Ciao! I hope I'm not making this story tedious, I wanted to make the old idea more mature with less 'just evil fathers' and 'sudden amores' :) Bear with me. Hope I didn't leave errors inside - or unintentionally made errors, evil small to/from/of/... words, snif. Hope you like this new chapter! We're off to Rohan this time.


Chapter 3

Nimien had splendidly accomplished the organisation of father's banquet. Faramir was pleasantly taken aback by the variety of food she had procured, including some specialities from her region of Lamedon. He wondered how she had secured those peculiar platters, for the cooks at Minas Tirith surely had little knowledge of her local cuisine. Having congratulated her for it, she thanked him smiling lightly, retorting that indeed the cooks of the court merited every appraisal, having added even a new touch to the ancient recipes.

His father seemed at ease and content with his evening. Surrounded by his sons, daughter-in-law, peers and inferiors, he gave the impression of being proud and unworried because of his status: grand lord of a grand court.

At present, Faramir comprehended this embellishing illusion of his, and partook in its appeal appreciating the splendour, though he was very conscious of its indisputably illusionary status. Not every member of the court could be reputed perfect, indeed, nor their dealings with one another.

Still, this night the ambience was festive and calm, courtiers and guests mingling amiably – Éothain included. The conversation was agreeable enough, though Faramir would have preferred the company of a good book. It was not that he was utterly unsocial; he simply felt more at ease then.

Among these courtiers he felt horribly out of place at times, they moved smoothly past social obstacles, entrapments and conventions. Nor he nor Boromir had ever been so effortless in their conduct, though Faramir surely excelled his brother.

Boromir had always been more focussed on his blade-handling though their father without question had striven to teach him everything needed to become an excellent steward, his perfect successor. Both sons had received an outstanding schooling, unchanged for either brother, the most sagacious tutors provided for them by their sire. Denethor had equally been the perfect example of stewardship, illustrating the comportment needed.

Yet he had not been rid of his awkward feeling, and Boromir had remained his loud, slightly unrefined self, though perhaps the responsibility of having Nimien to take care of had softened him somewhat.

The men present were not his preferred company. They were languid and quite haughty at times, though he conversed well with one man in attendance, who was one of his better comrades.

By the end of the evening it was again master Éothain who formed the centre of all attention. He talked of campaigns against Wildmen of Dunland and other such heroic undertakings. The lady Arthien eyed him in the most interested manner. "These wildlings, sir, whyever do they bother your realm? It surely is mightier?"

"They believe we unjustly drove them into the mountains, m'lady. Therefore they want retaliation." Of this retaliation Éothain could recount a great deal. He described their atrocities committed against the 'straw-heads' and their barbaric customs. They hardly produced food through agriculture but concentrated on activities as fishing, foraging and hunting. The Rohir sketched an image of fierce, savage, fighting barbarians, to which the lady Arthien accredited promptly all credibility.

Faramir, however, had heard and read oft such depictions, and knew how advantageous such tales were and had proved since the beginning of time. Too accommodating it was indeed to depict one's opponent as valiant and capable in battle, as cruel barbarians, assuring oneself thus of glory on two levels. Firstly, the victor himself seemed ever so proficient in battle for having defeated such an opponent; secondly, it was easy to claim the civilising of such an inferior band of brutes.

True or untrue, the stories the Rohir told were spectacular at the very least and quite diverting to listen at. Only Boromir did not listen. "Fools' stories," he muttered. Faramir noted a certain tristesse or irritation in his eyes; he could not quite place the gaze.

The Rohir irritated Boromir for his eloquence, the ease with which he captivated the people listening, his easy elegance – though being a rough Horse-lord, 'twas unimaginable. His own misdemeanour toward the man was linked as well to his wife's interest in him or his anecdotes.

This evening, however, she was seated correctly at the large table on his father's right hand side. As groups had formed throughout the evening she had claimed that particular stool, though it had been his earlier on.

Often men and women would move more separately at court but at an occasion as grand as this one some more liberties were allowed as the night progressed, especially for the first lady of the court. So Boromir observed his wife complacently, pleased with her staying away from the Rohir though this signified her being pressed to the background compared to others. She deserved some rest after days of preparing this feast, in the end.

The thought made him shrink inwardly. He had noticed very well the longness of her days, how they had tired her. Too oft he had heard the door to her chamber open at too late an hour. He realized now he had not showed any appreciation for it. Furthermore, they had remained uncivil.

Both were too stubborn and both knew this well. All too well. Every argument was not strenuous in itself, it was tiring because of their stubbornness to make peace.

For this reason alone he had all the more delight in seeing her small smile as she looked upward, gazing at him from her seat after having felt his hands on her shoulders, knowing it could be no-one else. "Are you diverting yourself, my lady?"

"Am I amusing myself or am I distracted, you mean? Both. Above all very tired."

Boromir smiled now, too. She had a modest sense of humour, his wife.

"Aye, you had not enough hours in the day during these past days – weeks perhaps. You have done admirably well, wife." Denethor nodded in assent. "Might I steal your female company, father? I do owe her a dance. She shall return to you shortly – or, should she prefer it, not at all."

"It remains to be seen whether or not you stand on my feet, sir," his spouse growled amiably.

They would not be all right as he had promised her upon his return from Dol Amroth, not quite yet. There would be bitterness left still, though this time he had been first to move the chess piece.

Would they ever 'be all right'? he wondered, holding her as they danced in candle light, pondering whether he would ever be able to maintain that promise – the same humble promise he had, in essence, made her on their nuptials.


Faramir noted Nimien's absence on the day of their departure. Their father came to great them, but she did not. After breakfast she had retired and not reappeared.

He had noted the miserable state they had been in the night before, though towards the end they had seemed content in each other's company. They got along well enough, yet for himself he did not wish a marriage so arranged.

Boromir, indeed, seemed not troubled by her not being present. He had not searched for her much since morning, when they had assembled their things for the journey. They would take extra mounts to carry that burden; Éothain had laughed that it most certainly would not be a Rohirric horse to lower itself so. Certainly he would increase the load by some of his own belongings, however. Some servants would travel as well to tend to their lords and organise their wardrobe – the affair would be as much a 'mission' as state affairs and thus required a certain standing, dress and demeanour of the persons partaking in it. Éothain himself had, upon his arrival, brought one attendant only.

They would travel as swiftly as they could, though not too hastily. One or two inns would provide a comfortable enough place to sojourn at night, but mostly they would perhaps not be as lucky to encounter those.

Their path led them along the river Anduin, leaving it behind once crossed North Ithilien, before said waterway proceeded in its course to Emyn Muil. There they turned west following the initially smaller streams of the Onodló, or the Entwash as Éothain called it, up to the point where it was joined by the Snowbourn, which would bring them straight to Edoras.

They would encounter ample homesteads and villages along those fertile riverbanks, but perhaps not always people prepared to house their small host for the night.

The journey was tiring and tiresome though, at however comfortable a pace they proceeded. In the end they found three inns erected especially for weary travellers wandering between the borders of Gondor and Rohan. At times they spent the night underneath the stars, if not in a quiet homestead of hospitable people. The road following the rivers was the most evident one, for them as well as for others, so it was not odd to find other travellers or occasional welcoming dwellings on their road.

Faramir found his companions to behave amiably enough, though either seemed troubled or weary, engrossed in their own thoughts.

Indeed, he considered their father's difficult behaviour at times. Though an benign and just lord, his age was felt at times. The evening before they had had an embittered conversation, Faramir asking why it was necessary to go to Rohan. At least, also, why both of his sons were requested to leave. "Why do you suddenly fear Rohan's disloyalty, my liege? Is there a reason for Gondor to fear the defence of its borders?"

"Politics are my concern, dear son, not of you and your brother – at most, your sibling ought not discard the importance of the political game."

Faramir had tried to comprehend the importance of this rapid shift in the 'political game', yet failed to see the utter importance of trading rights for horses. Though surely Gondor must safeguard its interests, Rohan and Gondor were ancient allies – and shared economic concerns, no doubt. Rohan craving better negotiating terms was no cause for such wariness.

On the road he had heard manifold utterances concerning his father when people presumed he and his brother lent no ears. Regrettably, as they progressed into Rohan's lands, the whispered comments worsened in meaning: the Rohirrim seemingly appreciated not his father's reign.

Did they find their father's judgment lacking? Perceive him as growing old of age and thought? Did even the Gondorians think thusly? Ought Boromir rule, then? Of age, aye, yet fit in the mind for such an undertaking?

Perchance they found a king more fit to rule? Long ago the office of steward of Gondor had been instated as first high councillor to the king, when still a king there was to reign Gondor. Then the king Eärnur had disappeared after having responded to the call of Minas Morgul when the by him defeated Witch-king had challenged him in spite. With their king presumably killed in the duel, the steward Mardil Voronwë had been named as ruler of Gondor – replacing royalty. 'Thad been an adequate method to avoid civil war: no king was selected among the Gondorian nobles and the house of stewards had been invested with the power to rule until the king's return.

Faramir and Boromir were descendants far down this line of stewards, aware of both their power and bearing and the remaining, silent, royal, threat to their house. Along the road they heard delusional tales being told of royal blood approaching. Even obscene remarks were overheard questioning their father's might and suggesting the probable conceiving someplace of "some royal brat".

Boromir told him not to worry: the stewards sat firm on their still worthy throne, and of royalty one had not heard in centuries. That is, excepting wild ghost fables concerning savage men hiding in forests.

Hearing the brothers conversing of this one night, Éothain had laughed at them sounding like a barking dog. "My dear lords, why fret over such tales! Indeed, methinks the folk we encountered on the road has had too much ale, and no credible tale," he grinned slightly. On this they could but agree.


At long last they would arrive at Rohan's greatest city – one was prone to believe the insolent stories about Rohan which circulated in Minas Tirith: they were farmers without cities, at best the Rohirrim inhabited some stables arranged together in some mode to form a 'town'. From a distance indeed this seemed the case.

Approaching the city, however, Edoras impressed Boromir. There were many houses, grand but simple in style. An important building – by the sight of it – was perched on a hilltop. The wooden palisade surrounding the wooden, stable-like buildings did give the entirety a rural appearance though. Yet somehow it bothered Boromir not, the capital had its own character which pleased him immediately.

In front of the gate, guards brought them to a standstill. They evidently would have asked the strangers who they where, but then recognised their countryman. "Lord Éothain," they acknowledged, then one of them asked tentatively: "Who are – they – sir? Come they from Gondor?"

"Aye, Herubrand. Come, come, let us pass. No frivolities now: our king must greet our noble guests." Éothain gently brushed the two aside. The Gondorian brothers followed, slightly taken aback by his demeanour, which seemed so – unheard-of – in formal circumstances. Certainly these were formal circumstances, they thought. Exchanging a look Boromir saw his brother was of the same opinion.

"They should take off their weapons inside, m'lord," the same Herubrand warned, being interrupted immediately by Éothain. The three men refused, referring to the alliance between Rohan and Gondor – in so far it existed or would exist still, Boromir added in thought.

The city's atmosphere was pleasant and curious as they passed through it on horseback. It emanated an immense calm compared to Minas Tirith's commotion and pressure – oh, how their capital's grandness and its being their home crushed them, Boromir thought, its sky weighing with expectations and decorum.

Having reached the stairs that led to Meduseld, they dismounted and bound their horses to a nearby fence. "Worry not, they shall all be led to the stables and tended to," Éothain reassured the brothers.

"Come, little brother." Boromir began walking up the stairs, horribly aware of Faramir's presence behind him. He was the eldest and followed Éothain, the younger and less important sibling following in his steps. At the sound of the footsteps following him, he suddenly realised how responsible he was regarding his 'little brother': he ought to protect him in these irregular circumstances. The alliance stood, but who knew which concealed actions and words could threaten their somewhat precarious situation – utter outsiders in a foreign land.

They entered a beautiful hall, decorated with images of horses, decorative intaglio, tapestries and ancient inscriptions. The might and glory of Minas Tirith was of a most dissimilar order, Boromir thought. Somehow it was better here, quieter, homely. Somehow Faramir did not seem convinced of this last thought. His gaze held awe and yet distance. Indeed his brother in the same moment concluded that Minas Tirith was superior, in the end.

Their servants were whisked away to the corridor, awaiting there the outcome of this first meeting.

Two elder men, still strong and wise it seemed, looked up at their arrival. They were seated at a large table with two large mugs. Beer, no doubt. The sight of Éothain, first in the small procession of three, explained who the other two were.

"Tell me… How need we interpret your visit to our lands, sirs?" one asked impertinently. "What burden does my king have to bear now? Was the lord Denethor not pleased by our terms?"

Boromir intended to speak, but the other man came forth.

"Greetings. Pardon my good friend his impertinence. I am Théoden King, son of Thengel, as great a king as my forefathers he was… We greet you with respect, sons of Denethor."

Boromir and Faramis bowed before him in respect, recognizing the regal aura surrounding the man for what it was now. "As Gamling asked, what is your purpose here at Edoras? Why have you travelled this far, m'lords? Did my man speak unclearly?"

Boromir waited for him to finish speaking, then stepped forward. "Hail Théoden, son of Thengel. Our visit is to regain and consolidate peace and friendship between our lands, and for no other matter we have come here. The economic motives of this visit are but a minor trifle my father would have us mend at once."

"Agreed," Théoden responded. "The dubiety of your mission's grounds remains, however: I recall not a similar honour extended by Gondor… 'twas years ago I deem."

Faramir coughed next to him, and Boromir was reminded of the conversation on the same question they had had when Éothain had reposed during their voyage.

"My lord," Faramir spoke, "I most ardently study history myself and must agree: such an undertaking has taken place many, many years past. If our father, however, has ulterior motives we cannot convey them as –" (He was going to say "we did not partake in such secret assemblies" but decided against it: 'twould raise suspicion, as if such gatherings were common practice at Minas Tirith. Which perhaps they were.) "– as he has not shared with us the reasons of his heart and mind. Our most ardent wish, sir, is to honour the allegiance Gondor and Rohan still share. We hoped you would not have forgotten – for neither has our father and liege. I do hope it shan't fade, as such an occurrence would grieve me – us all – deeply. The realms of men must remain close to one another, I deem."

Good, Boromir thought. This should do.

"I see," the king retorted. "Then 'tis for us all to find out, sons of Gondor." Théoden seemed to grin but hid his feelings well – as one should expect from people spending their lives at court.

"Gamling," he turned to the other man, "call a servant to prepare the lords a room. They have my permission to sojourn here according to the wishes of their father, and shall enjoy mine and Rohan's hospitality at its most warmest. Have a stable hand tend to their horses as well. Instruct their retinue how things are run here."

A sound caught their attention. On their left, passing through a hallway that led to another side of the hall, Boromir suspected, stood a fair woman – if Rohan's hospitality included the women 'twould not be so severe a mission, crossed his mind – watching the two strangers that had arrived. Behind her stood a young, broad-shouldered man. He looked distantly at them, she just seemed to see through the two men's supposedly unclear or even vile intentions.

Théoden saw his gaze was rested upon them. "Éowyn and Éomer, my kin! Join us!"

"Who calls on you, m'lord, if I may inquire?" spoke the lady.

"These are – forgive me, your names? I remember your birth but did quite forget – Boromir and Faramir, yes. They have come to visit us to renew our countries' connection. And bargain over horses," Théoden answered, the last phrase as a quip.

Théoden had called for some wine, bear and mead, whichever they preferred, and they drank together. The two young cousins of the king proved amiable company. Soon the four younger people were talking busily about their interests, which proved quite similar, as common among persons of about the same age, though both seemed quite a bit younger than the visitors.

After some well-spent time making acquaintances, Boromir and Faramir retired to their room to rest after their journey and the good drink they had enjoyed this very evening. ("I must ask you to forgive my son's absence, for he is patrolling our borders," Théoden had stated. "But I presume you would not care for Théodred's company and want to rest? It is a long journey, coming from Minas Tirith. How is the White City? Long has it been since I have seen her buildings…")

For dinner he had prepared nothing too extraordinary, the king had said, but he would surely try to add some splendour being faced with foreign guests. Therefore they both knew 'twas essential to rest well and wash later. And to dress in fine, adequate clothing.

Faramir gladly sank down on his bed, while Boromir sat down on the other one. Both were too tired to take in decently their room, which seemed comfortable at present though still cold – the fire had been lit only now after their, Boromir thought. They must have hastily prepared the normally unoccupied – evidently – chamber. The very small opening showing at the window, which admitted some amount of cold air, proved this.

Boromir reviewed the recent events aloud, but Faramir halted him, claiming to want only sleep and no talk. And so, Boromir stopped enumerating while Faramir let the silent slumber of sleep take over.

Only one phrase kept playing in the older brother's head: The dubiety of your mission's grounds remains. It brought in mind his father's warning, uttered when they had spoken in secret of this voyage to Rohan without Faramir. Still he could not grasp its factual meaning, for it seemed to him it had a deeper signification. Be weary, boy, of their practices… the impact on Gondor could be great, too great, a danger for you and me.


Herubrand = 'war-sword'