Lady of Gondor Ch 11 - Setting Up House
3008-3018; Edoras
----------------------------
After dinner that evening Éomer and Boromir walked down through the city and climbed the steps to the city wall. There they sat on a bench, looking out at the land as they talked. Boromir took out the pipe he always carried with him, put in some weed, lit a spark with his flint, and began to smoke.
Éomer looked at him in amazement. "Is this the latest fashion in Gondor, then?" he asked. "To take grass from the fields and breathe it in?"
"Hardly the latest fashion," Boromir laughed, "but it is popular among the dwarves and a few others, or at least it used to be, last I heard. I enjoy it at any rate -- when Father isn't around to stop me." He grinned mischievously, then looked over the wall at Faramir and Mellamir walking down below.
"Faramir!" Boromir called out to Faramir, sitting on a bench below with Mellamir. "Do you have your pipe?" Faramir tossed it up at his brother, and a moment later Boromir handed Éomer a lit pipe. Éomer inhaled, then began to cough and wheeze.
"Ai!" he exclaimed. "That smarts! It burns your lungs from the inside out!"
"Mellamir seems to enjoy it well enough," Boromir said with a smirk.
"If I was as beautiful as that," Éomer replied, still catching his breath, "I wouldn't worry about my lungs. I'd wager there's half a company to fetch her anything she needs, whenever she needs it."
"If she'd let them, I'm sure they would. But seriously, Éomer, it's good stuff. But don't inhale, just puff, like this," and he demonstrated, blowing a ragged smoke ring for good measure. He indicated Mellamir with the stem of his pipe. "You like her, don't you? I saw you staring at her all through dinner."
"Can you blame me?"
"I suppose she is pretty, but then I've never paid much attention." He gave Éomer a weird look. "She is, after all, my sister. Besides, the last time I saw her she was thirteen years old. If you look a little closer you'll find there is more to her than just looks."
"That's what I'm hoping, Boromir," Éomer said with a smile. "If only she'll give me a chance."
~*~
Boromir and Faramir stayed in Edoras a week. They would have normally stayed longer, but Mellamir had picked a most inconvenient time to "return to the land of the living," as Boromir put it: less than a month before he came of age and assumed his duties as Captain of Gondor. As second son, Faramir had to organize the preparations for the feast and other celebrations, including the play _Isildur's Greatest Hour_, a tale of the War of the Last Alliance when Isildur and his father had almost single-handedly defeated the dark lord Sauron. Faramir also had to prepare to return to Ithilien: now that Boromir would be Captain of Gondor, he had to officially take command of the corps of rangers his brother had led until the last six months. Boromir would not need him as administrator until he became steward, and Gondor needed every good soldier it had. Boromir also had his own preparations, primarily a toast to Leilagonde, his long-time master at the Tower Guard, and his own coming-of-age speech, focusing on what being a Gondorian meant to him.
The week was not by any standard a relaxing vacation for either of the brothers. Faramir spent several hours each day in private conference with Théoden and Wormtongue, updating them on the state of affairs in Gondor; Boromir had the much more trying task of supervising Mellamir's shopping. Denethor had given him very specific "suggestions" as to what was acceptable dress for his daughter, ruling out most articles that mellamir would have chosen (among them, britches, men's boots, and lancing gloves). After six years living among the wild things of the woods, all of Mellamir's belongings were outgrown, worn through, or permanently soiled and had been replaced by skins, certainly not acceptable apparel for polite society. So Boromir took his sister to all the seamstresses, seeing that she bought proper skirts, tops, gowns, petticoats, overcoats, on and on. He had never imagined young women needed so many layers, and in truth neither had Mellamir. Thank goodness for Éowyn: she went with them to all the different shops and pointed out what mellamir would need.
Éowyn had her own incentive for shopping. She had suggested to her uncle that, after the freedom of Fangorn, Mellamir might find palace life stifling. Théoden smiled at that, guessing his niece's true motive, and proposed what had once been a small guesthouse not far from the palace that was now used for storage. Unfortunately, all the furniture had long been taken away and used elsewhere so Éowyn would need to find new furnishings, everything from beds to oil lamps. The guesthouse had actually been Boromir's idea. He knew that his sister would need a release from court life, so he had asked his father to send money, besides that which he carried, to cover the expenses of outfitting a house. But Éowyn and Mellamir didn't know about this arrangement and simply thought the king was being extremely generous for the sake of his alliance with Gondor.
One afternoon Éowyn had sent Boromir off with a cartload of shrubbery for the house and was watching a seamstress measure Mellamir for a new dress. "Your brothers certainly are something else," Éowyn said. "Very noble."
"Oh, Boromir's always been like that," Mellamir replied, "at least since he moved to Minas Tirith. But Faramir ... "
"Yes?" Éowyn smiled, her curiosity piqued.
"He's changed somehow," Mellamir continued. "He has always been a perfect dear, but ... well, he used to be sort of a goof. Not in a bad way, but he would get in some sort of trouble, and you would catch him, and he would just give you this huge grin of his."
"Surely not Faramir!" Éowyn exclaimed. "But he's so ... serious."
"That's Father for you," Mellamir replied, smiling. "It doesn't surprise me a bit that being raised by him would turn a clown into a true stoic. Not that Faramir was ever a clown in a bad way, but he always seemed to have a smile on his face. Now, though -- I'm not sure I like it." She frowned. "Don't get me wrong, Father loves a song as much as the next sovereign, but laughter always seemed sort of out-of-place around him."
"It's good for him, I suppose," Éowyn said at last.
Mellamir nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. After all, he's a prince in all but name,* and he'll have to act like it." She nodded again. "And I'm sure the old Faramir is still there, buried down --" but she broke off, sucking in her breath as the seamstress pulled the strings on a corset she was fitting to Mellamir. "Do they have to tie them so tight?" she asked, breaking out into a grin.
Éowyn laughed. "Welcome back to the world of Men."
But Faramir wasn't the only one who had changed. In his daily meetings with Théoden, Faramir noticed a difference in Wormtongue, and not for the better. Ever since he was old enough to defend himself on long journeys from Gondor, Denethor had sent Faramir with Boromir on trips to all the kingdoms of Men, to test and strengthen the old alliances. That had, of course, included Rohan.
Years ago, just after his fifteenth birthday, Faramir had visited Edoras for the first time. Wormtongue was just one of the king's many advisors then, but Faramir hated him immediately. Something about the man reminded him of a slithering snake; unfortunately, the king did not feel the same way. Over the years Théoden seemed to put more and more trust in Wormtongue's advice; now the snake went so far as to whisper in the king's ear.
On the third day after the feast Théoden finally called the three chieftains back to discuss the question of Orcs in the western villages. After hours of watching Gríma listen, whisper, and speak for the king, Faramir said through clenched teeth, "A private word, my lord, if I may."
"Yes, I believe we're done here," Théoden replied, nodding. "Gentlemen, I will send riders to protect you if you like, but without proof I cannot risk open war. I'm sorry."
"And a most gracciousss decision, my lord, and wise --"
But Théoden silenced his advisor with a curt hand gesture. "Lord Faramir has asked for a private word. If you will excuse us." All the men bowed and left the room. "Now," Théoden asked as he attempted to rub ghe exhaustion from his eyes, "what is it?"
"Gríma," Faramir replied. "He is poison, my lord, and I fear --"
"You are very brave, Lord Faramir of _Gondor_, and you speak boldly -- too boldly, and about matters that are none of your concern. Is this the way in your father's court?"
"No, but --" he began
"And it is most certainly not the way here," Théoden continued furiously, "for strangers from distant realms to presume they know best how to govern our lands."
"I am not trying to interfere," Faramir began, "but this Wormtongue --"
"Is a loyal servant," Théoden snapped. "I can see that you do not like him; you do not have to. But it would do _you_ well to remember who is guest and who is king. I am perfectly capable of choosing my own advisors."
"That is, of course, your right, my lord, but --" Faramir stopped. Théoden was looking at him disapprovingly. "That is all. Thank you for your time." Faramir bowed formally and quickly walked out of the throne room.
~*~
Faramir and Théoden didn't speak again until the day he and Boromir left for Gondor. The citizens of Edoras went about their usual business that day, but Théoden's household, his royal guard, and of course Mellamir came to see the brothers off. The sun was covered by low clouds, making the day hazy. Boromir, Faramir, and the rest of their entourage sat on their horses in front of the gate, and Théoden's Éorlingas lined the city wall, their long spears resting against their shoulders. Théoden stood with Théodred, Éomer, Mellamir, Wormtongue, and Mellamir in front of the door.
Boromir and Faramir walked toward the king and bowed. Boromir said, "My liege, thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for safeguarding my sister. You have my gratitude." Many other things he said to the king, what ceremony required of him, and then for a moment he looked at Mellamir as if contemplating what to say to her. In the end, however, he just bowed and returned to his horse. He showed little emotion, and someone who knew him less well than Mellamir did might have assumed this farewell to his sister meant little to him, but Mellamir knew it was precisely because he was so filled with emotion that he said little. They had already said their farewells in private, and Boromir would not risk losing control of himself in front of his men to repeat them.
Faramir also made his farewell. While his brother spoke to the king his eyes had drifted to Wormtongue; now he lowered his head in a sign of humility, and the anger in Théoden's eyes died down some. "As my brother has already said," Faramir began, "you have our gratitude, for all your kindnesses. I hope -- er -- that you will not allow any indiscretions on my part, any errors of judgment and protocol, to reflect poorly on my country. I apologize for anything I might have said, or left unsaid." He bowed and took a step toward Théoden, shaking his hand.
Faramir drew away his hand and walked away. Only then did Théoden notice the slip of parchment that now sat securely in the palm of his hand. He opened it and, when he had read it, he was surprised both by the young lord of Gondor's daring and by his tact. The note read, "Beware of serpents, my lord. You of course know your own people best, but I am reminded of the words of Brego, grandson of Éorl: 'The shadow spreads and engulfs, while the unwatchful are unaware until the blade is nigh their neck.' Sauron is too wise to attack on only one front." Théoden disagreed, of course, but this time at least Faramir had shown fitting humility. He smiled and turned to watch the parting of brother and sister now occurring a few paces to his right.
Faramir kneeled in front of Mellamir, kissing her hand. They spoke a long time quietly in their own language, and tears rolled down Mellamir's cheek. Faramir handed her his handkerchief and stood up. They embraced, and he took a step back, preparing for the formal farewell of their kind. He closed his eyes, then said in the Common Tongue, "Stay here. It's safe, and a lovely country, so near the forest. Stay away from Father."
"Faramir?" Mellamir asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"Oh, I'm all right," he said, forcing a smile. "He just scares me sometimes, but these are scary times anyway. I want you to stay here. Stay pure." With that he turned around and joined his brother. With one last yearning glance to his sister he mounted his horse and set off with the company for Gondor.
After the guests had left, life in Edoras slowly returned to normal. Mellamir and Éowyn's lives settled into a sort of schedule. They rose early every day, Éowyn because she liked to wake before the rest of the city did and Mellamir to write her poetry. Since she had left Fangorn, everything Mellamir saw, heard, or felt seemed to demand she commit it to verse.
After a light breakfast, the two went to the palace and sat in Théoden's court all morning, listening to the complaints from distant townships and the merchants bringing gifts. When Mellamir first arrived the mornings were usually full with merchants bringing gifts. Times were good, and often a wisely-given foal, a pound of exotic fruit or a new dress for the king's niece or long-term guest from Gondor might mean a small pile of gold in the years to come.
There were also the nobles presenting their sons and daughters. Théodred was of marriageable age, according to the customs of the Rohirrim, and Mellamir soon would be. Some distrusted her; she was, after all, a foreigner and had spent many years in Fangorn, not to mention the boyish manners she had acquired -- though, admittedly, those were growing less obvious as time went on. And she was daughter of the Steward; that was something to consider indeed. What's more, she had no father or brother to arrange her marriage here, so if she were to choose one of the sons of the nobles, surely her family would acquiesce. The prospect was tempting, and most of the lords of Théoden's court were not overly bothered by the prospect of a foreign daughter-in-law; in fact, those with no sons of the right age to speak of seemed to produce nephews and distant cousins to court the lady from Gondor.
Yet Mellamir would have no part of these courting rituals. She was not interested in suitors of any description and seemed content to live each day as it presented itself to her. And she found means to occupy her time. When she first arrived Théoden had asked her to tutor Éowyn in Gondorian lore and customs, thinking it might help her make a good match among the Gondorian gentry if she some day chose that path. Éowyn seemed no more interested in marriage, be it to a Gondorian or a Rohirrim, than did Mellamir, but she grudgingly studied two afternoons a week. After all, her uncle had granted them the guest house, and he was letting her continue her training as a shieldmaiden.
In days long past the daughters of kings would often commit themselves to maidenhood for a period of time before they married. They were trained in arms and would defend and lead their people, should the king and his men have to ride off to war. Yet it had been years since the daughters of kings or even the lesser nobles had chosen such a path. True, daughters of merchants, artisans, or peasants might pledge themselves for a time, if no suitable match could be found; soldiers often married such women. But a noblewoman? Unheard of!
And yet Éowyn trained on. She had lost both her parents while she was still young, and if something brought her happiness, then her uncle was inclined to allow it, for a while at least. She was only thirteen, after all, and didn't need to think of marriage quite yet. So the commanders allowed it for a time and asked no questions. By the time she was fifteen her continued presence drew a few raised eyebrows, and when she turned seventeen her uncle asked if she shouldn't spend more time in Meduseld and less on the field.
She also spent much of her time in the healer's house. This was an activity Théoden approved of. Even as a shieldmaiden she should know how to bind wounds and set bones, and as a wife a knowledge of basic healing was essential. And it eased her own suffering, to help others. More and more Éowyn had begun to blame herslef for her mother's death, thinking that perhaps she could have saved her, and if studying medicine helped that old wound heal... Most importantly, though, it forced her to spend time around the women who worked in that house. There she learned potion-brewing and how to clean wounds, and also how to speak softly and make herself unseen.
As much as she tried to fight it, Éowyn and her brother Éomer started to take very different paths. She, as a shieldmaiden, spent her time training with the women, learning the art of defense. But Éomer would be a rider like his father. He quickly mastered the art of the sword and the spear, and by his twentieth birthday he could guide his horse using only his legs, leaving his arms free to wield a weapon. Around that same time he began going on expeditions with Théodred into the wild. Part of this was to give him experience, but Rohan also faced a very real threat. Regardless of Wormtongue's constant protests that Orcs came from the east, the men of the Westfold continued to die, and the women more and more felt the need for protection.
So as Éomer and Théodred spent more and more time outside of Edoras, Éowyn and Mellamir spent more time alone together. They would train and study together, and as Éomer was now no longer available Théoden allowed Éowyn to ride with Mellamir for company. They often prepared their own meals in the guesthouse they shared and only came to court so often as courtesy demanded.
This continued on for several years, until at last Mellamir had the dream that drew her back to Minas Tirith.
~*~
Notes:
* Credit for this phrase goes to Isabeau, who used it in her story "Captain My Captain."
3008-3018; Edoras
----------------------------
After dinner that evening Éomer and Boromir walked down through the city and climbed the steps to the city wall. There they sat on a bench, looking out at the land as they talked. Boromir took out the pipe he always carried with him, put in some weed, lit a spark with his flint, and began to smoke.
Éomer looked at him in amazement. "Is this the latest fashion in Gondor, then?" he asked. "To take grass from the fields and breathe it in?"
"Hardly the latest fashion," Boromir laughed, "but it is popular among the dwarves and a few others, or at least it used to be, last I heard. I enjoy it at any rate -- when Father isn't around to stop me." He grinned mischievously, then looked over the wall at Faramir and Mellamir walking down below.
"Faramir!" Boromir called out to Faramir, sitting on a bench below with Mellamir. "Do you have your pipe?" Faramir tossed it up at his brother, and a moment later Boromir handed Éomer a lit pipe. Éomer inhaled, then began to cough and wheeze.
"Ai!" he exclaimed. "That smarts! It burns your lungs from the inside out!"
"Mellamir seems to enjoy it well enough," Boromir said with a smirk.
"If I was as beautiful as that," Éomer replied, still catching his breath, "I wouldn't worry about my lungs. I'd wager there's half a company to fetch her anything she needs, whenever she needs it."
"If she'd let them, I'm sure they would. But seriously, Éomer, it's good stuff. But don't inhale, just puff, like this," and he demonstrated, blowing a ragged smoke ring for good measure. He indicated Mellamir with the stem of his pipe. "You like her, don't you? I saw you staring at her all through dinner."
"Can you blame me?"
"I suppose she is pretty, but then I've never paid much attention." He gave Éomer a weird look. "She is, after all, my sister. Besides, the last time I saw her she was thirteen years old. If you look a little closer you'll find there is more to her than just looks."
"That's what I'm hoping, Boromir," Éomer said with a smile. "If only she'll give me a chance."
~*~
Boromir and Faramir stayed in Edoras a week. They would have normally stayed longer, but Mellamir had picked a most inconvenient time to "return to the land of the living," as Boromir put it: less than a month before he came of age and assumed his duties as Captain of Gondor. As second son, Faramir had to organize the preparations for the feast and other celebrations, including the play _Isildur's Greatest Hour_, a tale of the War of the Last Alliance when Isildur and his father had almost single-handedly defeated the dark lord Sauron. Faramir also had to prepare to return to Ithilien: now that Boromir would be Captain of Gondor, he had to officially take command of the corps of rangers his brother had led until the last six months. Boromir would not need him as administrator until he became steward, and Gondor needed every good soldier it had. Boromir also had his own preparations, primarily a toast to Leilagonde, his long-time master at the Tower Guard, and his own coming-of-age speech, focusing on what being a Gondorian meant to him.
The week was not by any standard a relaxing vacation for either of the brothers. Faramir spent several hours each day in private conference with Théoden and Wormtongue, updating them on the state of affairs in Gondor; Boromir had the much more trying task of supervising Mellamir's shopping. Denethor had given him very specific "suggestions" as to what was acceptable dress for his daughter, ruling out most articles that mellamir would have chosen (among them, britches, men's boots, and lancing gloves). After six years living among the wild things of the woods, all of Mellamir's belongings were outgrown, worn through, or permanently soiled and had been replaced by skins, certainly not acceptable apparel for polite society. So Boromir took his sister to all the seamstresses, seeing that she bought proper skirts, tops, gowns, petticoats, overcoats, on and on. He had never imagined young women needed so many layers, and in truth neither had Mellamir. Thank goodness for Éowyn: she went with them to all the different shops and pointed out what mellamir would need.
Éowyn had her own incentive for shopping. She had suggested to her uncle that, after the freedom of Fangorn, Mellamir might find palace life stifling. Théoden smiled at that, guessing his niece's true motive, and proposed what had once been a small guesthouse not far from the palace that was now used for storage. Unfortunately, all the furniture had long been taken away and used elsewhere so Éowyn would need to find new furnishings, everything from beds to oil lamps. The guesthouse had actually been Boromir's idea. He knew that his sister would need a release from court life, so he had asked his father to send money, besides that which he carried, to cover the expenses of outfitting a house. But Éowyn and Mellamir didn't know about this arrangement and simply thought the king was being extremely generous for the sake of his alliance with Gondor.
One afternoon Éowyn had sent Boromir off with a cartload of shrubbery for the house and was watching a seamstress measure Mellamir for a new dress. "Your brothers certainly are something else," Éowyn said. "Very noble."
"Oh, Boromir's always been like that," Mellamir replied, "at least since he moved to Minas Tirith. But Faramir ... "
"Yes?" Éowyn smiled, her curiosity piqued.
"He's changed somehow," Mellamir continued. "He has always been a perfect dear, but ... well, he used to be sort of a goof. Not in a bad way, but he would get in some sort of trouble, and you would catch him, and he would just give you this huge grin of his."
"Surely not Faramir!" Éowyn exclaimed. "But he's so ... serious."
"That's Father for you," Mellamir replied, smiling. "It doesn't surprise me a bit that being raised by him would turn a clown into a true stoic. Not that Faramir was ever a clown in a bad way, but he always seemed to have a smile on his face. Now, though -- I'm not sure I like it." She frowned. "Don't get me wrong, Father loves a song as much as the next sovereign, but laughter always seemed sort of out-of-place around him."
"It's good for him, I suppose," Éowyn said at last.
Mellamir nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. After all, he's a prince in all but name,* and he'll have to act like it." She nodded again. "And I'm sure the old Faramir is still there, buried down --" but she broke off, sucking in her breath as the seamstress pulled the strings on a corset she was fitting to Mellamir. "Do they have to tie them so tight?" she asked, breaking out into a grin.
Éowyn laughed. "Welcome back to the world of Men."
But Faramir wasn't the only one who had changed. In his daily meetings with Théoden, Faramir noticed a difference in Wormtongue, and not for the better. Ever since he was old enough to defend himself on long journeys from Gondor, Denethor had sent Faramir with Boromir on trips to all the kingdoms of Men, to test and strengthen the old alliances. That had, of course, included Rohan.
Years ago, just after his fifteenth birthday, Faramir had visited Edoras for the first time. Wormtongue was just one of the king's many advisors then, but Faramir hated him immediately. Something about the man reminded him of a slithering snake; unfortunately, the king did not feel the same way. Over the years Théoden seemed to put more and more trust in Wormtongue's advice; now the snake went so far as to whisper in the king's ear.
On the third day after the feast Théoden finally called the three chieftains back to discuss the question of Orcs in the western villages. After hours of watching Gríma listen, whisper, and speak for the king, Faramir said through clenched teeth, "A private word, my lord, if I may."
"Yes, I believe we're done here," Théoden replied, nodding. "Gentlemen, I will send riders to protect you if you like, but without proof I cannot risk open war. I'm sorry."
"And a most gracciousss decision, my lord, and wise --"
But Théoden silenced his advisor with a curt hand gesture. "Lord Faramir has asked for a private word. If you will excuse us." All the men bowed and left the room. "Now," Théoden asked as he attempted to rub ghe exhaustion from his eyes, "what is it?"
"Gríma," Faramir replied. "He is poison, my lord, and I fear --"
"You are very brave, Lord Faramir of _Gondor_, and you speak boldly -- too boldly, and about matters that are none of your concern. Is this the way in your father's court?"
"No, but --" he began
"And it is most certainly not the way here," Théoden continued furiously, "for strangers from distant realms to presume they know best how to govern our lands."
"I am not trying to interfere," Faramir began, "but this Wormtongue --"
"Is a loyal servant," Théoden snapped. "I can see that you do not like him; you do not have to. But it would do _you_ well to remember who is guest and who is king. I am perfectly capable of choosing my own advisors."
"That is, of course, your right, my lord, but --" Faramir stopped. Théoden was looking at him disapprovingly. "That is all. Thank you for your time." Faramir bowed formally and quickly walked out of the throne room.
~*~
Faramir and Théoden didn't speak again until the day he and Boromir left for Gondor. The citizens of Edoras went about their usual business that day, but Théoden's household, his royal guard, and of course Mellamir came to see the brothers off. The sun was covered by low clouds, making the day hazy. Boromir, Faramir, and the rest of their entourage sat on their horses in front of the gate, and Théoden's Éorlingas lined the city wall, their long spears resting against their shoulders. Théoden stood with Théodred, Éomer, Mellamir, Wormtongue, and Mellamir in front of the door.
Boromir and Faramir walked toward the king and bowed. Boromir said, "My liege, thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for safeguarding my sister. You have my gratitude." Many other things he said to the king, what ceremony required of him, and then for a moment he looked at Mellamir as if contemplating what to say to her. In the end, however, he just bowed and returned to his horse. He showed little emotion, and someone who knew him less well than Mellamir did might have assumed this farewell to his sister meant little to him, but Mellamir knew it was precisely because he was so filled with emotion that he said little. They had already said their farewells in private, and Boromir would not risk losing control of himself in front of his men to repeat them.
Faramir also made his farewell. While his brother spoke to the king his eyes had drifted to Wormtongue; now he lowered his head in a sign of humility, and the anger in Théoden's eyes died down some. "As my brother has already said," Faramir began, "you have our gratitude, for all your kindnesses. I hope -- er -- that you will not allow any indiscretions on my part, any errors of judgment and protocol, to reflect poorly on my country. I apologize for anything I might have said, or left unsaid." He bowed and took a step toward Théoden, shaking his hand.
Faramir drew away his hand and walked away. Only then did Théoden notice the slip of parchment that now sat securely in the palm of his hand. He opened it and, when he had read it, he was surprised both by the young lord of Gondor's daring and by his tact. The note read, "Beware of serpents, my lord. You of course know your own people best, but I am reminded of the words of Brego, grandson of Éorl: 'The shadow spreads and engulfs, while the unwatchful are unaware until the blade is nigh their neck.' Sauron is too wise to attack on only one front." Théoden disagreed, of course, but this time at least Faramir had shown fitting humility. He smiled and turned to watch the parting of brother and sister now occurring a few paces to his right.
Faramir kneeled in front of Mellamir, kissing her hand. They spoke a long time quietly in their own language, and tears rolled down Mellamir's cheek. Faramir handed her his handkerchief and stood up. They embraced, and he took a step back, preparing for the formal farewell of their kind. He closed his eyes, then said in the Common Tongue, "Stay here. It's safe, and a lovely country, so near the forest. Stay away from Father."
"Faramir?" Mellamir asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"Oh, I'm all right," he said, forcing a smile. "He just scares me sometimes, but these are scary times anyway. I want you to stay here. Stay pure." With that he turned around and joined his brother. With one last yearning glance to his sister he mounted his horse and set off with the company for Gondor.
After the guests had left, life in Edoras slowly returned to normal. Mellamir and Éowyn's lives settled into a sort of schedule. They rose early every day, Éowyn because she liked to wake before the rest of the city did and Mellamir to write her poetry. Since she had left Fangorn, everything Mellamir saw, heard, or felt seemed to demand she commit it to verse.
After a light breakfast, the two went to the palace and sat in Théoden's court all morning, listening to the complaints from distant townships and the merchants bringing gifts. When Mellamir first arrived the mornings were usually full with merchants bringing gifts. Times were good, and often a wisely-given foal, a pound of exotic fruit or a new dress for the king's niece or long-term guest from Gondor might mean a small pile of gold in the years to come.
There were also the nobles presenting their sons and daughters. Théodred was of marriageable age, according to the customs of the Rohirrim, and Mellamir soon would be. Some distrusted her; she was, after all, a foreigner and had spent many years in Fangorn, not to mention the boyish manners she had acquired -- though, admittedly, those were growing less obvious as time went on. And she was daughter of the Steward; that was something to consider indeed. What's more, she had no father or brother to arrange her marriage here, so if she were to choose one of the sons of the nobles, surely her family would acquiesce. The prospect was tempting, and most of the lords of Théoden's court were not overly bothered by the prospect of a foreign daughter-in-law; in fact, those with no sons of the right age to speak of seemed to produce nephews and distant cousins to court the lady from Gondor.
Yet Mellamir would have no part of these courting rituals. She was not interested in suitors of any description and seemed content to live each day as it presented itself to her. And she found means to occupy her time. When she first arrived Théoden had asked her to tutor Éowyn in Gondorian lore and customs, thinking it might help her make a good match among the Gondorian gentry if she some day chose that path. Éowyn seemed no more interested in marriage, be it to a Gondorian or a Rohirrim, than did Mellamir, but she grudgingly studied two afternoons a week. After all, her uncle had granted them the guest house, and he was letting her continue her training as a shieldmaiden.
In days long past the daughters of kings would often commit themselves to maidenhood for a period of time before they married. They were trained in arms and would defend and lead their people, should the king and his men have to ride off to war. Yet it had been years since the daughters of kings or even the lesser nobles had chosen such a path. True, daughters of merchants, artisans, or peasants might pledge themselves for a time, if no suitable match could be found; soldiers often married such women. But a noblewoman? Unheard of!
And yet Éowyn trained on. She had lost both her parents while she was still young, and if something brought her happiness, then her uncle was inclined to allow it, for a while at least. She was only thirteen, after all, and didn't need to think of marriage quite yet. So the commanders allowed it for a time and asked no questions. By the time she was fifteen her continued presence drew a few raised eyebrows, and when she turned seventeen her uncle asked if she shouldn't spend more time in Meduseld and less on the field.
She also spent much of her time in the healer's house. This was an activity Théoden approved of. Even as a shieldmaiden she should know how to bind wounds and set bones, and as a wife a knowledge of basic healing was essential. And it eased her own suffering, to help others. More and more Éowyn had begun to blame herslef for her mother's death, thinking that perhaps she could have saved her, and if studying medicine helped that old wound heal... Most importantly, though, it forced her to spend time around the women who worked in that house. There she learned potion-brewing and how to clean wounds, and also how to speak softly and make herself unseen.
As much as she tried to fight it, Éowyn and her brother Éomer started to take very different paths. She, as a shieldmaiden, spent her time training with the women, learning the art of defense. But Éomer would be a rider like his father. He quickly mastered the art of the sword and the spear, and by his twentieth birthday he could guide his horse using only his legs, leaving his arms free to wield a weapon. Around that same time he began going on expeditions with Théodred into the wild. Part of this was to give him experience, but Rohan also faced a very real threat. Regardless of Wormtongue's constant protests that Orcs came from the east, the men of the Westfold continued to die, and the women more and more felt the need for protection.
So as Éomer and Théodred spent more and more time outside of Edoras, Éowyn and Mellamir spent more time alone together. They would train and study together, and as Éomer was now no longer available Théoden allowed Éowyn to ride with Mellamir for company. They often prepared their own meals in the guesthouse they shared and only came to court so often as courtesy demanded.
This continued on for several years, until at last Mellamir had the dream that drew her back to Minas Tirith.
~*~
Notes:
* Credit for this phrase goes to Isabeau, who used it in her story "Captain My Captain."