Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from The Lord of the Rings. The late JRR Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and a bunch of other people with a LOT more money than I have do, and I'm just borrowing them to have a little fun and I'll put them back when I'm finished. I'm making no money from this, it's for entertainment purposes only, so please don't sue me. Tanathel is my creation, as are a few of the other original characters in this series. Please consult me before you use them in your own fics; I'll probably say yes, I just like to know where my babies are.

Archive permission: If you want it, take it. Just tell me where you're putting it so I can stop by and visit. Thanks.

Author's note: This is third in an AU series; you should read "Revolution and Retribution" and "Restoration and Revelation" before you read this. It isn't necessary; but you'll understand this one better if you do.

Dedications: To Evendim, who has given me such great pleasure with her own AU series and graciously given me permission to play in hers any time I wish. She has the same permission from me. Without her, I would never have gotten started in this particular fandom; she gave me the courage I needed to post that first story, and for that I am forever grateful. To Ithil-valon, who has provided tireless beta-services and been the best friend anyone could ever ask for… I love you for it, hon, don't ever change. And finally, to my beloved AJ, without whom I couldn't have gotten through some seriously horrid times in my life, or how I would go on without. I love you.

Chapter Two

(The Steward's Apartments)

Boromir tapped lightly on the door panel before sticking his head in with a smile. "It is good to see you looking so fit, Faramir," he said lightly as he stepped in and hitched a hip on the corner of the desk. Eowyn sat nearby, next to the chaise on which Faramir rested. "I understand you are making good progress with the arm… Calas tells me that you might even be able to take up limited duties within the week." Silently he hoped the assessment was accurate. He wanted nothing more than to return to his soldiering and stop having to be a statesman. "Eowyn, you're looking beautiful as ever." He paused for a moment, listening. "Should I ask where the children are?"

Eowyn sighed heavily and Faramir frowned a bit. "Elboron is out with Quelmarth the hound, I believe," Eowyn answered with a forced smile, and Faramir's frown deepened. "The girls are with their nursemaid in the lower gardens." She gave Boromir a completely counterfeit sunny smile.

Boromir raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Faramir cleared his throat to bring Eowyn's attention back to him. "The truth, Eowyn. What have they done now?" He knew, from the determined way his wife was maintaining her cheery smile, that this time it had been something serious. "And is anyone hurt?"

Eowyn threw up her hands. "You know me far too well, it seems," she replied, her voice tight. "I should know better than to try and keep things from you. Elboron is with his hound, somewhere on the lower levels, and the girls are… well… Tanathel has them." She sounded disturbed at the thought.

Faramir sighed. "What have they done?" he asked, his tone resigned. Boromir listened intently while appearing to be absorbed in the scene outside the window.

Eowyn sighed heavily as she dropped next to her husband on the chaise. "She caught them in the Armory, trying on blades for size," she said softly. "Then, having confiscated the long-knives in question before they could hurt someone… or each other… she proceeded to explain to them that if they felt they were old enough to hold a sword, it was time and past that they learn how to do it properly." Her lips thinned down to a narrow line. "I think I finally understand what drove Uncle to forbid me to fight. I can hardly bear the thought of them being hurt, or worse."

Faramir nodded easily. "I find myself sympathizing more and more with my own father, after some of the things we perpetrated upon him… and the twins are rather a bit more mischievous than Boromir and I ever managed. And yet, it is difficult to refuse the little monsters anything."

Boromir chuckled softly at his brother's description of the twins. "If Tanathel has taken them in hand, then they will be well looked after," he stated firmly. "You, Fara-mine, should worry about your own health first. Gondor needs her Steward."

"And so do you," Faramir shot back easily, relaxing once more. "I will take the mantle from you, since you despise it so much. I grow tired of the same four walls surrounding me, despite the beauty I find myself beholding." He touched Eowyn's cheek gently and then shifted to get up while she blushed and departed quickly. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss, Boromir? You seem… a bit distracted." Distraction was not something he was used to from his brother; although it seemed to happen a bit more often now that Tanathel was a part of Boromir's life.

"As a matter of fact, Puss, there is," Boromir said smoothly as he crossed the room and leaned back against the windowsill. "You've long harbored the notion that I would be more civilized were I to… how did you put it?"

Faramir laughed outright as he handed his brother the cup of wine he'd retrieved. "I believe I said it would help if you'd stop looking at the tavern wenches as your only companions." A glance at his brother's face drew his concern. He took a sip of his wine and proceeded carefully. "I thought you and Tanathel were as good as wed. Has something happened? Or did she simply come to her senses and realize she was too good for you?" He kept it light-hearted, but something was definitely amiss.

Boromir knocked back the wine and Faramir's unease increased. What had happened? "She is far, far more than I deserve, brother, and that she has consented to be my wife should bring joy to my heart… and yet I fear it was done for the wrong reasons." He turned his gaze out the window, avoiding his brother's eye; Faramir saw far too much.

The evasion was too late. Faramir had heard everything in Boromir's voice, doubt and fear that he would never admit, even to himself. "Suppose you tell me everything, in order, and perhaps we can make sense of this together."

In a sudden violent move, Boromir flung his cup across the room to rebound from the far wall. "She thinks it is her duty to marry me, as her King has decreed," he snarled, his face full of fury and pain. "I… would never have forced her decision this way, never… and yet, it makes no difference." His voice trailed off and he sank to the chaise, his heart torn with the contradictions.

Faramir snorted. "Of course it makes a difference. You've had the choice of when to ask taken from you. She's had the chance of refusal taken from her. But, you great dunce, she would never have refused you to start with! That woman is as besotted with you as you are with her. I've had the leisure to watch you both, to study the situation, and I'm telling you now: If you don't look on this as a gift, you are a fool."

Boromir's eyes widened and he started to bristle, but Faramir wasn't about to be silenced. "Is this, or is this not, what you truly want? To marry her, to spend the rest of your life with her? You've spoken about it often enough. No, don't speak, not until I'm finished. I have watched, and I have listened, and I have seen with my own eyes what you are too blind to realize. You watch her, when you think she isn't looking. You fear for her every time she raises a blade, but you say nothing because you know she is capable. Your chest swells with pride each time she advances, each time she does well, each time she is commended for a job well done, and your mind tells you, 'I am proud of her because she is mine.' She does the same. She watches you, she fears for you, she takes pride in your accomplishments because you are hers. No one else's. And the two of you are too bloody hidebound to realize you've just been given your hearts' desire."

"Now wait just one moment, brother," Boromir snapped. Faramir drew breath but an upraised hand from the elder stopped him and he closed his jaw with a click. But when the silence drew out, Boromir lowered his hand and gave the younger a wry grin. "It seems you are, as always, correct. And as always, you've had to clout me around the head with it to make me see clearly." He gave a soft laugh and embraced his brother tightly. "So, I suppose you will stand up with me, then? Fara-mine, nothing would please me more than to have you by my side on the happiest of days."

"Of course! Did you think I wouldn't? You dunce!" Faramir grinned back as he stepped away and refilled the cups. "Try not to throw this one, please. It's the last of the Lebennin red Father liked so." He handed it to Boromir with a wicked grin.

(Citadel Armory)

Tanathel regarded the girls with a stern face, wondering what on earth she was going to do with them. Their mother was a Shieldmaiden of Rohan, a warrior in her own right, known as Wraithbane for slaying the Witch-king of Angmar on the Pelennor Fields during the Ring War. Unfortunately, Eowyn's valor had given the twins an inflated sense of their own worth.

She kept her silence until both of them were shifting guiltily and avoiding her gaze. "Do you have any idea of how to handle those weapons?" she finally barked. "You could have done yourselves a serious injury. These blades are not for play. They are sharp and deadly. How would your mother feel if one of you was hurt? Or worse? You could easily have killed each other."

Freya gave her a sideways glance. "We wouldn't have hurt anyone, Captain," she said firmly. "We just wanted to see if we could hold them, that's all."

Tanathel nodded slowly. "I understand, but you still could have hurt yourselves." She took her knife from its sheathe and drew the tip lightly across her thumb, leaving a thin line of blood where it had passed. "Those long-knives are much sharper than this. They have to be. If you had dropped them, you could easily have lost your feet." Eowyn was going to kill her for it; but it couldn't be helped. "If you truly wish to learn, I will teach you. But you must promise to obey my commands. A soldier who won't obey orders is of no use to any army."

Freya agreed quickly, but Frela was slower to respond. "What will Mama say?" she asked finally. She seemed a trifle uneasy, and Tanathel thought that was to the good.

"She will most likely be angry with me. I know she wished to teach you herself, and that she wished to wait a few more years." Tanathel sighed heavily with remembrance. "When I was your age, I had been training for two years. It won't be easy. It will hurt, and you will wish to stop long before I let you. I'll ask you once more, are you certain this is what you wish to do?"

Both girls signaled their agreement and Tanathel took them by the hands and led them back to the armory. "Choose a weapon. Don't take it down; but put your hand on it so I can see." She made careful note of the ones they chose. "Now, you go straight back to your mother and father and explain to them what I've told you. And wait there for me. Do your lessons and behave yourselves until I come to get you. If you don't, I won't teach you."

She watched them out of sight and shook her head. Eowyn would be furious with her, but there was really no choice. If someone didn't take those two in hand, and soon, there would be bloodshed in the halls. In the meantime, while she was waiting for the fatal stroke to fall, she would see the armorer and have practice swords made for them.

TBC…