Meet the Family

For CarawynO

Faramir was standing ramrod straight when his betrothed entered. They gave each other tight, faint smiles. And then her brother came in. He nodded to the King, and then eyed the other man. Fiercely.

"So you're the Steward?"

Faramir placed his fist upon his heart and gave an impeccable bow. "I am the Steward of Gondor, yes."

"Well," said Éomer. He wore an odd expression, somewhere between annoyance and bewilderment. Faramir looked back blandly, perfectly unreadable. Éowyn too was very closed. They were standing scrupulously apart.

Aragorn folded his arms and watched the scene with considerable interest. He was not entirely sure how this would resolve. There were of course numerous sensitivities at work, not least the political implications. Also, the hobbits were demanding a full report.

Suddenly, there was a most unladylike snort of laughter. "Oh Éomer," said his sister, her hand to her mouth. "Your face! You don't know whether to embrace us or horsewhip us!"

Faramir relaxed, visibly. "If those are the options, I have a clear preference," he said. "Assuming my views on the subject are welcome."

Éowyn laughed out loud. Faramir, hearing this, smiled in turn, a man in receipt of a much-desired honour. No doubting the strength of the affection between them, Aragorn thought. But what did the King of the Mark make of it all?

Éomer was glaring at his sister. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, Éowyn," he muttered, "To hear you laugh again… Be happy now, won't you?" He turned to Faramir. "Please – make her happy."

"Oh, my brother…" Éowyn said, softly. No tears, Aragorn thought; no, not from Steelsheen's grand-daughter, but, yes, here too there had been a great healing. Faramir, reaching for his lady's hand, held it tenderly between his own. "That is certainly my intention."

Gently, Aragorn manoeuvred the three of them into seats. Wine was brought. He listened as the young couple explained the circumstances of their meeting. Six weeks, he thought, since they had both lain at the threshold of death. Six weeks since they had each been near consumed by grief and despair. Now they sat hand-in-hand, overflowing with happiness. It would take a hard heart to begrudge them this, and Éomer's heart was vast and loving.

"Éowyn complained to me about the quality of her room."

It was her brother's turn to snort.

"And Faramir said something about flowers."

"Yes, I'm sorry about that… I was very tired at the time and not making much sense—"

"I feel," said Éomer, entering into the spirit of things, "that I should conduct at least a short interview, my lord. About your prospects, perhaps? She is the sister of a king."

"Please, let me allay any fears you might have. I have a house in the city, independent means, I come from a… largely respectable family…"

"I think," said Éomer, "that our families have had some dealings in the past. There was an oath, as I recall?"

"I think you may be right. What else? My main estate has been in ruins for the best part of a century, but with some work we might not have to sleep outside—"

"I'll cope," said Éowyn.

"I am sure of that," said Éomer. "One more question. Do you love her?"

The man and woman stared at each other. They were, thought Aragorn, amongst the two most reserved and controlled people of his acquaintance, yet Éowyn's face was flushed bright red, and Faramir's hands were trembling with emotion. "Do I—? Oh yes… Yes!"

"Good," said Éomer. "Then you'll serve." He glanced at Aragorn, gave a slight nod, which the King returned. There would be more questions no doubt, in private, about his Steward; the Prince of Dol Amroth and his sons could surely be marshalled to speak about their kinsman's many virtues. But for now… Yes, thought the King. All will be well. Most importantly, the hobbits would be satisfied.

Altariel, 2nd and 28th September 2018