her ankle was severely dislocated; I had to fix it. Because of her injury, I could not let her keep going on how she was; I asked her to join us, for she is going to Gondor as well."
Eomer bent over the sleeping young woman in my arms. "And why is she going to Gondor?" he inquired.
"Her life was hard; she wanted to make a new one for herself," I answered, unwilling to give the details of her shame to anyone without her approval. Eomer seemed to sense this, and nodded.
"Well, see if she'll ride on a horse with you; let her sleep now if she wants, but we will not wait," he said finally. We exchanged a smile and I left to carry Amarae to my horse. I lifted her up to the mare's back and, in her exhaustion, she did nothing but sigh and lean against the soft pillow of mane. After making sure she was steady, I began to pack my other things up, always keeping her in my sight.
"Faramir."
I turned to see Eomer standing there, the same amused grin on his face. "Yes, brother?" I asked with a smile and good humor.
"This girl," he said, gesturing towards Amarae, dozing on the horse. "Do you think Eowyn will approve of you rescuing and being a savior towards a pretty young Easterling girl?"
"Don't you think I've already thought of how Eowyn will react?" I answered, continuing to pack.
"And?" he asked, pushing me to say more.
"And..." I sighed and gave a weak little laugh. "And hopefully Eowyn loves me as much as I love her, for if she loves me any less, I'm afraid for my safety."
Chapter Thirteen: Amarae
Mordor, no longer heated by the fires rising from the Cracks of Doom, was a chilly, desolate place, devoid of heat, inhabitants, or any kind of cheer. The light was dreary and weak, barely penetrating the thick covering of clouds still lingering from the time before the Great War. Unfortunately, that was all during the day; night was almost hellish when it came to living conditions. There was a frost every evening, lasting well into the morning, freezing all of our food and water. It was pitch black at all times; no moonlight or star rays could get through the haze. There was a total absence of sound, which drove me nearly mad. I had never been able to sleep without sound; as a boy and later, a young man, in Minas Tirith, I slept with the window open so I could be lulled to sleep by the sounds of a city at night; in Ithilien, as a Ranger, there was always the rustle of leaves, the sound of the waterfall; even in my home in Ithilien now, I slept with the window open to hear anything I could, and when Eowyn forced me to close it because of the cold, I wouldn't close my eyes until I could concentrate on the steady whisper of her breathing.
Eowyn, always my thoughts drifted back to Eowyn. On the third night since entering Mordor, I lay on my cot in my tent, blanket pulled up around my ears, thinking of how much I missed my darling wife. Her face was behind my eyelids; every time I tried to close them and catch a fleeting wisp of sleep, I saw her smile and was immediately racked with guilt and loneliness. The thought of causing her pain, the thought of leaving her on angry terms, the thought of being separated from her at all was unbearable. I suffered through nearly four hours of this. Finally, being sick of being sick with myself, I sat up and got dressed, throwing on my heaviest traveling cloak and thickest boats. I could not keep still while thoughts of sorrow drifted through my mind, and sleep was far beyond my grasp.
Pushing open the flaps of my tent, I looked about in the dim torchlight. Two guards were standing on either side of my doorway; they blinked owlishly at me as I regarded each of them in turn.
"Prince Faramir," began one, whose name was Reathor. "My Lord, it is not yet the second hour of the morning; we won't be riding for some time."
"Yes, yes, I know," I answered, looking off into the ink surrounding us. "That torch," I added suddenly, pointing to the one by his companion's side. "Give it here."
Reathor's companion gently picked up the torch and handed it to me. "If you don't mind me asking, my Lord, what is it you're planning to do?" he asked uncertainly.
"I'm going for a walk," I said simply, pulling the hood of my cloak up around my face.
Reathor's mouth fell open. "My Lord, a walk? In the freezing cold? In the very early morning? In the dark? In Mordor? Alone?"
"Yes, that was the plan. I shall be back by dawn. Make sure to tell the other guards when you switch duty. Go find another torch; it's freezing out here."
With a sharp nod, I brushed past them, feeling uncharacteristically harsh. I usually was not so short with my soldiers, but for some reason, I felt a driving need to go out and explore, even if it was in the bitter cold and darkness of Mordor at night.
My boots crunching on the frozen ground, I set off to the northwest, where a long line of jagged rocks stretched out over the plain for as far as I could see. They were natural, I could see, but they made a great added defense to the outer reaches of Mordor. Interested, and feeling just a bit reckless, I strode toward them, not even bothering to think if some evil creatures still dwelt between these ancient boulders and the long, winding mountains. I had first caught a glimpse of them the day before; we had come into Mordor by way of Minas Morgul. It was a very silent and disturbing place; our group had gone through the ancient stronghold as fast as we could. The strangeness and lingering evil of the place shook even Eomer, whom I had never before seen unsettled. As we made our way onto the Plains, I began to look about, fascinated by this place that had always been so close to me yet shut off by the looming and terrible mountains. Now, because the evil behind them was destroyed, they didn't seem so foreboding, but Mordor was how I had pictured it- a waste, distasteful and almost disgusting.
As I neared the rocks, I realized that they were closer together than I had originally thought; in fact, there was barely enough space in between for a normal sized man to squeeze through. I peered between two of the boulders; on the other side seemed to be a thin, but long stretch of plain. Sucking in my breath, I tried to force myself through, yet the bulk of my cloak and my many layers prevented me from doing so. Curiosity (which I always considered to be one of my most dangerous faults) nearly driving me crazy at this point, I pulled of the cloak and stripped off two layers, leaving me in just my undershirt and leggings. Regretting my decision, but not enough to make me turn back, I grabbed my clothes in one hand, the torch in the other, and tried again.
With a heave, I forced myself through, and I immediately began throwing on my clothes again. After I was successfully bundled again, I held the torch out and looked around. The plain sloped downward, with rocks blocking most of it from view. I swore lightly under my breath; this would be a wonderful place for an enemy ambush, and I could have just wandered into a dangerous trap. Still, my usual warning instinct wasn't alarmed, so I crept along, inching around rocks as I went.
As I progressed in this manner, I was startled to hear the clicking of rocks, followed by the sound of footsteps. Immediately I pressed my body flat against one of the boulders, trying to keep my torch out of sight. There were more footsteps... more... They stopped for a moment, and then continued, haltingly. There was no mistake.
They were coming closer.
I reached my free hand to my belt and withdrew my dagger. There was only one pair of footsteps that I could hear; I had the advantage, the light, and the readiness. I began to move slowly, so that I could position myself and see my possible attacker. Halfway through this attempt, I heard a bump, the sound of someone stumbling, and then a high pitched scream and a thud.
No longer wary, sure that the other person was on the ground, I whipped myself around the stone to face whoever it was that was there with me. There was no one there. Whoever it was was still further down the plain.
I was creeping closer, not wanting to give up the element of surprise, when I heard the sobbing. I lowered my weapon; it sounded very close. Cautiously, I peered around a rock obstructing my view, and raised my torch to see.
At the sudden light, the person sitting on the ground in front of me started, trying to stand and then falling again with a small cry of pain. "Wait!" I said, hastily putting my dagger back into my belt and then extending my free hand. "Wait, please! I don't want to hurt you!"
The person turned to face me and with a small shock I realized that it was a young Easterling woman. She peered at me with dark, angry eyes, then pulled the hood of her cloak so far up that I couldn't see her face. She didn't try to stand again, only edged backwards so that her back was against a rock. Immediately she began yelling something at me in her own language, one that I understood very little of.
"No! Stop!" I yelled back at her in what I knew was a horrible imitation of the Easterling language. "Peace?" I asked, taking a step closer, my arm still outstretched.
"You!" she suddenly barked in the Common Tongue. "You think that you can speak like my people? Who teaches you such things?" Her voice was rough and irritated, but it sounded somewhat amazed as well.
"I'm sorry I don't know much of your tongue; that was actually about all I knew. Please, don't be frightened, I want to help you. Have you been hurt?"
With a shrug, the hood of her cloak fell back, and I saw her face in the flickering light from the torch. Some of the anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by one of mild distrust. "Who are you? Why are you here? You are Gondorian, yes? What brings you here when you have such beautiful land already at your disposal?" Her accent was thick, but it was still easy to understand what she was saying; if I had any doubt, her facial expression could have conveyed the message just as well.
"I am here with my... companions." I hesitated to say soldiers, just in case this whole incident was an elaborate ruse. Perhaps if I appeared to be nothing more than a soldier myself, any evil that might be accompanying her might take no notice of me. "We are traveling to meet a group of Easterlings, including their king. We wish to negotiate the transference of some of the lands of Mordor to your people."
The young woman's eyes narrowed. "The King has sent word to you of the flooding, and your King has offered him land? It is sorrow that such a proud people must ask for land like children would ask for sweets. Your victory in the Great War has humbled our people very much." She looked bitter and turned her face away.
I knelt down on the ground by her feet, which were, to my amazement and slight horror, unshod. She was bleeding, and the skin looked badly cracked; her left ankle was swollen awfully. "I think that your ankle has been dislocated," I said softly, trying to put the young woman at ease. "If you don't mind, I would reset it for you."
She turned back to me and looked at me disdainfully. "Do not bother. I have no way to pay you. All that I have must be used for some other purpose; none can be spared for such creature comforts."
"My Lady, this is no creature comfort. I know not where you are trying to go, but you will get no further with your ankle like this. At the slow pace you will travel like this, it will be weeks before you find civilization; you will perish from hunger. Please, allow me to help you. As payment, I would only require that you tell me who you are, why you are here, where you are going, and why you have left your home." I smiled softly at her, trying to get her to warm up to me a bit.
She stared at me harshly for a moment more, then the angry look faded from her eyes. Pulling up her cloak and dress a little, she offered her ankle to me. She turned away from me as she spoke, as if she were ashamed of something. "My name is Amarae. I am an Easterling, as you can tell, a daughter of two peasants. I was married, and had two children, but my husband found a better wife, and I was cast off. So I am regarded as a dishonored woman in the eyes of my people. I have always been a very prideful person, which is a very bad thing for an individual, but wonderful for an entire people. I could not stand being looked down upon for something I could not have helped, so I found some money and started off to the West. To Gondor."
I nodded, squeezing her ankle tenderly, trying to find the exact place where it had become dislocated. "Where are your children?" I asked, trying to keep her talking. Aside from being curious, I knew that if she was concentrating on something else, the pain of what I had to do would be less harsh.
She seemed to understand this too, and kept speaking. "They are with their father. When a woman is cast off, she has two options. She can either see her children as often as she wants, or she can take a large sum of money from her husband and go to find her fortune. I stayed in my town around my children for a while, but when the shame became too great, I took the money and left. It is heartbreaking, but I felt I was shaming my children by being around them." She winced as I found the spot the needed to be moved and tightened my grip.
"What are you planning to do in Gondor?" I asked, trying my best to keep her calm.
"I was a maid in my former husband's home; that is where he met me and asked me to be his wife. I thought that maybe I could clean houses for some of the people in Gondor; I hear that there are some very wealthy and kind people in your realm and..." She bit her lip and stifled a cry as I twisted her ankle back into place. As the pain passed, she turned her face towards me and she smiled softly. "Thank you, kind man. You know quite a bit about me now, but I do not even know your name."
"Are you cold?" I asked, avoiding her indirect question. Without waiting for her to respond, I took off my cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked up at me quizzically, and I found that I could not hide myself from her.
"My name is Faramir; I am Steward of Gondor and prince of Ithilien," I said quietly, not wanting to sound proud or superior.
Amarae's eyes widened, and she immediately bowed her head. "I am sorry, my Lord; I did not know! Forgive me for speaking rudely, or of inane things; had I known who you were..."
"I probably wouldn't have gotten to know you as a companion, but only as a servant. Please, I do not want to be some high and distant monarch; I have never really cared much for such court formalities. If you would, Amarae, I would like to take you back to my camp. You won't be able to go very far on your injured ankle, and our mission will not be that much longer."
She nodded, keeping her eyes away from mine. I placed my hand under her chin and tilted her head so that she had no choice but to look into my face. "Don't act frightened; I will not hurt you. I don't wish to be your superior, but your friend. Please, do not treat me as if I am sacred. No 'My Lord', or other vague titles; Lord Faramir will do just fine for now."
Her eyes, very deep and clear, caught mine and she nodded. "Yes, Lord Faramir," she said. "I would like it very much to travel with you and your men."
"Very well then, it is settled." I placed the torch in her hands and then scooped her up into my arms. She was very light; I wondered how long it had been since she had last eaten. "Hold the torch in front of us; yes, like that," I instructed. I began to sneak back through the rock maze, which was considerably harder now that I was carrying more than I had come with.
"Amarae, how old are you?" I asked, suddenly curious again.
"I believe that I have twenty two years, Lord Faramir. Why do you ask?"
"And how old are your children?"
"My girl is five, and my boy, eight. Once again, may I ask why you want to know?"
"You must have married quite young," I said as we neared the boulders that formed the wall to the chasm.
"Yes, I suppose I was a young girl; thirteen maybe?"
"Twenty two," I mused quietly. "You are quite young still."
"Oh, and I suppose that you are very old? I believe that you are young and handsome," she said with a mischievous grin.
"I am married," I said, somewhat reproachfully. She was very playful now that she had come to trust me, and while that was nice, any romantic intentions would not be. I slid her through the boulders with ease, but as I was doing so I realized that I would have to strip to my underclothes again. "Amarae," I called to her from the far side, "Turn your back, close your eyes, and do not look again until I tell you."
After receiving her confirmation that she had done so, I undressed quickly, slid through with great haste, and threw my clothes back on again. Suddenly, I felt almost sick; what would Eowyn say if she saw me standing half naked in the deserts of Mordor with a young Easterling woman who found me to be handsome? I shook the unease from my mind; nothing sinister or unhonorable had happened. Amarae was helpless with her injured ankle; I could do nothing but protect her.
Once I had picked her up and started traveling with her again, she asked, "Is your wife very beautiful?"
The doubt returned, and I felt uneasy speaking to this girl of Eowyn. "Very beautiful," I answered truthfully. "Very kind, sweet, and trustworthy. I love her with all that I can; she is very dear to me."
"And do you have children?"
"A boy and twin girls."
"Ah," came Amarae's response. She suddenly became very quiet, and after a while I noticed that she had fallen asleep.
The first rays of dawn were making their weak appearance as I stepped into camp. Immediately, all eyes were on me as the men wondered what their Prince could be doing with a sleeping Easterling woman in his arms. Eomer regarded her suspiciously as I stepped toward him. I stopped so that we were facing one another; the men circled around us, waiting to hear their questions answered.
"Faramir, if you don't mind me asking, who is this?" Eomer asked, tilting his head and looking slightly bemused.
"Her name is Amarae. I found her in the desert earlier this morning; I couldn't sleep so I went walking to clear my mind, and this is what I happened upon. Her ankle was severely dislocated; I had to fix it. Because of her injury, I could not let her keep going on how she was; I asked her to join us, for she is going to Gondor as well."
Eomer bent over the sleeping young woman in my arms. "And why is she going to Gondor?" he inquired.
"Her life was hard; she wanted to make a new one for herself," I answered, unwilling to give the details of her shame to anyone without her approval. Eomer seemed to sense this, and nodded.
"Well, see if she'll ride on a horse with you; let her sleep now if she wants, but we will not wait," he said finally. We exchanged a smile and I left to carry Amarae to my horse. I lifted her up to the mare's back and, in her exhaustion, she did nothing but sigh and lean against the soft pillow of mane. After making sure she was steady, I began to pack my other things up, always keeping her in my sight.
"Faramir."
I turned to see Eomer standing there, the same amused grin on his face. "Yes, brother?" I asked with a smile and good humor.
"This girl," he said, gesturing towards Amarae, dozing on the horse. "Do you think Eowyn will approve of you rescuing and being a savior towards a pretty young Easterling girl?"
"Don't you think I've already thought of how Eowyn will react?" I answered, continuing to pack.
"And?" he asked, pushing me to say more.
"And..." I sighed and gave a weak little laugh. "And hopefully Eowyn loves me as much as I love her, for if she loves me any less, I'm afraid for my safety."