There were some days that Imrahil wished desperately that his wife still lived. When the Shadow was defeated by the Hobbits, he wished she had lived. When Imrahil saw Lothíriel after she returned from her evening in the city with Éomer, he wished his wife could have been there too. The joy in Lothíriel's face was so palpable that Imrahil felt his own heart swell for love of the young King. That he was still alive to see their love bloom was a blessing beyond the Valar. He wished also that she could see her nephew, so thoughtful and pained as a child find a love so deep it had the power to heal him. He wished she could have seen Faramir take command of council meetings as the unforeseen Steward. Imrahil's life was still blessed, but he still longed for his wife to see the world full of rekindled hope.
Imrahil had left the Book of the Dead council meeting exhausted but also refreshed. When he witnessed the combined will of the Kings and the Steward, he knew what the future held. And Éowyn, he thought, I should never forget about Éowyn. When she spoke, everyone listened, because the truth she spoke had the power to change the conversation. Their vision together gave Imrahil not only hope, but optimism. The new Dawn would not simply be a return to a time of peace, but a will toward a different future, a better future. Could the force of them overpower the sentiments of old? Imrahil hoped so, and he wanted to help build the world they dreamed of.
Imrahil returned to find his house empty, as his children were down on the second level picking up items for the party that evening. Imrahil sighed. It was time to start working his way through Dol Amroth's brave and dead. Though scribes were writing most of the letters, Imrahil knew each and every one of his knights so well he would not trust any other person to write to their families. If he closed his eyes, he could see them. He saw them kneeling as he placed his sword on their shoulders and pronounced them knights. He remembered the acts of bravery in their careers, halting attacks from Umbar and slaying wayward Orcs. He also vividly remembered their deaths, several of which came about because of acts of valor to save their Prince. The promise of the future came with a high price, and Imrahil wanted to make sure that every family knew that their loved ones did not give their lives in vain.
Imrahil sat down at his desk, he pulled out his parchment, ink, and quill, then looked at the thirteen names. He closed his eyes once more and concentrated on the first name. Sir Aphrose of Belfalas: fallen in the Pelennor Fields riding with Imrahil to support the Rohirrim in their charge. He left a wife, 2 sons, and 3 daughters behind. As he pictured both the brightest and darkest moments of his brave Knight's career, Imrahil began writing. It was harder than he thought, and he barely suppressed his tears. Then a rap on the door startled him.
"Come," Imrahil called, wondering who it could be.
"Mind if I join you uncle?" it was Faramir, carrying a large satchel full of papers and books, "Éowyn threw my chair out the window."
Imrahil could not have heard Faramir right. The look on Faramir's face was not one of distress, but one of amusement.
"Of course, please join me!" Imrahil replied, "...chair out the window?.."
"Yes," Faramir replied, "Denethor's chair. She promised that Rohan would repay Gondor for the deeds of its Princess."
Imrahil noted Faramir's grin as he said this. He truly had met his match.
"Well nephew, you are most welcome. Please make yourself comfortable. I'll call the butler to arrange for some snacks and wine," Imrahil smiled at him, "Wait… did Éowyn suggest you haunt my doorstep?"
Faramir nodded solemnly, then a look of concern flashed across his face, "please let me know if my presence is a burden."
"No burden at all! I'm writing the letters to my fallen Knights' families. I daresay that I had wished for company, so you are fulfilling that wish," Imrahil said, "So much death…"
"Their families will be taken care of," Faramir replied, "And their memories will not be forgotten."
Imrahil nodded, he knew that, but that did not soften the blow. It would take Middle Earth a long time to recover from the wounds inflicted by the long scourge of darkness. The death of his Knights was but a small piece. The haunts on the faces of every survivor were a daily reminder of the cost, even as the grief for the dead was a welcome replacement for the never-ending dread.
"How do you think families will respond to the inheritance decree?" Imrahil had been thinking about that moment Éowyn had changed the conversation. He liked the idea of eldest born and widows inheriting from the fallen, but suspected there would be some who did not.
"It will be a change, but Middle Earth is changed," Faramir replied.
"Is there some story to Éowyn's experience that led her to that insight?" Imrahil had caught notice of the ghosts that appeared on Éomer, Aragorn, and Faramir's faces when she mentioned it.
Faramir sighed, and paused. Imrahil could tell he was collecting his thoughts.
"Rohan suffered from the poison of a man named Gríma Wormtongue, working with Saruman to bring down the kingdom from the inside. Gríma's intention was to kill all heirs save Éowyn, then claim the throne for himself by force," Faramir's face was dark and angry, even as his voice was matter-of-fact, "Gríma haunted her steps… but that is all I will say."
Imrahil's face turned white. Every new piece of information he learned about the children of the House of Eorl increased not only his sadness at what they experienced, but also his admiration for what they had overcome. Of course Éowyn would speak up on behalf of widows and daughters, because she understood the type of men who would hunt them. Éowyn used her own horrors to protect others from similar.
"She is a remarkable woman Faramir," Imrahil said, "And this explains… Éomer's… reserve with my daughter."
"Reserve?" Faramir asked.
"In battles, Éomer was the first to charge forth. Then around Loth, he is nearly shy," Imrahil replied, "As if letting himself feel what is in his heart would hurt her."
Faramir nodded, but then smiled, "Don't underestimate the drive of Éomer's heart, and don't underestimate Lothíriel's ability to open it. She likes to lead, and he is unafraid to follow."
Faramir thought a bit longer, then added one more thing, "Éowyn thinks she has a new sister-in-law already, so perhaps you should stop fretting. Keep giving them fresh air and space. The soil is fertile and the seeds are planted. Their love will keep growing."
"How did you and Éowyn find your love?" Imrahil had wanted to ask Faramir this since he returned.
"I think I loved her near the first moment I saw her," Faramir replied, and Imrahil could see that there was a light burning from inside him,, "And I only became more sure as we spoke. For her? I think it took a bit longer. She needed to trust me, and so I opened my heart to her and let her in. I was rewarded not only with her love, but with my own healing."
"Honest. That was the word Lothíriel used to describe Éomer." Imrahil mused.
"Advice I think my fiancée passed on to her brother," Faramir replied, the smile still across his face.
"Good advice," Imrahil said, "...as for the chair… why did Éowyn throw it out the window?"
Faramir's face turned grave, "Exorcising demons."
Imrahil thought this was the end of the thought, but he could see Faramir considering something. Faramir shook his head, "I did not know that Aragorn uses a palantír."
"Does he?" Imrahil could see Faramir's distress
"Yes," Faramir placed his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, "I watched father slowly become poisoned by that stone. Going in his moments of despair in hopes of finding some promise of the future, only to return from it madder and more despairing than when he left."
"I cannot speak for Aragorn and your father's experiences, but you should trust Aragorn to speak openly about why he uses such a stone. And if you're not open to confronting your King, ask Mithrandir," Imrahil replied, "Aragorn's will to point his palantír where he desired against the will of Sauron drew the dark Lord's eye to him and away from all others."
Faramir nodded again, but Imrahil could sense his nephew was not satisfied.
There's more to this, Imrahil saw the shadows cast in his nephew's eyes, then it dawned on him. Éowyn had asked Faramir to join him, because she didn't want him to be alone in that oppressive office, reminding him endlessly of Denethor.
"Well nephew, you are more than welcome in this office with me until Éowyn has had her say with all your father's old furniture," Imrahil looked deeply into Faramir's eyes, his jest mingled with his concern, "Perhaps together we can even make a good dent in this pile of papers covered in your notes!"
Faramir laughed, and both men settled into the tasks that were set for them. Rapid-fire conversations interrupted the flow only every so often, as Faramir asked questions of Imrahil and he answered. Imrahil could barely believe how much his nephew had done in the short weeks since the New Dawn, spanning from personalizing letters for his fallen Ithilien Rangers, to sending scouts to the secret stores of grain, to taking account of Gondor's resources, to writing to each and all of their allies offering help and inviting them to the coronation, which he was spearheading. Faramir had been working on enemy casualty counts over the afternoon, to understand just how complete their rout was.
"Uncle?" Faramir looked up from the letter he was studying.
"Yes Faramir?" Imrahil put down his quill, ten letters done.
"Harad wants to send an envoy to discuss a peace treaty," Faramir held the letter up, toward Imrahil, "Do you think a favorable treaty with Harad will bring Umbar to the table?"
"Umbar is its own nation I fear," Imrahil thought gravely about the skirmishes his navy had been forced into, "Even at their weakest, there is still bad blood there. It is a feud as old as Númenor that halts our progress."
"My thoughts exactly. Terms of any treaty with Harad will be terms with Harad, and no others," Faramir sighed, "Their rout was complete. So the type of warfare we should be preparing for in the coming years will be against much smaller factions targeting high impact targets."
"Acts of sabotage then?" Imrahil joined in Faramir's speculation. Faramir nodded.
"I want to increase our Ranger forces across Middle Earth," Faramir's eyes were full of intense concentration, "And I've been working on an information-sharing agreement between Gondor and Rohan, but should like one between all the great realms."
"You will need more than Rangers if you want to form such a spy network," Imrahil replied, "And perhaps then you should outfit each of our Allies with a Lord or Lady who can speak for the realm. I'd happily volunteer myself to become an Ambassador to Rohan."
Faramir's concentration broke, and he looked at Imrahil carefully. Then suddenly his eyes were alight, "Uncle! That is an excellent idea! One who can speak on behalf of the realm but with a friendship with their ally. I will ask Éowyn if she believes that Éomer would be interested in such an arrangement."
"Do you think there is doubt?" Imrahil asked.
"No, I believe that he will accept this heartily. But I do not make such decisions without first consulting with my most trusted advisor," Faramir's eyes twinkled, "Could there be other motivations for your decision uncle?"
"Perhaps," Imrahil winked, "Elphir is ready to take over Dol Amroth."
"I suspect that is not the whole of it," Faramir ribbed.
"No." Imrahil admitted, "It is Éomer. A King before his time, and yet he has the makings for greatness. As do you all. I want to be there to watch him attain it. To help him in any way I can."
"So, Lothíriel was not a purely political motive," Faramir said coyly.
Imrahil laughed, "No. As you discovered in meeting Éowyn, it is hard to understand any who have met those two who would not want to permanently be in their presence."
"Do you think it would be possible for Éowyn to act as ambassador of Rohan?" Faramir asked earnestly, and Imrahil knew he was not asking to elevate the position of his wife, but because he knew she was the right choice.
"The court will need to get used to many changes. If you can convince your King, I daresay all others will fall in line." Imrahil answered.
Faramir smiled, "It seems I have much to talk with my future wife about."
"Have you spoken about the wedding plans yet?" Imrahil asked.
"No. That is at the bottom of my pile." Faramir replied, and Imrahil could hear some sadness in his voice.
"I can't think of anything more important," Imrahil let his voice become stern, "Your own happiness does not come second to the realm."
"But… there is so much…" Faramir looked sheepish.
"Tell you what," Imrahil interrupted, "You and Éowyn should find one hour each day to plan. In that hour, I will become the acting Steward, to ensure that you do not feel the wellness of the realm suffers from your hour of neglect."
Imrahil could see the retort on Faramir's face, but Faramir swallowed it. He then exhaled and Imrahil was sure he'd watched tension release from his nephew's shoulders.
"One hour a day." Faramir looked intently into Imrahil, "Thank you uncle."
"I suggest you see if there is any violation of decorum to marry Éowyn when we return Théoden to Rohan," Imrahil believed it was the earliest it could be arranged, "Ask tonight. My children can be recruited to help."
Faramir looked distraught. Imrahil continued, "Nephew, we've just been through a grievous war, we've all seen our loved ones die, and we are all haunted by the memories of those dark days. Give us all the joy we deserve by allowing us to celebrate your love. I fear you do not know the power your love story has on the lower levels."
"I want to be married to Éowyn more than I think I have ever wanted anything," Faramir's voice was quiet, and Imrahil could hear that small thoughtful boy from all those years ago, "As does she."
"Then start planning it as such. Stop denying yourself the happiness you deserve," Imrahil had not let the sternness go from his voice.
The topic of weddings seemed to have lightened the mood of the room. Every so often Imrahil would glance up at Faramir. He was often in deep concentration, but as if he could not help it, smiles kept appearing upon his face. Imrahil knew he was thinking of Éowyn.
"Uncle, do you perhaps have sealing wax I can use?" Faramir had looked up, neat piles of completed work on the table he was using. Somehow, despite their acting as distractions to one another, their presence together meant they had finished off the gargantuan piles of work that lay before them.
"Of course," Imrahil found the stick of wax on his desk and walked it over to Faramir, "Where's the ring?"
Faramir's eyes widened, with mingled guilt and delight. He was holding a clay seal to use for the Steward's seal.
"Éowyn is… cleaning it," Faramir replied.
Imrahil let out a laugh. Denethor's chair and Denethor's ring. Éowyn had a gift for seeking out those items darkened most by Denethor's shadows, then whisking them away to be made anew, made for Faramir the Steward, not Denethor the Steward.
"She seems to be repainting your Stewardship, covering the corrupted with light," Imrahil mused.
"That she is." Faramir had that inward grin once again, "Married. In Rohan. Yes. It's perfect."
"What work have you got left?" Imrahil inquired as Faramir placed a stamp on the last of his letters.
"Only the letters for my fallen Rangers' families," Faramir replied, "I may wait to do that until I see Éowyn. She has told me she will call upon me this afternoon, though she demanded all my work be done."
"And that you have done!" Imrahil beamed, "Faster than your Father on his best day. For now, would you care to join me for some late lunch? We could eat in the courtyard and oversee my staff preparing for the party tonight. You may even get a chance to say hello to Lothíriel and ask her about her evening."
"That sounds… wonderful," Faramir's eyes twinkled, "I've already spoken to Éomer, so it will be … interesting … to see if her impression of their night was similar."
As they retired, Faramir handed the large satchel to an attendant to return to the Steward's House, and the pile of letters to messengers. As they came out to the courtyard, Imrahil saw that lunch was already prepared. He always admired his staff for their efficiency.
"You know how Lothíriel feels when you use your far sight to question her," Imrahil admonished, gently.
"And she would turn it on me," Faramir answered, "And before I know it, she would have interrogated the exact color of Éomer's face when we asked him about the evening!"
The men shared a laugh. Yes, Lothíriel had certainly inherited that particular Númenorean trait.
"Are you speaking about me?" a musical voice interrupted them.
Lothíriel came through the archway, dressed in the plain dress she seemed to assume made her less graceful (it did not). Her hair was braided in the back.
"We were mir tel'ear!" Imrahil beamed at his daughter.
"Wonderful to see you cousin," Lothíriel walked over and pulled Faramir in for a hug, "But what brings the Steward to call?"
"Éowyn threw my chair out the window," Faramir kept his face still, a challenge to Lothíriel to find meaning. The duel of their wits was on.
"Did she?" Lothíriel's face showed only amusement, but Imrahil could see the gears in her mind working, "One in the Steward's office?"
"Yes," Faramir answered, his eyes alight.
"You are here, so I expect it was the one at your…" Lothíriel paused, "wait. at Uncle Denethor's old desk."
Imrahil was forever impressed by his daughter's insight.
"Yes," Faramir answered again; his joy had leaked to the corners of his mouth.
"Beyond repair?" Lothíriel's eyes matched Faramir's.
"Far beyond." Faramir was fully smiling now, "Éowyn has assured me that Rohan will be providing me a new one."
Lothíriel fully laughed at this in that musical way of hers.
"Éowyn finds ways to shine light in the dark," Lothíriel replied, and Imrahil knew she understood.
"That she does." Faramir bowed to Lothíriel, and there was an extra twinkle in his eyes, "Speaking of lights in the dark. How was your night on the town with Éomer?"
Color immediately showed in Lothíriel's cheeks, but a certain understanding also dawned on her.
"It was lovely," Lothíriel was squaring herself up for another battle, "I hope he shared the same sentiment?"
Faramir laughed heartily, "I should know better than to match wits with you cousin. I should not like to break the confidence of a King, and my future brother-in-law."
"Your smile says what I need to know," Lothíriel was glowing, "I should hope to find more time to spend with him. Beregil was an excellent escort, and we would be pleased if he would be willing to escort us in the future."
Seeing the exchange between his daughter and cousin cemented it for Imrahil. The King of Rohan was to be his son-in-law.
"Ada, please remove that grin from your face. Nothing is yet set in stone," Lothíriel spoke in Sindarin, her cheeks still quite red.
"I said nothing. In fact, I was thinking only of my request to Faramir to make me ambassador to Rohan," Imrahil grinned as he watched his daughter's cheeks darken a shade more, "You of course would be welcome to join me, should my request be granted."
"You are insufferable Ada," Lothíriel rolled her eyes, but Imrahil saw the smile she could not hide. With that, Lothíriel swept from the room.
"Fresh air uncle," Faramir chided, also in Sindarin, "Let them grow their roots themselves."
"And you needs must start planning a Rohan wedding. Do you have a seal of the House of Húrin? Wedding invitations are not affairs of the Steward, but rather of Faramir the man." Imrahil inquired.
"I have not yet brought myself to go through the rest of the Steward's house." Faramir answered.
"All in that house is now your's Faramir." Imrahil had put his hand on Faramir's, "Finduilas's dress on Éowyn was truly a marvel. Your mother would be so happy for you."
"Do you think anyone would find it … untoward if I asked Éowyn to join me at that task?" Faramir was seeking approval, Imrahil was touched.
"Of course not! Though I fear it would be easier to justify if you bring your wife into your house." Imrahil replied, wanting to be completely honest with his nephew, "How about this. I will help you catalog what is in the house. I am sure that Loth, Erch, and Am would happily join us. It should lighten the memory, and prepare for when you and Éowyn make that house your home."
"I am not sure I want to make that my home uncle," Faramir's eyes carried some deep earnestness as he said this.
"You will not take up residence at the Steward's house?" Imrahil swallowed his worry, "Where might you want to take up residence?"
"Ithilien." Faramir was looking out into the distance.
Imrahil nodded. They could take the Ranger out of Ithilien, but they would never be able to take Ithilien out of the Ranger. Imrahil felt worry rise in his gut. As he observed Aragorn with Faramir, he knew the new King would almost certainly keep Faramir as Steward. It was obvious. He had not given thought to whether or not Faramir wanted to be Steward. He'd supposed that with time, the shadows cast by Denethor could be healed. But then he thought of Finduilas. His bright light of a sister fading under the oppression of the city. Faramir was much more like his mother, even as he had the wisdom and prowess of his father.
"It seems that your heart has been stolen by more than one," Imrahil's voice was coy, but he could still hear his sadness in it.
"Emyn Arnen, the seat of the original House of Húrin. I dream of reclaiming it," Faramir spoke, and Imrahil saw that light in his eyes, the one he got when he thought of Éowyn.
"Half a day's ride from Minas Tirith," Imrahil replied
Faramir let out a thoughtful laugh, "That is exactly what Aragorn said."
"Did he?" Imrahil looked at his nephew, "A strange conversation to have with the King…"
Imrahil suspected it was not strange at all.
"He asked me to remain Steward," Faramir said what Imrahil suspected, "I must answer him tomorrow."
"It seems the King and I share the same wish," Imrahil spoke honestly, "I can see the vision you have for the world Faramir. I want that future. And I do not think anyone could bring it to us save for you."
"Uncle…" Faramir started a thought, but a presence in the courtyard interrupted him. Imrahil turned to see Éowyn being escorted in. She was in a glowing white dress, and was holding an apprentice cap.
"Hello Prince, I had heard I might find the Steward here?" Éowyn smiled. Faramir got up and strolled toward his fiancée, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"You have found me min elskede," Faramir did not let go.
"My shift is now over, and I said I would call on you. Is now a good time?" Éowyn asked them both.
Imrahil wanted to say no, he wanted to understand more about why Faramir was hesitant to take up his Stewardship, but the look on Faramir's face was enough for him to know that keeping them was a lost cause.
"Now is as good as any," Imrahil replied, "And it appears you have many things to talk about. I should expect to hear something about ambassadorships and wedding dates soon."
Faramir's muscles tightened, and Éowyn narrowed her eyes, studying Imrahil. Good, I got Éowyn's attention, Imrahil thought, and did not let the grin fall from his face.
"Thank you uncle," Faramir's smile was strained.
"My pleasure," Imrahil smiled back.
As Faramir and Éowyn said goodbye and took their leave, Imrahil found he needed a walk. He would head up to the Citadel, to the white tree to think. He would think about fallen Knights and ambassadorships, but really, he wanted most to think about family. Of Lothíriel and Faramir, and the golden siblings of Rohan who had so won his and his family's hearts.