Eowyn awoke on the fourth week of her married life realizing that there were decided advantages to having an insomniac for a husband. There at her beside, once again, was a steaming cup of tea, as there had been for every morning of the past twenty-five days. It seemed this ritual would continue. Reaching for the cup, she sat up in bed and luxuriated in the scent and warmth and need to not move. Surely even the Queen is not so spoiled she thought.
By the slant of the sun it was the 7th hour of the morning, a perfectly respectable time to wake. Faramir of course had been long up; years of night watches and constant vigilance having robbed him of the ability to sleep for long. He would have already broken his fast and done hours of work. When he poked his head in to check if she was awake, she would take delight in coaxing him back to bed.
As she sipped her tea, she looked to the nearby window and out over the city. She could hear the cries of street vendors hawking pastries, guards changing at the watch, wagons, horses; already much of the White City was on the move for the day. Bema, it was noisy compared with Edoras, she would have to get used to it. As she would, she knew, have to get used to living with this man. She had married a Prince and a Steward, but she really had married a Ranger; half his life had been given to the wilds. Living most of those years on a bedroll and rations, a nomad, this city was no more his settled home than hers. Although he always kept her company at breakfast and ate again, he cared little for what it was, long used grabbing anything to hand. It seemed it would take them both some work to settle into peacetime.
As she laid down her cup, Eowyn pulled the covers a little straighter. The bed around her, as always, was in total disarray, the covers mostly on the floor. Last night, before she drifted off, Faramir had cradled her in his arms, throwing off the coverlet, his body hot as a torch beacon, as it was after any food or exercise.
His smile had been so very gentle and apprising, pulling a stray hair off her face. She lay nestled against his shoulder, their legs intertwined, reluctant to lose the sense of oneness. "Do you know, love, you are beautiful so dishevelled. Your hair is a bird's nest and your nose is bright red."
" What?!" she had squeaked, embarrassed, putting up her hand to cover the evidence. "Why didn't you tell me?" The tip of her nose had been tingling, when she thought to notice.
"It is so every time." He pulled her hand away and kissed her fingers, smiling at the flush now brushing her cheeks. The blue eyes were dark with mischief and lingering desire. "I love it, I have at least one quiet sign that you are content. I may have to leave instructions, else the guard break down the door in worry some night."
"You would not!" She started up in concern, appalled at the thought of the gossip that would run through the city. "It is bad enough they think I am a barbarian shieldmaiden."
He laughed and pulled her closer. "Oh Eowyn, you are far too easy to tease. It is not even sporting."
"And you have had too much practice being a Gondorian politician, lying with a straight face! At least we Rohirrim are open"
"Oh I know." He murmured, as his fingers traced a languid path down her arm to the pale arc of her hip. "Whatever you are thinking or feeling is there to see in your face." As he dipped his head and touched his lips to one pale breast, she gasped. At the sound he looked up, an eyebrow raised. "Shall I rescind the order? Do you want the guards to intervene and save you from your fate?"
As the tingling and yearning need kindled once again, she sighed. "Oh no, no." and gave herself up to his caresses.
Once Eowyn arose that morning, she found Faramir in the study, rifling through a mess of papers on his desk. More lay strewn about and it looked not so much a work space but as if a paper sea was laying down new sediment on every surface. Her husband, it turned out, was nearly fatally messy, at times so lost in thought that cups or daggers or quills would be put down on any nearby surface, to be discovered later in the most improbable of places.
"Eowyn, do you know where my council notes are?" Dressed in his official blacks, today was his first council meeting since the wedding, his first day back in his duties to the King. "I am to meet Aragorn soon." Bent over the desk, he did not see the quickly hidden smirk upon her face.
"Yes, I do. You left them in the sitting room yesterday." Eowyn moved through to the adjacent room and he trailed behind, running his fingers through his hair. Setting down her cup on the low table, she picked up the thick folio and passed it to him. As their hands brushed his heart skipped a beat. She was so very lovely and alluring and here he was leaving for entire day. A month has gone by far too fast, he thought. "I am sorry I cannot join you as you break your fast. I want to speak to my uncle as well." Faramir fiddled with the ties on the folio, the sheets askew, wondering when they had got to be such a mess. Suddenly he looked up at her anxiously. "What will you do this day? You could join us at luncheon."
"I will ride this morning I think." She smiled and seemed quite unconcerned. "The Queen has already invited me to lunch with her and then will I see what the afternoon brings. I will not be lonely. How late will you meet?"
"Till suppertime at least." He sighed. "I must go." Puzzled by the sudden oddly bland expression on his wife's face, Faramir quickly kissed her cheek and took his leave. He would have to find out what the look was about later.
As the Steward was announced into the King's presence, he paused a moment to enjoy the newly finished morning room in the long disused palace. East-facing and bright with the morning sun it looked out over the Pelennor and the river sparkling in the distance, so different from the hushed and dank spaces he and Boromir had explored as boys. A gentle breeze moved the curtains at the wide windows and a small table was set with food to break their fast.
The King, already engrossed in plans for the day, looked up and was struck by the change in his Steward. The weeks of rest and respite had clearly done him a world of good. Gone were the constant dark smudges below his eyes, the strained set of too thin shoulders, lines of worry that had dogged him for so long. Trying to place why this face seemed unfamiliar, Aragorn realized that as handsome as Faramir had always been, now he also looked relaxed. He rose and clasped the younger man's shoulder. "Welcome back, my friend. It is good to see you looking so well."
The Queen smiled one of her winningest smiles and raised her hand to Faramir to be kissed. "Good morning, your highness. You look as bright as the day."
"Not as bright as you." Arwen's smile was warm and she caught her husband's eye. They would both make sure that duty did drive him down again. "Your sojourn seems to have done you the veriest good. We should be giving you long holidays more often."
Not failing to catch their quick glance, the object of their concerns, sighed. When would they stop worrying about him? He had never enjoyed being made a fuss over. "I do thank you sire for the chance to have ignored my duties for a while."
"After all you have done, how could I done aught else?" Aragorn shook his head but motioned for his steward to sit. The man would just have to get used to being appreciated sooner or later.
Arwen passed him tea and bread, well aware that this was his second breakfast, hobbit-style . "Your lady seems just as well. We will lunch today did she tell you?"
"Yes, she did. I feel like I am abandoning her. After a month together, to now spend a day apart seems like a week."
Arwen's tinkling laugh settled through the room. "I expect you will survive." Faramir wanted to kick himself. Here he was complaining about a day and the Queen had waited how many decades for her husband?
"I will endeavour to keep her occupied. It is too nice a day to not be out. We will picnic on the slopes and think wistfully of both you here." The king snorted and his wife pulled a face at him. "I will leave you to your work then, shall I?" The Queen rose and took her leave of them, dropping a farewell kiss upon her husband's brow in recompense for the jab about their day ahead.
Aragorn smiled ruefully, as he took a roll and broke it in half, sharing it with Faramir. "My friend, we should all have such a choice. They will be an unruly and restive lot with the fine weather out of doors."
"Or they will quickly agree to everything so they can spend a few hours outside themselves." The king laughed outright. They both knew the likelihood of that.
As the two reviewed the items to be covered at the first full meeting of the spring session, Faramir was a bit aghast: the list seemed very long. Reconstruction was well underway, but agreement was needed on the next round of priorities and tithes. This would not be an easy task as every lord and region thought themself the hardest hit. The standing army strength would need revising and retired soldiers and smallholders would best be settled through the summer months in time for the harvest. However much Aragorn preferred consensus, achieving it was another matter.
"My father listened to each and every one of them in turn and then did whatever he had planned previously." Faramir mused thoughtfully, as he peeled a piece of fruit. "It was shrewd politically. They all thought they had been consulted. You could try it on them."
"Try what on us?" asked the Prince of Dol Amroth, smiling broadly as he was announced. Imrahil strode in, resplendent as ever in robes of blue and silver, covered throughout with a design of waves and what looked like sails. His circlet of mithril and ijolite glittered in his dark hair as he moved. Bowing briefly as he greeted his king, the shimmer seemed to blind them.
"Uncle with that you will have the council mesmerized."
"That is my strategy, nephew. They will not notice when I am fleecing them in the discussions afterwards." Imhrahil sat comfortably beside his nephew and eyed him sidelong. "Faramir lad, it is very good to see you. You look very…."
At the look of mingled exasperation and affection upon his Steward's face, Aragorn raised his hand to interrupt. "My Lord of Dol Amroth, might I advise that the next person who comments that the Steward looks particularly well this morning, I fear might suffer some consequence."
Imrahil desisted gracefully, and they turned to business. Faramir outlined the background for the tithes recommended. "Sire, Lossarnach and Lebeinin were the hardest hit in the South, there is no doubt there. The duchess has been using her funds to advance rebuilding as quickly as possible, but many towns were raised, and we cannot go the winter without rebuilding."
"Belfalas stands ready to help, as you know sire. We suffered little about the bay by comparison."
"Accepted gratefully…What of the North?"
"Anorien was largely spared and gave up harvests last year to feed the troops, hence I suggest we not burden them further. The King of Bree will be here to discuss their efforts, which have significantly slowed. There are some simmering disputes about how much wood can be culled for rebuilding. The Thain of the Shire sends his regrets.
"For Rohan who will be here?"
"Marshall Elfhelm. The King is otherwise engaged." The Steward's mouth twitched and he caught his uncle's eye. Some recent intelligence had told him that Eomer-King was engaged in courting his cousin Lothiriel. "The resettlement in Ithilien will be a long road but folk are keen. It has only been a generation since it was abandoned."
The king seemed well pleased at the totals Faramir passed him. "And the votes?"
"You can count on the Duchesss' support, Anorien, and most of the north I should think. It is the south that is uncertain. But the Prince, of course."
"Which one? Is your vote in doubt?" Aragorn teased. His friend kept forgetting his new found title.
"Both." Faramir shook his head sheepishly. "I am sorry I just can't get used to it."
At Faramir's nod that he was done, Imrahil pulled out a summary of the troop deployments and the various commanders' recommendations. Many minutes passed as a motion for redeployment was finalized.
The most pressing business over, the king reached forward for another cup and, reveling in the new found luxury of peace, added two spoonsfull of sugar. Both Princes smiled, knowing he likely would have desisted had the queen been there. "I would reward those who have worked hard and the duchess not the least. I wonder that we could not find a suitor for her. It would please me to see her settled and happy."
Faramir almost choked on his own drink. "Nay, she would not thank you for that sire. Lebinnin goes to her husband's sister-son, he is of age next year. Lossarnach is hers outright and passes to her niece in time. I doubt she would ever wed again. Better to give her something interesting to do."
"Indeed" commented Imrahil wryly, "else she finds it for herself."
Aragorn was loathe to raise the final point. He fingered the golden circlet he would wear at it lay beside him on a bench. Faramir's own simple silver and moonstone piece lay askew upon the table. Unlike Imrahil, neither of them liked particularly the ceremonial dress, but the king understood that symbols mattered. He cleared his throat, anxious about causing his friend upset. "There will be an open motion come forward, I expect, although I advised against it. Some of the lords have asked again when you will take up the robes and the ring? They are concerned that I am relegating the Stewardship to the position of a mere secretary."
"Who?" Faramir's eyes were wary.
"Forvald and Castamir of course."
Imrahil raised his eyes to the ceiling. "If those two spent as much time worrying about their lands as they did the deportment of others, the south be would be on altogether better footing."
The Steward bent his head and sighed, an image came unbidden of the pyre and his father. Not his own memory of course, but what he pictured from Pippin's words. A new rod had been fashioned for the coronation but the ring had been consumed, as had the robes. Insensitive as the motion was, he had sworn no man would bend his knee to him and kiss a ring. He would wear no other adornment save the simple circlet and his black livery. "Then I will tell them I am quite happy to help my liege in any fashion, as is the spirit of the times and they should emulate it."
Aragorn nodded gravely, thinking the nobles would find their new Steward took some getting used to. There was steel behind the gentle mien.
Mid-morning the Princes went through to the king's council chamber, where the lords and representatives of Gondor and Anor and its allied kingdoms were gathered. The windows were open on that fine and warm spring day, and a scent of lilac wafted through the room. It would, no doubt, become warm and stuffy through the day and the weather taunting. The lords stood arrayed about the room in small groups, exchanging news of the winter. Faramir excused himself from one of Lord of Lamedon's more impassioned rants, and made his way to where Imrahil was standing. They exchanged glances, both hoping the would would go quickly.
Amerith. Duchess of Lossarnach and Lebennin glided smoothly toward where they stood, her grey silk skirts rustling softly. The wealthiest widow in Gondor, the most notorious woman of the court and his father's most trusted councillor: they were old friends.
'Lady Lossarnach.' Faramir kissed her cheek, in greeting. Her hazel eyes were merry, her auburn hair piled up and bound with the amethyst diadem for Lebennin.
The lady smiled, as she looked him up and down appraisingly. "My darling welcome back. How are you? No, silly question, I can see you are very well, glowing, happy." 'Spent?' came the quick question in his mind and a ripple of silent laughter.
'Amerith! Behave!' An embarrassed flush crept up his cheeks. For Imrahil's benefit Faramir replied aloud, a half-smile twitching on his features. "I am very well, thank you, august lady."
'August? Oh cruel boy. ' "And you are married. Imrahil, whatever shall I do? The last worthy bachelor in the City is gone. Surely someone will lower the pennants, I must order black for mourning."
The Prince of Dol Amroth, trying not to laugh, gave her his most elegant and glittering bow. "Lady, I am affronted. I thought I was the most eligible single man in the Kingdom."
"Oh I am so sorry, sweet Prince." She placed a long beringed hand upon his cheek and sighed. "It would be impossible. That watery Dol Amroth blue clashes with my colouring. But I might reconsider if I could persuade you to redecorate the Swan Knights, and preferably the entire city."
Imrahil shook his head, grinning, thoroughly enjoying their sport. "How would I ever explain it to them?" Swiftly Faramir saw an opening.
"My Lady, my lord why have we not thought of this before?" They were both such shameless peacocks, well suited to each other. " I must mention this to the king. He had asked if there was some way to recompense you for your work on the City's defences, Duchess. A new title, Princess of Dol Amroth, it is the perfect idea. You both would so enjoy shopping the markets together and the kingdom's economy would be saved."
As he beat a strategic retreat, Faramir decided that having left Amerith for once speechless and surprised was worth the very real threat of retribution.
The meeting settled to order and Faramir took up his place upon the King's right hand. He placed the rod before him and announced the meeting open, nodding to those assembled dignitaries, yet standing behind their seats. "By order of his majesty King Elessar, this council in the 3020th year of the Third Age is called. You may be seated, my lords and lady."
So began the endless rounds of introductions, motions and debate. It seemed to Faramir that the hours trickled by as if the sand in the hourglass was stuck with honey. A brief adjournment for lunch was the only respite and once again the droning and at times heated discussions continued. Everyone was polite, but as always the disgruntlement of a few delayed the decisions. Aragorn found himself wishing he had taken his Steward's advice about the previous Steward's style.
By mid-afternoon the room was stifling, despite the windows thrown wide open. The lords and kings were restless and unsettled. Faramir was beginning to doubt his powers of concentration as he looked upon his parchment for the second time and noticed a black mark he did not remember from yestermorn. Peering intently he realized a letter was circled. Odd, I don't remember doing that. Indeed as he scanned farther down the page in his notes he noticed another letter circled and then a third and fourth. What is this?
Absently he wrote the letter on a page beside. C..o..s..s. Coss. He puzzled for a moment and then as understanding dawned he smiled. It was Rohirric. Coss meant kiss. Eowyn must be having fun with him.
He applied himself back to the proceedings but again soon found his attention wandering. He scanned the page farther down and realized there were more marks. In rapt fascination he wrote out the letters and assembled them into words he knew, translating in his thoughts as he went
ancléow: ankle
cneów: knee
léow: thigh
Þéoh: hip
búc: belly
breóst: chest
eare: ear
wyrst: lips
Near the top of the next page it began again. Licce…lick. Oh gods. He quickly flipped the paper over. The words felt as if they were burning on the page. He had spent the months of their betrothal studying the language. He read it better than he could speak but some of these words were new. 'Pfluog' he thought he recognized, but was fairly certain it might have another more colloquial meaning.
Nienna, lady of mercy…his pulse was racing and his breeches felt all too tight. The papers had been rifled this morning. His wife whose thoughts were ever on her face had been oddly bland in her expression, working hard to school her features. She had planned this all along!
Faramir knew he was the hopeless romantic of the two, but it was taking him time to realize just how unfettered and exuberant his shieldmaiden really was. At first he had been gentle, careful, shy of pressing her too much. She was a new bride after all. Quickly he had realized it was as if he had opened a box of fireworks. She was the one whose soft hand would slide across when he came to bed, running lingering across his belly, her eyes alight with longing; she who in a hidden moment away from the throng would trail soft kisses across his collarbone, lying exactly at the height of her lips; she who held his hand as they stood on ceremony but ran one finger in slow caressing circles, hidden in his palm. It made him dizzy. This wild and passionate creature was his wife. I am the luckiest man in the kingdom.
He tried to focus once again upon the high pitched and irritated voice of the Lord of Anfalas. It helped but little. Pintel…what did that mean again? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, picturing Eowyn's face as she asked how long he would be away. That only made things worse, a warmth began in his belly that would not go away. When was their next break, he wondered desperately?
Into his fractured concentration Amerith's inner voice descended lightly.
'Faramir, how can half the council still be pompous head-blind, self-centred gits in peace as much as war? Nothing has changed.'
'You are surprised?' He gave a mental snort, hoping she had not noticed the flush of desire that had earlier spread across his chest and up his neck.
'What are you working on?' She looked across the table at his papers. He stilled his pen and shifted once again.
'Nothing', he replied, slamming his mental shields up just in case. An auburn eyebrow raised at his rudeness but the lady demurred to press further.
"Faramir?" The deep voice beside him was warm but insistent and distinctly audible in the room.
"My liege?" Gods. had he missed something important? He tried to look attentive as he scanned his king's features, hoping for a clue about what was said.
"Clearly, we all need a moment's respite." Aragorn looked amused at his Steward's lack of concentration. "We will reconvene in a candlemark."
For a panicked moment Faramir was unsure exactly how he was going to stand up. If only I had fancy robes now. With supreme effort he schooled his features and carried several papers in front of him, hoping it looked like he was planning to discuss some crucial point. He bolted for the courtyard.
At the fountain he splashed some cold water on his face. It helped a little but the aching need still raged. He stood in the cool stone of side passage for a moment, willing his pulse to settle and trying not to think of her. Fleetingly he thought of relieving the ache, but there really was no time.
Steeling himself he hastened back to the council chamber to find the Prince and the Lady of Lossarnach once more in conversation. "What are you two plotting?" he tried to be light and easy. Just act as if nothing is wrong. He plastered a polite smile upon his face.
"Imrahil and I were just discussing his tariffs on his best stallions." Amerith explained. " I have a pretty mare I need covered and of course Dol Amroth has the best bloodlines. Although one always pays a premium for quality"
The Prince's face was set in what Faramir thought of as his serious negotiating frown but his eyes were alight. "I might be persuaded to offer a discount lady, if you were interested in more than just that stallion." What? They were flirting shamelessly! Faramir swallowed hard. The last thing he needed to think about was rutting stallions, but he really couldn't believe his ears.
"Why dear is something wrong?" asked Amerith, looking at him in wide-eyed concern. "You are looking awfully flushed. Don't you think so, your Grace?"
He quickly excused himself, but was flustered all the more when he took his seat and found the scratch paper was gone. Valar! He rifled every page but it was not there.
The next two motions passed in a blur, all he could think about was that dratted paper. He thanked all the stars in Arda that he had not written down the translation, but the more he worried about the missing paper, the more he worried about what was written on it and the more he worried about that the more he thought of Eowyn. He shifted uncomfortably once again, flushed and tortured, suddenly regretting his earlier decision.
Dimly he heard Imrahil and Aragorn conferring together. Both looked back at him and Aragorn frowned, a look of concern upon his face. The king seemed to make up his mind and raised his hand again to call another brief adjournment.
As he rose with the rest of the council members, his friend and king turned. "My lord Steward, are you ailing?"
Gods, I can't explain this. Faramir wanted to laugh but really he was appalled, knowing his friend still worried about his health and cared greatly. What in Middle-Earth could he say? "I'm not sure sire. I feel a little odd. " Embarrassment made his voice croak.
Aragorn's worry only intensified. Faramir tried to forebear with good grace as his king lifted a hand to his forehead and reached to check his pulse. "Maybe you are getting a fever? Is your throat sore?" This would be almost funny, except it was not. They really thought he wasn't well and there was no way he could explain, not here, not now.
Count on his practical uncle to save the day. "My liege, we have finished the most pressing decisions. Perhaps the Steward should be excused?" Bless you, Uncle. Aragorn nodded, but the look of worry did not entirely leave.
"Thank you sire. I think that would be prudent." Faramir kept his gaze lowered as he gathered his papers.
Amerith came around the council table and smoothly took him by the arm. Her hands seemed very cool upon his flushed skin and her skirts rustled. 'Sire, with your leave I will escort Lord Faramir home and see that he is settled. It has indeed been a long meeting." Her brow furrowed, she looked up at him: the very picture of motherly concern.
"Your gesture is much appreciated Lady Lossarnach." Aragorn inclined his head as the lady dropped a slight curtsey. "Til you return."
Together they walked through the chamber and out into the Citadel. Once they reached Steward's palace gate, the Lady of Lossarnach turned, her concerned expression dissolved into helpless giggles, her eyes dancing with mischief. She pulled the paper she had palmed from the depths of her bodice and tapped Faramir's chest lightly. "I did wonder what it was you were so intently working on."
He groaned, relieved and angered at the same time. "Of course it would be you! Amerith, you are such a spider, unable to stop collecting any bit of information in your web. But outright spying on the Steward?" he complained. "Is that not beneath you?"
The lady looked very smug as she tucked the paper into his tunic. "Of course, not. How do you think I kept your father in check for as long as I was able?" 'I knew I had good reason to like your lady wife.' She thought lightly. 'But tell her to be careful next time, the King can read Rohirric.' At his stunned expression she shoved him gently. 'Go! You lucky man, go!'
He did the only thing a breathing, sensible and tortured man could do. He went.
Eowyn sat placidly in the single armchair in the rather barren study, leafing idly through a book of prose when she heard the apartment door slam open. It was rather earlier than she had expected her husband to be back.
"Eowyn!" Faramir's boots rang on the stone floors as he strode quickly from room to room looking for her. "Eowyn!" He rounded the door to the study, hand on the stone lintel, chest heaving so that the silver tree emblazoned there looked to be shaking. Had he run? For a moment she didn't dare look at his face. She could see the pulse beating wildly at his throat, the flush that blurred the tiny red freckles scattered over the inch of skin she could see above his collar. They go much, much farther. As she looked up to his face, his blue eyes were glittering. Fury, desire? Suddenly she was unsure. She had never seen him quite so…unsettled.
"My lady," his voice was ragged, insistent, pleading. "I pray, you do not ever, ever do that to me again in the midst of a five hour meeting! For the love of Eru, it was torture." He ran his hand through the fair waves, pacing the floor in front of the door. "And it could have gone very wrong. It very nearly did."
" How so?" Fleetingly she worried that her prank had misfired.
"Aragorn can read Rohirric."
Unable to resist, she burst out laughing. "Faramir, I.."
In a single stride he reached her and pulled her up, the book fell unnoticed to the floor. Her mouth was crushed with a kiss so swift and searing it left her breathless. The glittering blue eyes searched her face, as he held her at arms length again. "Do you care to explain how this…jest… came about?" She could feel his urgent heat radiating through her dress. His hands were tight around her shoulders. Somehow she had forgotten how impossibly strong he was.
"You left your notes in my sitting room yesterday. You said the council meeting might be boring." I meant to provoke a reaction….
His groan was almost human. "Lady, I have never, ever torn the clothes off of a woman, and am not about to start now." His voice was calmer now, and gentler, the defences down. "But by the Valar, you make me want to."
Striving to school her features, she stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his uncommonly delicate ear. "You don't need to." she whispered "I am not wearing any smallclothes."
As the messy piles of paper flew wildly off the desk, Eowyn learned something about her new husband that day, indeed just how fast his reflexes really were.
AN: thanks to annafan for suggestions and encouragement and the wonderful word pfluog . :)