Author's Note--Sorry it's taken so long to do this chapter. I actually wrote ahead of myself a bit, then had to come back and fill in, so you should get a couple of updates here very quickly over the next few days. More thanks to Altariel, for more Fire Sermon stuff she let me lift. I do have an original thought occaisionally. Honest, I do!


The next morning was unpleasant on many different levels. I woke up stiff from the unaccustomed exercise of the ride, and my stomach was roiled, my head pounding, and my eyes sore and filled with gummy residue. In addition, I had the battered, weary feeling a person gets when they've been emotionally overwrought. It took a while to prepare for the day, for I was in no mood to bathe in cold water, so I poked the fire up and heated a kettle. I spent a long time over my ablutions, but eventually could no longer postpone the inevitable, and made my way down to the Steward's office.

Faramir was not there, but the paperwork was, and I gratefully buried myself in it. When Lorend came in, I sent him right back out on a errand that had presented itself late last evening, and he departed grumbling. Then I got back to work. The sound of footsteps came down the hall at one point, paused for a moment, then continued on, but I paid them no heed. I did not look up at all, in fact, until sometime later, when two steaming mugs suddenly appeared on the desk, along with a plate of buttered toast.

Faramir was looking down at me, with a somewhat sympathetic expression. He indicated one of the mugs. "Willowbark, for your head." The other. "Peppermint, for your stomach." The toast. "And breakfast, when you've got them under control."

"Thank you, my lord," I murmured quietly. He made no move to go to his desk, but remained staring down at me.

"I have the strangest feeling our conversation ended somewhat too soon last night. Is there aught you would tell me, Heth? Are you troubled in some way? We used to be able to talk about all sorts of things."

I looked blearily up at him. "No, my lord, there is nothing I would wish to tell you." And that at least was the perfect truth.

"I am sorry for what I said to you last night."

"I did not return from my errand, and when I did, I was drunk. You had the right to speak as you did. Not to mention the fact that I imperiled the lady you love." I had no ring to twist, but I knotted my fingers together and laid my hands quietly on the desk.

"'Imperiled' is perhaps too strong a word. I went by and saw her this morning, and thought she did look somewhat better. More color in her cheeks. I think you may have been right."

"That's always gratifying." He looked down at me, disturbed by the tone in my voice. I did not meet his eyes.

"Drink your tea before it gets cold. The willowbark first." I picked up the mug as commanded, and took a deep draught. It was very bitter, and suited my mood perfectly. Two more gulps, and I'd finished the whole cup. He raised his eyebrows.

"She was most concerned that I not punish you. When did the two of you decide I was such an ogre?"

I picked up the other mug, and took a sip to wash the willowbark taste out of my mouth, then started nibbling on the piece of toast.

"We do not think you an ogre, my lord. She always speaks of you most highly. She thinks of you as a very dear friend, and admires your knowledge of many things."

"Valar! I would that I could get her to regard me as something other than a friend! This is...frustrating." He cocked his hip onto my desk.

"I can certainly see where it would be." I sipped some more tea. "I've told you what I think you need to do."

"Aye, you told me any number of things last night, including a rather uncomplimentary remark about me being blind where women were concerned! What exactly did you mean by that?" I could feel his stare boring down into the top of my head. I froze for a moment, then picked up the peppermint mug and cradled it in my hands, taking small sips.

"I was talking about her, what else? Your inability to see how she really is. Which isn't really your fault, now that I think of it. You were raised in a household without women, after all, and your only experience of them was the ones at court. And I'm not sure they qualify as normal women!" I actually managed to look up at him with a small smile, and if it looked a little forced, well then, he knew good and well that I had a headache.

Faramir reached out, closed his hands around mine, and pressed the mug back onto the desk.

"You'd best put this down before you drop it. Your hands are shaking, Heth." He reached a hand up and laid it against my forehead. "You don't feel hot--did you get a chill yesterday?"

I closed my eyes, and savored the touch, unromantic as it was. "No, I think I'm just really hung over."

"Well, you never used to drink more than two ales when we were out in the field. You ought to know better, Heth. And what was Eowyn doing, just sitting there keeping you company while you got soaked?"

"Eowyn was matching me tankard for tankard."

"That's impossible. I saw her this morning, and she was just fine." I gave him an irritated look.

"That's because she's Rohirrim, and they drink beer like a fish drinks water! There's another tip for your courtship, Captain. Take her to a tavern every now and again, and give her beer. Lots and lots of beer. She'll love you for it."

I watched his face as he digested this, and realized that this one small piece of information had had more effect upon him in making him reconsider the nature of his chosen lady than all my arguments and warnings. Ah well, whatever worked. At least it had thrown him off my trail.

I proffered him a pile of papers, and with my other hand, swatted the thigh that lay across my desk.

"Up with you now! Off my desk! You're looming like a vulture! You need to look at these first."

He slid off, the expression on his face warring between offense at the familiarity, and relief that our relationship was back on its usual track. Relief won, and he cocked an eyebrow at me.

"A vulture?"

I hunched my shoulders, and made what I fondly imagined was a vulture face, and he laughed, took his papers to his desk, and settled in for a hard morning's work.


After that, things were normal between us once more, though upon occaision, I would catch him giving me a very intense look out of the corner of my eye. The next two days were extremely busy ones, and there was not much time for personal conversation, which suited me just fine. Faramir had apparently decided that at least part of my problem was that I was confined to the Citadel too much, or perhaps he decided I needed a demonstration of his trust in me, so once a day, he sent me on errands outside the Citadel instead of Lorend. I was always careful to return promptly, sober, and without visiting the Lady of Rohan, much less absconding with her.

The third morning after our conversation, he came in a little late, and very silent. I gave him the documents which I had sorted and deemed he needed to look at first, and he murmured a vague acknowledgement, and started leafing through them desultorily. The worry line was prominent over his brow.

Lorend came in, and paused in the doorway. He looked at Faramir for a moment, and raised his eyebrows, then looked at me. He held his hand out.

"All right. Give it to me."

"Give you what?" I asked somewhat sourly.

"Give me the bloody errand that's going to take me halfway to Ithilien, so you can talk to him about what's bothering him, without me listening in."

"I do no such thing."

"You certainly do. So does he. All the time. The more your personal lives get messed up, the more saddle sores poor Lorend gets on his--"

"--Lorend," Faramir broke in, "Be so kind as to go down to the kitchen and have them fix some willowbark with honey in it for me. Very strong. And then, by all means, take the morning off. I'll see you again the second hour past noon."

"Well, I must say, this is an improvement! I thought I saw a pattern developing there for a while that I didn't quite like, but--"

"Lorend. Now." It was his Captain's voice, and Lorend moved. I had to chuckle a little.

"I suppose we do abuse him a bit."

Faramir sighed. "He invites it."

"I notice you didn't give me honey in my willowbark the other day."

"I wanted to punish you. Didn't think you'd toss it back in three gulps."

"It's beer I have a problem with, remember?" He snorted and winced. "Are you getting one of your headaches?" I asked him. He'd gotten them from time to time in the field, though he had never let them slow him down, even conducting raids and ambushes while in the throes of one.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Would you like me to help you as Mablung used to?"

"Would you? That would be lovely." So I stood up, and moved over behind him, and slid my hands under his soft black hair to the back of his neck, and began rubbing, first with my thumbs, then my whole hands. He sighed in relief.

"That feels very nice. Maybe, if you do that for a little while, and Lorend gets back here fast with the tea, I can stave it off."

"You're all knotted up back here. What has happened?"

"Does something have to have happened?"

"You usually have a reason for doing this." The muscles beneath my hands tightened somewhat.

"I went to see the Lady Eowyn last night."

"Oh good. I'm glad you found the time. How was she?"

"Rather subdued, I thought. She said she didn't want to see me again." My hands paused in their work for a moment as I contemplated this, then began again.

"Did she say why?"

"She said that she did not want to hurt me, and that if we continued to see each other, it would be inevitable. I don't think," and his tone was very dry, "that it had occured to her it was already too late to avoid that." I intensified the pressure of my hands, and worked down into his shoulder muscles. He hissed as I hit a knot, and I concentrated on it for a while till it went away.

"So what will you do now, my lord?"

"There is nothing I can do, Heth. If a lady tells a gentleman she does not wish for his company, he is the veriest boor to continue to press his attentions upon her. Perhaps, in time, she will reconsider and send for me again. I certainly hope that she will."

"I am sorry, my lord. Do you want me to speak with her?" I worked my hands back up his neck, and spread my fingers into his scalp.

"And what? Do my courting for me? As you said once, that is beyond the call of duty. No, I would appreciate it if you would not mention it to her at all, please. I'm not saying you should not see her--in fact, I hope that you will continue to do so. She truly enjoys your visits. But I'm sure the two of you can find something else to talk about. Horses, perhaps."

"Perhaps." A servant came in, bringing his tea (Lorend having apparently decided to flee, lest we change our minds), and I stopped so that he could drink it, which he did quickly, and all at once, despite the honey to sweeten it. I then resumed where I had left off. He made a pleasured sound, shut his eyes, and tipped his head back.

"You have good hands, Heth. If I'd known that, I'd have let you do this years ago. You're gentler than Mablung. He always left little finger bruises all over my neck and shoulders."

"As I recollect, I offered once, and you refused. Said it wouldn't be seemly for the men to see me with my hands on you. That they might want the same favor, and things would go downhill from there."

"You're right. I remember that now. Now that I think upon it, I spent a lot of time trying to make sure no one thought of you as a woman." I was rubbing his temples now, and he sighed and relaxed back against me.

"And you succeeded. With everyone. Including me." Faramir opened his eyes, tipped his head back further, and gave me a worried frown. I smiled down at him, took his head in my hands, tipped it back down, and started once more on his neck.

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter now. Let's see if we can't get rid of this headache." In the end, between the willowbark and the massage, we did succeed in stopping it before it got any worse, and he and I were able to return to work once more. Lorend came in at the second hour after noon, and persisted in making so many absurd speculations upon the nature of Faramir's problems that finally we had no choice but to send him on an errand halfway to Ithilien.


After Eowyn's rejection of him, Faramir buried himself even deeper in his work, though he did not seem to fall totally into despair. The increasing satisfaction he felt in doing a peacetime job, and doing it well, helped to counteract his sadness. As the time before the king's return grew shorter and shorter, our work load grew greater and greater. Eventually, Faramir decided to move his office out of his father's old one and into a sunnier room that suited him well. The work involved in making the move at such a busy time was more than repaid by the cheerful atmosphere we found ourselves in, once free of a place so redolent of Denethor's personality.

He also turned the Steward's House inside out, bringing forth many of his mother's favorite things, and making a bonfire of much that had belonged to his father, including some books. I noticed that Lord Hurin looked askance at that somewhat, but I thought that on the whole it was not an unhealthy thing, if it allowed him to lay some ghosts. The one truly bad time he had was when he decided that his duty required him to visit the Tomb of the Stewards in Rath Dinen with Lord Hurin, to determine what repairs were needed. He never made it inside, came back to the Citadel, and retired for the rest of the day with a bottle of brandy.

As I began to feel better, he made me his adjunct to Lord Hurin, a no-nonsense, saturnine man I quite enjoyed once I got to know him better. All of us spent as much time as possible outside in the lovely spring weather, by unspoken agreement saving the majority of the paperwork for the evenings, after the sun had set.

More and more people were returning to the City, others were streaming in to witness the coronation, and still others came to offer services and goods to the visitors. I just happened to be down at the Gate one day, talking to Lord Hurin about distribution of guardsmen along the procession route, when a party flying the Swan Ship banner of Dol Amroth came up the Road. There was a small escort of Swan Knights, a small group of nobly clad riders--and a large train of wains.

"What are all the wains for?" I asked Lord Hurin. "Surely they know they can acquire food and goods here! Are those gifts for the king?" Lord Hurin smiled a very dry smile.

"Some of those may very well contain gifts for Aragorn," he said, "But I suspect the vast majority of them contain the Princess Lothiriel's ladies--and her wardrobe."

"Surely you jest?" I asked. He just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

The party drew rein before the Gate, and I got a good look at them. One of them was the first person I'd ever seen from Dol Amroth who looked uncomfortable on a horse. He was tall, and dashingly handsome, with a black beard and grey eyes that shone startlingly pale from a sun-bronzed face.

"Prince Elchirion, Imrahil's second son," Lord Hurin murmured to me. "Commander of Dol Amroth's navy." Well, that explained the horse. He was probably more comfortable on the deck of a ship.

The second man was young, pale where Elchirion was bronze, slender where he was strong, delicate of feature, dark of hair and grey of eye as were all of Imrahil's house. He did not look uncomfortable on a horse, he looked oblivious to the fact that he was even on his very placid mount, which he was riding on a loose rein while his nose was firmly glued to a book. A harp case was hung at the back of the saddle.

"Prince Amrothos, the third son," Hurin explained. "He's a musician, or a scholar, or something." I looked at Hurin quizzically--he was not usually so indefinite about anything. He just shook his head.

"He's a strange one."

The best rider of the lot was the young woman of about my age, who sat her horse in a fetching blue dress with a divided skirt, and wore a dashing hat with a white plume. Her face was very fair indeed, her dark cloud of hair caught up at the back of her neck in a pearled net. Her hands, in gloves embroidered in silver and pearl, held her reins with easy capability.

"The Princess Lothiriel, Imrahil's youngest," Lord Hurin told me, rather unnecessarily.

"'Rothos," said the bearded prince, as they drew rein before the Gate, "we're here." When the book reading prince did not immediately respond, he repeated himself with the resigned exasperation of one to whom this was a normal occurence. "'Rothos, we're at the Gate. You said you wanted to look at it."

"Hmmmmm?" Amrothos suddenly looked up. "Oh, we're at the Gate? Well, you might have said something, brother."

Elchirion made an irritated snort. Amrothos stuck his book into a pouch at his saddlebow, and swung off of his horse with no further ado, making no effort to toss its reins to his brother or tether it in any way. Fortunately, he seemed to have some sort of understanding with the beast, which immediately cocked its hip and seemed content to stand there indefinitely, switching its tail lazily.

Amrothos came forward to the Gate, intent on examining the pillars which had supported the doors, and oblivious to the perils of passing wagons. He spied Lord Hurin, and greeted him.

"Ah, Lord Hurin! Good to see you! Do you know how the Gate was breached? Was it magical means, or chemical, or mechanical? If it was chemical, is there a sample about that I could study? And if mechanical, is the device still at hand?"

"It was a combination of magical and mechanical means, my lord prince. The Witch-King used a giant ram called Grond, and augmented its force magically in some way. Unfortunately, the ram has already been cut to pieces and smelted, and the metal sold south. No one in the City wished to have it about."

Amrothos looked dissappointed. "I should have liked to have had a look at it, but no matter. If magic was involved, my studies would have been inconclusive anyway. Magic is so....imprecise." He peered closely at first one pillar, then another. The Princess Lothiriel, sitting an increasingly impatient mount who sensed that stabling and grain were near, grew impatient herself.

"'Rothos, if you want to look at the dratted Gate, then come down here by yourself tomorrow! I'm tired and I want a bath! And you're blocking traffic."

Elchirion added his protests to his sister's. "Come on, 'Rothos. Stay as long as you like tomorrow. 'Thiri's ladies are tired, and need to rest."

Amrothos sighed, returned to his horse, and mounted once more. No sooner had he mounted, then the book was in his hand again. Hurin turned to me.

"Captain Hethlin, would you be so kind as to escort the Princes and Princess to their home?"

"Of course, my lord." I bowed politely to Imrahil's children. Elchirion acknowledged me civilly, Amrothos gave me one surprisingly piercing look up and down, then returned to his book, and Lothiriel smiled, nodded, then looked at me again with a surprised look on her face. I quickly fetched my horse, mounted, and began to lead the company up the road. I heard the Princess Lothiriel whisper to Prince Elchirion "I think that Guardsman is a woman!"

Amrothos, though he had not been addressed, snorted. "Of course she's a woman. Hands and throat never lie. And she's a swordswoman and an archer, a Ranger of Ithilien temporarily assigned to the City Guard. She's been on the wounded list recently too."

"You're just making all that stuff up, 'Rothos!"

"Am not, 'Thiri. Ask her." I heard the Princess' horse draw even with mine. "Captain, did you hear--"

"I did, my lady."

"And is he right?"

"Aye, my lady. About everything."

"All right, 'Rothos, how did you know?"

"You see everything I do, 'Thiri, you just don't observe or deduce. Swordswoman is obvious--she's carrying a sword. Archer is a little more subtle--her tabard has wear marks from a quiver strap. Her tabard is City Guard, but she's wearing an Ithilien Ranger cloak. If she were permanently assigned to the Guard, that wouldn't be permitted--she'd be out of uniform. So it's a temporary thing. The wounded list is easy--I watched how she got on her horse. It's all plain enough, if you know what you're looking at."

I was impressed. Prince Amrothos might be strange, as Lord Hurin had said, but when he gave his attention to something, he didn't miss much.

"So, if you're a Ranger, do you know our cousin Faramir?" The princess inquired.

"Indeed, my lady, I am one of his aides. And as soon as I've escorted you home, I will go and tell him of your arrival. I'm sure he'll be very glad to see you all."

"Is he well now? We had heard he was sorely hurt." She seemed quite genuinely concerned.

"He's almost completely healed. He's very busy, preparing for the King's return, but I think he's enjoying the work."

"That's good. He's such a dear man. And maybe now that the war is over, we can finally get him to do his domestic duty! When I think of all the ladies who'll be chasing him....we must find someone nice!" I refrained from describing to her his own less than successful efforts in that direction.

"Gods, 'Thiri's in a matchmaking mood," groaned Amrothos. Elchirion looked thoughtful.

"I think the kindest thing I could do for poor cousin Faramir at this point is to invite him along on a long sea voyage for several months! To Rhun, perhaps, or those far southern islands."

Lothiriel pouted at her brothers, and I had to laugh. They were all so obviously loving and funny, I could see why Faramir spoke of his visits to Dol Amroth with fondness. I escorted them to the courtyard of their home, and left to tell Faramir of their arrival. He laughed out loud, and immediately arranged for them to sup with him that night. I'm sure it was a merry meeting.


Though I have not spoken of it till now, I did visit the Lady Eowyn on occasion during this time, when my schedule permitted it. I would bring her books in Rohirric that Faramir had sent, but I took no messages from him, nor did I speak of him to her, as he had requested. Her brother had sent for her, requesting that she join him at Cormallen, where the army was resting till the wounded were ready to return home, but she refused to go. Merry, however, went out with a supply train, so that he could see his friend Pippin, leaving her even more alone than before.

As the days went by, she became quieter and quieter, and paler and paler. She wouldn't go riding with me, she merely wandered from the House to the Gardens and back again. I don't know how much she was eating, or if she ate at all. I tried to feel sorry for her, but since her isolation was of her own choosing, what I mostly felt was an increasing sense of annoyance and dissappointment, though I tried to be patient and understanding.

About a week before the King's return, my patience ran out. I came at lunch with some more books for Eowyn, to find her seated at her window, staring eastward, dressed in her habitual white, looking pensive and pale and mournful. My temper snapped, with what should have been an almost audible ping. Faramir would have been most wroth with me had he seen, for I raised the books above my head and let them fall to the floor with a loud bang. Eowyn jumped a foot off her chair and turned to look at me, her eyes wide and startled.

"Have you woven your shroud yet, lady? Chosen your flowers? Lilies, perhaps? You look like a lily girl to me."

"Hethlin! I didn't see you come in."

"You don't see me even after I come in. You've been moping for days. It's not too late to go join your brother, you know. He would probably enjoy having you ride back here with him. He must be worried sick."

"I cannot go to Cormallen." Her head drooped once more.

"Why? Because of Aragorn? He's exactly why you should go. Put a nice dress on, pinch some color into your cheeks, and let him see an army of men fall all over themselves for your favor. It'd do him good. It'd do you good."

"I cannot." She sighed, and I took a firm hold of my temper once more.

"Then go back to Edoras, and take things in hand until your brother gets there, if you're sick of the City! Lord Faramir will see that you have an escort. If you like, I'll go with you myself, get to see those horse herds of yours."

"You would miss the crowning, if you did that."

"So what! I've missed every other notable battle and event of the Age! It would be worth it, to see you feeling more yourself. But this business....it's silly. It's stupid. It's....girlish." She looked vaguely offended, and I grew hopeful. At least it was an emotion besides despair. I decided to take this theme further, since it seemed a partial success.

"This is not the behavior of a warrior! This is something straight out of those silly romances the court women are so fond of reading. The ones where the heroine, rejected by the man she loves, falls into a decline and dies prettily, managing a sweet deathbed scene with him before she perishes that causes him to feel guilt for the rest of his days." I threw my hand against my head and staggered against the door jamb. "Alas! Poor Eowyn! Would that I had appreciated her finer qualities while she was still alive! But now it's too late! And I must live without her! How can I? Alas! Alack! Woe is me!" Was that ire in the blue eyes? Genuine anger?

"So I ask you again, Lady--is your shroud ready? Your flowers chosen? What about a dress?--although that one you have on would serve in a pinch--nice and ghostly. Are you sure you've got your timing right? It wouldn't do to die before Aragorn gets here, after all--not anywhere near as effective. You really need to have that deathbed scene, you know. On the other hand, lingering too long is almost as bad. He might succeed in dragging you back to life again, and then where would you be?"

"Hethlin....." her voice was low, held a hint of a warning growl in it, and she was on her feet, nostrils flared and breathing hard.

"What--are you offended by the truth? It's what you're doing, isn't it? What are you going to do, swing a sword at me? You couldn't sling a pillow in the state you're in!
You make me sick sometimes, you know? Here you are, beautiful and brave, a princess with a brother who loves you, the best man in Gondor adoring you, his people who worship you for the heroic thing you've done, and your own people who all love you, and you're sitting here pining away because a man you decided you loved, as far as I can tell, in five minutes, does not return your affections. Poor Eowyn!"

I'd always thought she would move fast when she was well. She moved pretty quickly even as a convalescent, and she was stronger than I thought. My good cheek reddened and my ear burned from the force of her slap. She was practically in my face, her chest heaving.

I reached up slowly, and touched my cheek. When I spoke, my voice was quiet.

"Eowyn, death is easy. You've not had much luck so far, but you'll find it soon enough if you keep looking, never fear. But you must take your life back for yourself--no one is going to do that for you. You have a lot more to work with than I had! Let duty and love push you along for a little while. Your brother would be heartbroken if something happened to you, and there is much good work you could do among your people. That would be enough to start with, if you choose. Then perhaps one day, you may find someone who will return your love. We are allowed to do that more than once, you know. Love, that is."

I took two steps back and bowed. She simply stared at me, though I thought I saw a hint of pain in her eyes.

"I apologize, my lady, for my unspeakable rudeness. I will not trouble your peace again."

And I departed, and told Faramir only that I'd delivered the books, making sure he did not see my face until the redness faded. The next day, when the Warden came with the news that the Lady Eowyn sickened, and he hastened to her, I felt a stab of guilt and fear that I'd perhaps harmed her in some way.

But when he came back a couple of hours later, glowing with joy and eager to tell Lorend and I the news of his betrothal, I realized she'd taken my words to heart after all, if not quite in the way I'd intended. And when, with an act of will not far short of what it had taken to face the Witch-King, I greeted this news with a calm smile and a congratulatory hug, he told me that she'd sent a message for me.

"She said to tell you that she's sorry twice over," he said into my ear. "Now whatever does she mean by that?"

And I gave him a squeeze, and a kiss on the cheek, for such was allowed at such a time, even to me.

"It's a woman thing," I answered, "So of course you wouldn't understand."