Our Customs are Not Yours
By: nautika
Rating: K+
Author's Note: I consider all my stories AU. This one was inspired by Prompt 49 'Custom' , but is over the 500 word limit, making it an Extended Edition.
Summary: Faramir and Eowyn's first visit to Rohan as a married couple does not go well.
Disclaimer: Not mine, wouldn't know what to do with them if they were!
The King of Rohan stood uneasily just inside the doorway to his sister's rooms. "Eowyn, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I swear it."
The Lady of Rohan's eyes were flashing, but out of consideration for her new husband, her voice was low. "His father and brother are dead, Eomer. We could never replace them, but we were to be his new family. You were to be his brother – to give him back just a small part of what he lost to the war – and he might have filled some part of the void in your own life left from Theodred's passing. Now this! How can he ever forgive us this?"
"Eowyn, I have said I am sorry and I am! I did not know. If I had known…if I had even considered it…I would have prevented it."
"Well, you should have known! It's your place to know!"
A third voice interrupted the whispered argument. It was flat and subdued as though all the emotion had been drained from it. "Enough. There is no point in quarreling. It is done."
Brother and sister spoke as one. "Faramir-."
"No more. I am sure most of Edoras is discussing my behavior. I would appreciate not having to listen to it here." Faramir's voice broke on the last word and he turned and returned to the bedroom, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.
Eowyn dropped her face into her hands and wept, her anger temporarily spent. Eomer reached his hands toward her, then paused and let them drop to his side. He too, had suffered at the death of his cousin and uncle, but he had still had Eowyn. Now he was no longer sure that was true. Had Theodred lived, he would have likely have anticipated what had happened last night and, if he had not forbidden it, would have at least forewarned Faramir of it.
Faramir was no coward. Eomer would not have consented to the marriage if the son of Denethor had not been a man of courage, honor and integrity. But Faramir had been through much physically as well as mentally in recent months and he was not fully recovered from his episode with the Black Breath and his near incineration at poor Lord Denethor's hands. Eomer shivered. Theoden may have exiled him, but at least he had not tried to burn him alive.
"Eomer?"
"I have failed you both. Forgive me." Eomer bowed to his sister, spun on his heel and left the room. Eowyn stared at the door for a moment, then sighed and approached the room where Faramir had sought sanctuary.
"Faramir, may I come in? We should talk."
Faramir, still dealing with the events of the previous evening prayed his stomach would not betray him in the presence of his lady before quietly giving permission for her to enter.
Eowyn hesitated inside the door. Normally this interior room was lit with candles, but now it was in darkness except for the faint light spilling through the doorway and a few embers glowing in the fireplace. She picked up a nearby candle and moved toward the fireplace with the intention of stirring the embers to life and lighting the candle from them.
"Don't." Faramir's voice stopped her.
"Faramir-"
"I am not ready, Eowyn. I have survived worse and I will survive this. I simply wish for some quiet and solitude."
"And what of me? Do you wish solitude from me?"
Silence.
Eowyn resisted the temptation to swallow and settled for whispering "Very well." It was no more than she deserved. She had led him into this situation, never suspecting the Steward of Gondor would be treated in such a fashion.
Faramir's soft voice came out of the darkness. "Eowyn, I am sorry."
She whirled toward him, stunned. "Sorry? Why should you be sorry?"
"I have disgraced myself and you. I have fallen short of the standards for a man of Rohan."
Eowyn's was rendered speechless by this astonishing piece of foolishness from her normally sensible husband. She knelt before Faramir, who sat on the edge of the bed with his head in both hands.
"Oh, my beloved, the men of Rohan are not fit to wait on you at table. Never have I been more ashamed of my people."
The throbbing of Faramir's head made him slow in absorbing what his wife had said. When it finally sank in, he smiled. Being waited on at table had been but one of the adjustments the Lady of Rohan had to make when she became Faramir's bride. Meals at Elessar's table were not as somber and tense as those of Denethor's latter years as Ruling Steward, but they were far more formal than the free-for-alls and may the best man…or dog…win scenarios that Eowyn had been used to at Edoras. For her to use this particular expression warmed Faramir's heart.
"They meant to welcome me, Eowyn…to make me feel accepted. I see that now. It was I who failed. I fought against them. I…I even spoke ill of them. I would be ashamed for you to know what I called them. I have to offer them an apology but-"
"You offer them an apology? I think not! Faramir, what they did was inexcusable. Our customs are not yours and any imbecile, even one of Rohan, should know it." Eowyn's voice had risen in indignation at the suggestion that her husband, Elessar's Steward, should apologize to those heathen who had dragged him forcibly away last night and spent a large portion of it forcing ale down his throat.
Faramir winced at the volume of her protest and rubbed his temples. "It is a tradition here. I only realized it this morning when I remembered hearing my father speak of it. I should have expected it."
"Faramir Hurin-"
A knock on the outer door interrupted whatever else she might have said. Eowyn bit her lip and went to answer it. Faramir, feeling sorry for Eomer, who would be the only person with the nerve to call, forced himself up from the bed with one hand still holding his head and moved to lean against the door frame between the two rooms. He watched as Eowyn opened the door, but stood there without speaking. Concerned, he moved slowly to her side.
On the other side of the threshold stood several shamefaced Horse Lords. One that Faramir recognized as an officer spoke for the group. "Begging your pardon, My Lady, My Lord, we'd like to say how sorry we are for what we did last night. We didn't mean any harm. We just…well, it was the first ceremony since the war and Grima and, well, we just didn't think. We brought you some hot water, My Lord, and Eadfrid's wife sent a tea that will fix your head and stomach right up." The man seemed lost as to if he should salute, bow or kneel and was caught in a combination of the three when the King, who had arrived unnoticed while the man was speaking, interrupted.
"I remember this drink from my younger days." He took the tea and sniffed it, then started to take a sip, caught himself and looked at his sister. "Do you have an extra mug?"
Faramir's hand halted any action Eowyn might have taken. "I'd be honored to drink after His Highness and grateful if the drink can settle my stomach and subdue the troll that is hammering in my head."
Eomer smiled and took a large sip. "Bryde's mother is the best around with healing teas and poultices. Bryde has evidently inherited her mother's gift."
"Then hand it over, brother. How much do I drink?"
Eadfrid answered as one with far too much experience. "Only a sip at first, My Lord, or it will come back up and do you no good."
"Thank you. I imagine those buckets are getting heavy?" There had been no complaint from the men, but Faramir, having stood before his father in discomfort on several occasions felt for their situation. "Please, come in." The men filed into the bedroom and emptied their buckets into the tub while Eowyn supervised. Faramir was beginning to feel wobbly and, after whispering a few words to Eomer, simply concentrated on remaining upright. Eomer spoke to each of the Rohirrim as they departed.
As the door closed behind the last of the soldiers, Faramir permitted himself a small groan and visibly sagged. Eomer and Eowyn assisted him to the tub where he assured them he would need no further aid. They pulled the door shut and hovered by it until they heard his contented sigh. Only then did they speak softly once more.
"Did you order them to do that?"
"Nay. I addressed the officers about it at some length, but told them I would trust them to do what they felt was right. They were sincerely sorry, Eowyn, even before I spoke to them. This custom was set aside when Grima was here. The men were celebrating the freedom to perform the shivaree as much as they were celebrating the oaths you and Faramir came here to repeat before them.
"That was another thing. He did not have to do this, Eomer. I asked him to have a second ceremony here so that our people would know we regard them as highly as we do the people of Gondor."
"Yes. I am confident the next meeting I have with Elessar will be most unpleasant. He, like you, expected better from me. Forgive me, sister?"
"How can I not? When Faramir will be able to do so, however-"
"He already has. He is a good man, Eowyn. I rejoice for you."
"What did he say to you earlier, before the men left?"
"He asked me to thank them and to tell them when next he visits, he will bring some of King Thranduil's Dorwinion."
Eowyn's light laughter rang out in the room. "Brother, beware. I have heard Aragorn and Faramir speak of this. Dorwinion is potent indeed."
"I am certain it will be worth the headache to restore good faith between Gondor and Rohan. I will alert Byrde to make sure she has a sufficient supply of tea prepared."
In the tub, after a small sip of tea, Faramir heard laughter from the adjoining room and smiled.
End
A/N The 'custom' referred to in my story is a shivaree, which Webster's defines as 'a noisy mock-serenade to a newly married couple'. This may involve beating of pans, etc. This custom originated in France and in the US has mainly become a tradition of attaching cans to the vehicle the bride and groom will be driving away from the ceremony. However, in earlier years, the groom carried away, possible bound on railroad ties, etc. One version I found spoke about a cowbell being tied to the wedding bed and the rope pulled by a group of men gathered outside the house. I am actually familiar with a woman whose future husband's family had a tradition of doing something similar to this after the bridal shower. While nothing actually took place at her shower, she had been told it might and I believe it was one of the most miserable nights of her life. I doubt they've ever heard of a shivaree in Middle Earth, but I couldn't resist!