Strange Comfort

- Primula

Eowyn in the Garden

Grey-white walls enclose so few living things,
There is little green or open in this city of stone.
The benches dream of green, with their mossy carvings,
But they too, are cold and hard and lonely when touched.
Above, more buildings, and above that the mountain peaks...
No, there is no escaping being overshadowed in such a place.
Somewhere just over there, nearby, under golden cloth my leige lies dead.
Taken in his moment of glory, overshadowed,
No. I will not think upon such things.
I must turn my mind to other thoughts lest that darkness return for
I would not have the gift of light given me so soon despised.
Commanded to live. It is a strange thought - yet I feel it.
Kept from a clean and honorable death, I must endure it somehow.
This is my battle now.  Finding some way to live.
Shattered pieces of dreams only wound if I touch them.

The nighttime is dark though cleaner than it has been.
I had almost forgotten that darkness could be clean.
Though the moon whispers to me of the late hour,
Yet I would stay just a little, to look out upon the city,
To breathe the sharp freshness of mountain snows above.
I do not turn when I hear his steps.
The Captain, now Steward, coming once more to me.
He who has also borne great troubles; a strange comfort to me.
Brought out of death, he struggles to find his life as I do.
A gift he received from the same hands and voice.

The wind is cold, stirring in his dark hair as he stands beside me
Following my gaze over the garden wall.
Each day, each night it has been the same.  Often we speak not at all.
There is a strange comfort in it, his silences and small words;
We are leaders without followers for a time, a fragile time.
I do not look to be treated gently yet he does so anyway,
And somehow I find no offense. Perhaps it is because he does not
Question my strength, or my thoughts, or my silences.
He does not question who I am or how I came to be here.
We simply walk together, heal together.
Why do I look for him each evening?  He warms me with a glance.
A strange comfort for me, knowing this warmth without a touch,
To feel safe when he is near, I who have never asked for safety.

"Walk with me." He says, and I do.
Inside my heart I look askance at myself.
What of my own people? My own ambitions?
Yet... I want to walk in the garden with him,
To walk and wander and to have it never end.
To live in a garden
With him at my side, forever.

Faramir in the Garden