I arrived at the front door of the Steward's House at the appointed hour, and stared up at it with some trepidation. It was some of the oldest architecture in the City, and there was a severity about it that, while not graceless, was certainly not as welcoming as Prince Imrahil's home. I rang the bell and waited, my stomach in a knot, for I was truly dreading this interview. Nothing happened immediately, and I was just reaching for the bellpull again when the door opened slowly and an elderly serving woman peered out.
"May I help you?" she asked a bit abruptly, and the way her eyes traveled up and down me indicated she wasn't sure what to make of me at all.
"I am Lady Hethlin of Anorien. I am to dine with the Steward tonight," I explained, and her face lightened somewhat, though I thought she looked distressed or perturbed about something.
"Oh yes! You are expected, my lady. Do come in." She opened the door, and I stepped inside, staring about curiously, for it was the first time I'd ever set foot in Faramir's house.
Deep red carpets deadened the sound of my footsteps and dark paneling enclosed the main hall. It was a gloomy entranceway. Cheerful conversation would be impossible in such a room, you would be expecting any happy chatter to bring the ghosts of past Stewards out of walls and doorways to chastise one for disturbing their dignified slumber. Following the maid down the hall, I noticed a bookcase filling the wall at the end, with books in many tidy rows, and my heart lightened a bit. That seemed more like Faramir. She turned a corner, and we proceeded down another hall decorated like the first, past several doors until she stopped before one. I could hear the muffled sound of voices within.
"His Lordship has a.......guest, but I do not know if he will be staying for dinner or not," she explained, seeing my curious look. I wondered if Faramir had thought he needed a chaperone, or some person to mediate between us. If so, I did not much appreciate it, and I hoped that it was not his uncle, or the King.
The maid then opened the door, and stuck her head into the room.
"The Lady Hethlin of Anorien, sir," she announced.
"By all means, let her come in," came Faramir's response. I noted with some relief that he sounded cordial enough. The maid dropped me a curtsey and departed. Reluctantly, I moved into the room, then stopped just beyond the doorway in surprise.
The room was a library, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with shelves full of books. The paneling here was lighter than that I had seen in the rest of the house so far, and it gleamed gold in the lamplight. The carpet too was an improvement-- a restful dark green. It was a very pleasant room, quite welcoming. There was a fireplace, unlit in the late summer heat, and several chairs and tables were scattered about. One of the tables had a chessboard on it, and seated at the table, intently engaged in a game, glasses of wine at their elbows, were Faramir and Elrohir. Elrohir looked up at me and smiled, and I bit back a gasp, for his nose was quite obviously broken.
"Hello, Snowsteel," he said cheerfully, in a somewhat congested tone of voice.
"Hello, Hethlin," Faramir greeted me as well, keeping the left side of his face averted. His demeanor was not quite so happy, but he did not seem angry either.
I looked the scene over a little more carefully and noticed that the two pairs of hands upon the table were both quite abraded, swollen and bruised about the knuckles. And taking a swift step sideways, I finally got a look at the left side of Faramir's face, though he tried to keep me from doing so by turning his head away. His eye was swelling shut, and he was going to have a huge, rainbow-colored bruise by morning.
"Have the two of you been FIGHTING?" The evidence that they had was no more shocking than what came next. Faramir looked at Elrohir. Elrohir looked at Faramir, and spoke first.
"I would not call it fighting, Snowsteel. More like the expression of strongly-held opinions."
"We are, after all, men of deep conviction," Faramir added blandly.
"Beings of deep conviction," Elrohir amended. Faramir acknowledged this correction with a nod.
"It should come as no surprise that discourse between such beings could become somewhat......heated," the Steward of Gondor explained in the most reasonable of tones.
"Indeed," Elrohir agreed. "But that being said, after we had aired our .....opinions....we were able to find some common ground to agree upon."
"We are both interested in music, for instance," remarked Faramir, looking the board over in a clinical manner.
"And epic poetry," Elrohir added, cocking an eyebrow and moving a pawn. Faramir, seeing him commit himself, smiled an evil smile, moved his hand over a piece to shift it, then paused suddenly, frowning.
"We both also like to play chess." His voice became abstracted, his eyes distant as he calculated possible moves.
"And one of us is even good at it," quipped Elrohir. Faramir shot him an irritated look, then turned his attention back to the board. My lover got to his feet with something less than his usual flowing grace.
"You may need some time to work your way out of that one, my lord Steward," he said, smiling. "And I have outstayed my welcome now that your dinner guest is here."
"Oh, were you welcome? I don't recollect," murmured Faramir, and I stared at him in astonishment. Such open rudeness was hardly his usual manner, and what came next was even more unbelievable. "Do you truly wish to finish this game at some point? Or shall we leave it as it is?"
"Tomorrow evening, perhaps?" suggested Elrohir, seemingly unoffended. Faramir nodded. "I shall return after dinner then, Prince Faramir. Perhaps you will have found a way out of your dilemma by then."
"It will not take me so long as that by any means, Lord Elrohir. You will have to look to yourself tomorrow night."
"We shall see. A good evening to you, Prince Faramir, Snowsteel. Enjoy your dinner." He got all the way to the door and was halfway through before the irresistible impulse to twist the knife overcame him. "Providing you can actually chew it, of course." He slipped immediately into the hall afterwards, but still heard Faramir's voice floating after him.
"I do hope that you don't encounter your father or the King with that nose in the condition it is in." A muffled chuckle drifted back to us, and I could hear the sound of the maid showing him out.
The Steward of Gondor then looked up at me unrepentently out of his black eye, and I suddenly realized that even though I had spent four years in the company of two hundred men, and had thought that I knew all there was to know about masculine nature, there were still going to be times when I did not understand men any better than my more sheltered sisters. This was immediately confirmed by his next remark.
"What happened to YOUR face?" he asked.
************
Lothiriel was what had happened to my face. Escaping the King's scrutiny by fleeing into the Citadel, I had only just left the Prince's company when I encountered his daughter within. Lothiriel was chatting with some other ladies, but when she saw me, she waved and indicated that I should wait for her with a gesture. After bidding her friends good-bye, she came over to me with a smile.
"Hethlin! How are you?"
"I am well, my lady. And you?"
" Very well, thank you. I needed to speak to you, so it is good fortune that I found you here. May we go up to your rooms?"
"Of course." It would hardly be politic to refuse my liege lord's daughter's request, though I was both curious and uneasy about her chosen topic of conversation. She spoke of nothing of consequence as we traveled upstairs, merely chatting lightly about court happenings instead. I tried to keep track of who figured in her stories and in what way. Such information might one day prove useful. Father had always been fond of saying that when one traveled to a new country, one should always avail oneself of a native, to learn the foibles of the climate and the plants and creatures who lived there from an expert. If there was any more expert native in the courts of Minas Tirith than Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, I did not know the person--other than, of course, her father.
And not surprisingly, he was what she wanted to talk to me about. Once within the privacy of my rooms, she settled into one of the chairs with the grace of a blossom drifting down to float upon the water, her skirts in smooth and ordered folds about her, and gave me a very direct, though still charming, smile.
"I was hoping to discover from you exactly what went on at the wedding the other night, Hethlin," she said, "since Father is being totally silent upon the matter. My brothers and I tried to question him a bit about it last night at dinner, but he would not tell us anything! He kept changing the subject, and he had even invited Cousin Faramir to dinner as a reinforcement!"
"A reinforcement?" I asked, curious.
"Oh yes! I suspect he's told Faramir everything. They're tight as two halves of an almond, Father and Faramir, always have been. It quite annoys Elphir at times."
"Does the Prince truly favor Faramir above his own son? That doesn't seem like your father. He loves you all very much."
"Not favors him, exactly. It's simply that Uncle Denethor was always so hateful to him that Father feels he has to make an extra effort on Faramir's part. And since we already know that Father loves us, Faramir takes precedence." She paused suddenly, and her eyes narrowed in a way that reminded me very much of Eowyn. "You're doing it too!"
"What?" I asked with what I hoped was convincing bafflement, though I suspected I knew what I was about to be accused of.
"Changing the subject!"
"Oh. I'm sorry." I wasn't particularly, but I settled back into my chair and tried to look both comfortable and contrite. Lothiriel's air of suspicion did not abate.
"Come now, confess! Why did Father kiss you? Did you ask him to? Did you like it when he did? It would seem," and here the Princess's fair cheeks reddened a bit, "that Father is a very good kisser, given his performance at the wedding. I have heard tales of his scandalous youth before, of course, but I never really believed them. After the other night, they become much easier to believe."
"He told me once that he had been quite a rogue in his younger days," I said slowly, thinking my way through things with care. That I would have to tell the Princess something was clear, and I did not wish to lie to her. But I did not wish to reveal the full extent of her father's affection for me either, as it would do neither him nor I any service, and make both of our lives difficult. "Has it never occurred to you, Princess, that he might be reluctant to speak upon the subject because he was embarrassed?"
"Embarrassed?" She did not look convinced.
"Indeed. He apologized to me afterwards, told me that he had been overcome by the drink. The Rangers brew some really vile stuff up there in the hills, and they brought a keg of it down with them to the party. It's generally best not to ask what is in it. He gave it a try, at their insistence, because he wanted to be friendly. Lord Elrond had warned him that because he'd been ill, he might not have much tolerance for drink, and so it proved to be. Between that and all the beer and other things, he became intoxicated, and kissed me when he caught me out of the dance." Casting a glance in Lothiriel's direction, I found her giving me a dubious look, and decided that further explanation was necessary.
"So, your father was somewhat drunk, and I think he also wanted to get back at me a little. You see, he was always referring to himself as if he had one foot in the grave on our journey to Lorien, and I got tired of it." The Princess nodded, sudden comprehension on her face.
"I know. He does that to me, every time I suggest he find a lady friend. I hate it so!"
"I hated it as well, for it is truly ridiculous behavior on his part, and told him more than once that he ought to stop acting like that. So I think that he kissed me to show me what he was capable of, should he choose to do so. And yes," and here my cheeks got pink in their turn, "your father is a very, very good kisser." That last little personal detail seemed to have finally persuaded Lothiriel, for she relaxed and relented.
"I wish he had meant it for real," she complained, a frown-line marring her pretty brow. "I was so hopeful, for a moment there.....I don't suppose I could persuade you to try to get him to court you in earnest? You are the only lady I have ever seen him treat like that."
I gaped at her. "Princess, consider what you are saying! His wife would be the Princess of Dol Amroth! My blood may be good, but I am but a rough, unlovely girl, ill-suited to such a role! Not to mention being considered odd and fey by the court! Besides, as his esquire, it would hardly be appropriate for me to pursue him in such a manner. It would reflect badly upon him, and upon me as well. He has taken great pains to assure me that his actions will not affect my training in Dol Amroth, and I cannot try to take advantage of my situation there in such a way. If I did, I would be no better than those girls at court whom you despise because of their plots to attract him."
"No, I suppose you could not court him as his esquire," Lothiriel admitted reluctantly. She seemed almost sorrowful that she could not persuade me to pursue her father, which surprised me a bit. I would have thought that the idea of him marrying a woman her own age would have repulsed her. Another thoughtful frown crossed her countenance, then she steepled her manicured fingers exactly as her father was wont to do, and gazed at me speculatively across the tops of them. I felt an instinctive prickle of alarm.
"'Rough and unlovely', are you? Well, at least I can do something to help you amend that! After all, the King wished you to acquire polish, did he not? And I am sure that you would prefer my methods to my great-aunt's!"
"There is no doubt that I would, princess, but surely there is no hurry! Your father says that my training will not truly begin until we return from Rohan."
"Your training in arms must wait till then, 'tis true, but there is no reason to delay the polishing! Trust me, Hethlin, I know how arduous the esquire training is! It would benefit you to make a start on your instruction in courtly manners now, while you have a little time to spend upon it."
I stared at her, dismayed. While what she said made perfect sense, it was not something I was eager to do, particularly since I had not decided if I even wished to go to Dol Amroth. On the other hand, such knowledge was something that might be useful to know no matter what I decided. "How did you propose to start?" I asked at last.
Lothiriel smiled, a pleased look upon her face, and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. I felt another of those prickles of alarm. "Well! To begin with, I am ordering you to stop cutting your hair! You are a woman, not a man, and if you ever hope to pass as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, you need to have hair to do it with. Besides, yours is lovely--so thick and such an extraordinary color!"
I wrinkled my nose at her. "Surely you jest! It looks like an old woman's hair."
"It looks," she corrected me somewhat severely, "like snow in the sun! You have no idea what an advantage it will be! The court is full of ladies with raven tresses. You, and Eowyn when she comes here, will stand out amongst all the dark heads."
"And it's a good thing to stand out?" I asked, dubious about the whole business.
"Indeed it is! Had you plans for the afternoon?"
"Not exactly. I am having dinner with the Steward tonight, so I had thought to perhaps get a bath a little later, then decide what I was going to wear." Lothiriel almost bounced with glee.
"Dinner with Cousin Faramir? Oh, this is most excellent! I had thought to have you with me at court tonight, but that will serve equally well. We will make you pretty for your dinner with him." Visions of being shoehorned into someone's borrowed dress for the occasion and subsequently tripping over my feet to Faramir's amusement or derision or even contempt at what he might interpret as a clumsy seduction attempt, made my voice very flat as I said, "Making me pretty for Faramir is a waste of your time, my lady. He has eyes for no one but the Lady Eowyn. And I will not wear a dress tonight."
Being somewhat familiar with that tone in my voice already, Lothiriel did not press the issue. "Very well. I was not proposing that you wear a dress--the one that is being made to your measure is not finished, and it is a day dress in any event. But I can do some things that will help you look very nice, and is that such a bad thing?" She winked conspiratorially. "Let him know what he missed out on."
Now that was an idea that actually held some appeal for me. "Very well, my lady. What shall we do?"
"First, we will ring for Felith. She has some things that I need."
************
Felith, when she arrived, was immediately drawn into a whispered conference with the Princess. Her looks of alarm and the fearful glances she cast in my direction did not fill me with confidence, but in the end she must have decided to do whatever Lothiriel had bidden her to, for she vanished again.
"So--what were you intending to wear?" Lothiriel asked, moving to my wardrobe and throwing the doors open.
"I like the Elven clothing best, but I wore this yellow suit to lunch with your father today, and somehow I think it would be cheeky to wear green to dinner with the Prince of Ithilien. Which leaves the silver-grey."
"It would go well with your eyes and hair," Lothiriel commented, running a hand appreciatively over the cloth. I nodded.
"Or there is a dark red suit of clothes in there that Elrohir picked out for me back when I needed some new things. I like that one as well."
"That is very nice," the Princess concurred, "but the grey is more summery. I think you should wear that."
"As your highness commands, then." She turned to look at me with a wry smile.
"Goodness, but you are much easier than I am! It can take me hours to decide what to wear sometimes."
"Well, you have four wainloads of clothes! I have only these. Perhaps if you were to narrow your selection, your choices would come easier." It was pert of me, but not only did she not take offense, Lothiriel actually laughed.
"So my father says! Not that he has any room to talk--you should see the size of HIS wardrobe! I come by my love of fine clothing honestly--it is in my blood!" At that moment Felith returned, after a knock on the door and a tentative peek into the room. She was carrying a carved wooden case of some size with her.
"Aha! Here is Felith with her box of tricks!" the princess exclaimed with pleasure. "You know what I need, Felith." The maid nodded, and gave me another of those fearful looks. Lothiriel pursed her lips. "I said that I would do it, Felith! Now, call for a bath for your mistress, and see to her silver-grey suit there, and the boots that go with it. She has a dinner date tonight."
I was hardly Felith's mistress, but she did not dispute the term, and rang the bell to summon servants to bring hot water, then opened the box, and gave something to the princess. Lothiriel gestured to me.
"Take up that chair, Hethlin, and sit it and yourself down near the window. I need good light to do this properly." I moved furniture as I was directed, casting a look over my shoulder to the maid, who was gathering up my elven clothes and boots, and fleeing. Her reaction did not fill me with confidence about what was to come.
"Sit down, Hethlin," Lothiriel commanded, a touch impatiently. She approached when I had done so, bending over and peering intently at my face. A delicate finger traced the line of my brows.
"Aunt Tirathiel was being unkind when she described these as hedges, but 'tis true they could do with a bit of shaping. Your face will look ever so much better when this is done."
I was about to protest that I was perfectly comfortable with my face the way it was, when the princess's hand darted out with the small, silver object she'd gotten from Felith's box, and I felt a brief, burning pain on my brow. Yelping, I almost jumped out of the chair, only to be restrained by Lothiriel's other hand firm upon my shoulder. The first pain was swiftly followed by others, each punctuated by a cry from me. Eyes watering, I looked up and discovered that what the princess held was a tiny pair of tweezers.
After the fifth or sixth such cry from me, she paused, folded her arms and looked down at me in disgust.
"Whatever is the matter with you? You've had most of your bones broken, you've been sliced open countless times, you've endured all sorts of torments! WHY are you carrying on so?"
"Because this HURTS!" I wailed, blinking my eyes furiously. Lothiriel snorted disdainfully.
"Stop being such a baby!"
************
I had begun relating this tale to Faramir in answer to his question, in a detached manner rather like the reports I had been used to giving him upon returning from patrol in Ithilien, for I was still not comfortable with him. When I reached this point in the narrative, he held up his hand.
"Hold for a moment, my lady, if you please," he requested, and looking at him, I found he was shaking with suppressed laughter.
"It's not funny," I growled.
"Oh, I quite agree. The torments Thiri is capable of......You have my deepest sympathy!" He lost control of himself then, and began laughing out loud. Said laughs were punctuated with winces because of his sore face. I folded my arms and glowered at him.
"'Torments' is a good word for it! You will not believe the things your cousin put me through this afternoon! And I don't believe any of it does a bit of good. I think it's just something noble ladies have come up with to pass the time."
"You might be right," my former captain said, mastering himself after a moment and becoming thoughtful once more. "I've wondered about that myself upon occasion. Won't you sit down?" He had finally noticed that I was leaning against the door jamb. After a moment, I nodded, came over and took the chair Elrohir had vacated. He then got up himself, moving carefully as Elrohir had, to a side table to pour a couple of glasses of brandy for us. "What else did she do to you besides pluck your brows? Which do look nice, by the way. I am sorry if I made you think you looked ugly earlier. There was just something different about you, and I couldn't figure out what it was."
Appeased, I spoke of how she had sent me into the bath with various unguents and preparations, and had explained through the door what was to be applied, and to what body part. Neither she nor Felith were courageous enough to suggest that they accompany me into the bathroom to oversee the application. When I came out, after having done as I was bidden, and having washed my hair, she and Felith took up where they left off.
"Your uncle came looking for your cousin right in the middle of the worst of it," I told Faramir, as he seated himself once more, and offered me the goblet. "He found me in one of the chairs, in a robe with this muddy stuff smeared all over my face, and my hands in little bowls of oil. Lothiriel had told me I must not speak, that the mud should not be cracked before it had a chance to work. I have never felt more ridiculous in my life! The Prince stood over me with this sad look on his face. 'She told you it would smooth your complexion, didn't she?' he asked in the most mournful tone. 'I must apologize, Hethlin. Try as I might, I have never been able to break Amrothos of reading at the dinner table, or Lothiriel of smearing mud on peoples' faces.'"
Faramir started laughing and wincing once more. "I can just see him! What did you do?"
"Well, for a moment, I thought he was actually serious, and this was all some sort of weird game. I started to get up and protest, and Lothiriel told me to stay where I was and to be quiet. Then I noticed that he had that look on his face, you know the one, where he's pulling your leg?"
"I am not unfamiliar with it," the Steward admitted, lips twitching.
"So when I realized what was happening, I just relaxed and listened to Lothiriel give him a piece of her mind. Which she did, at some length. Eventually he left, she came back to me, and she and Felith spent the rest of the afternoon primping and painting me." I gestured up and down myself. "And here is the result. Now that I've told you about how I spent my afternoon, you should tell me how you spent yours. It appears to have been far more exciting than mine."
"I would really rather not," Faramir said, serious once more, looking down at his goblet and twirling it between sore fingers.
"Your hands are a mess! And they were just starting to heal up! Which one of you started it?"
Directly questioned in that way, he deigned to answer me. "I fear that I did. The hitting part, at least. Your.....gentleman friend showed up at my office this afternoon, and was most insistent about having speech with me. It was close to the time I would have left for the day in any event, so I brought him here. We discussed several matters, and eventually he said something about Eowyn which I could not abide, so I hit him." A look of reminiscent satisfaction came over Faramir's face. "That was when his nose got broken. I had been wanting to hit him for a very long time, it seems, and once I got started, I found myself disinclined to stop. Needless to say, he did not simply stand there and let me do it. I fear that my best parlor is quite ruined, and my servants are still traumatized."
"You won't tell me what made the two of you fight, will you?"
"No, I won't." The forbidding Faramir was back of a sudden. I sipped my brandy.
"Well, it was certainly the strangest thing I've ever seen, the way I found you when I came in. Are you honestly telling me that eventually you and Elrohir got tired of hitting each other and just started playing chess instead?"
He shrugged. "That is truly what happened. We finally became so weary and out of breath that we didn't want to hit each other any more, and by some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, started talking. I must say that our little battle did seem to clear the air between us. I cannot say that I like him any better than I did, but he does not irritate me as badly as he used to." His lips curled up in a very pleased smile. "And looking at what I did to his nose over the next few days will do wonders for my tolerance where he is concerned."
At that, I sat back in my chair, curled my hands about my glass, raised an eyebrow and just stared at him, shaking my head slowly. Noting my expression, he frowned.
"What?"
"Elves heal very quickly, my lord Steward. Remember how Elrohir helped my arm wound after that business on the Pelennor? All he had to do once he left here was pull the hood of his cloak up around his face, get back to his rooms in the Citadel, and send for Elladan to help him. It is not as if he has to be any place in particular either--he is simply the King's guest. He can hide in his rooms if he wishes. I will wager you that by the day after tomorrow at the latest, he will be quite presentable and bouncing about court as if nothing at all had happened. Whereas you, the King's servant, needs must go to work tomorrow looking like.....that." I gestured towards the black eye. "And you will take much longer to heal." After a moment's thoughtful consideration, I added, "Unless you ask the King to help you. But then you'll probably have to explain to Aragorn about the fight."
Faramir stared at me for a moment in dismay, then groaned and clapped a sore hand over his good eye. "You're telling me that I've been had. That he could afford to let me break his nose because I would be the embarrassed party in the end."
"Aye, my lord. Knowing Elrohir, I am pretty sure that is what happened." He dropped his hand, took up his own glass and drank deeply, then sat it back down again.
"WHY do you sleep with him?" There was honest exasperation in his question.
"Because you wouldn't." I had been wanting to say that for quite a long time, and he realized it. With a sigh, he gave me an almost pleading look.
"Are you hungry yet? I am beginning to feel so. Would you not like to go into supper now?"
I smiled graciously. I was beginning to feel better about the evening already. "Of course, my lord Steward."
"May I help you?" she asked a bit abruptly, and the way her eyes traveled up and down me indicated she wasn't sure what to make of me at all.
"I am Lady Hethlin of Anorien. I am to dine with the Steward tonight," I explained, and her face lightened somewhat, though I thought she looked distressed or perturbed about something.
"Oh yes! You are expected, my lady. Do come in." She opened the door, and I stepped inside, staring about curiously, for it was the first time I'd ever set foot in Faramir's house.
Deep red carpets deadened the sound of my footsteps and dark paneling enclosed the main hall. It was a gloomy entranceway. Cheerful conversation would be impossible in such a room, you would be expecting any happy chatter to bring the ghosts of past Stewards out of walls and doorways to chastise one for disturbing their dignified slumber. Following the maid down the hall, I noticed a bookcase filling the wall at the end, with books in many tidy rows, and my heart lightened a bit. That seemed more like Faramir. She turned a corner, and we proceeded down another hall decorated like the first, past several doors until she stopped before one. I could hear the muffled sound of voices within.
"His Lordship has a.......guest, but I do not know if he will be staying for dinner or not," she explained, seeing my curious look. I wondered if Faramir had thought he needed a chaperone, or some person to mediate between us. If so, I did not much appreciate it, and I hoped that it was not his uncle, or the King.
The maid then opened the door, and stuck her head into the room.
"The Lady Hethlin of Anorien, sir," she announced.
"By all means, let her come in," came Faramir's response. I noted with some relief that he sounded cordial enough. The maid dropped me a curtsey and departed. Reluctantly, I moved into the room, then stopped just beyond the doorway in surprise.
The room was a library, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with shelves full of books. The paneling here was lighter than that I had seen in the rest of the house so far, and it gleamed gold in the lamplight. The carpet too was an improvement-- a restful dark green. It was a very pleasant room, quite welcoming. There was a fireplace, unlit in the late summer heat, and several chairs and tables were scattered about. One of the tables had a chessboard on it, and seated at the table, intently engaged in a game, glasses of wine at their elbows, were Faramir and Elrohir. Elrohir looked up at me and smiled, and I bit back a gasp, for his nose was quite obviously broken.
"Hello, Snowsteel," he said cheerfully, in a somewhat congested tone of voice.
"Hello, Hethlin," Faramir greeted me as well, keeping the left side of his face averted. His demeanor was not quite so happy, but he did not seem angry either.
I looked the scene over a little more carefully and noticed that the two pairs of hands upon the table were both quite abraded, swollen and bruised about the knuckles. And taking a swift step sideways, I finally got a look at the left side of Faramir's face, though he tried to keep me from doing so by turning his head away. His eye was swelling shut, and he was going to have a huge, rainbow-colored bruise by morning.
"Have the two of you been FIGHTING?" The evidence that they had was no more shocking than what came next. Faramir looked at Elrohir. Elrohir looked at Faramir, and spoke first.
"I would not call it fighting, Snowsteel. More like the expression of strongly-held opinions."
"We are, after all, men of deep conviction," Faramir added blandly.
"Beings of deep conviction," Elrohir amended. Faramir acknowledged this correction with a nod.
"It should come as no surprise that discourse between such beings could become somewhat......heated," the Steward of Gondor explained in the most reasonable of tones.
"Indeed," Elrohir agreed. "But that being said, after we had aired our .....opinions....we were able to find some common ground to agree upon."
"We are both interested in music, for instance," remarked Faramir, looking the board over in a clinical manner.
"And epic poetry," Elrohir added, cocking an eyebrow and moving a pawn. Faramir, seeing him commit himself, smiled an evil smile, moved his hand over a piece to shift it, then paused suddenly, frowning.
"We both also like to play chess." His voice became abstracted, his eyes distant as he calculated possible moves.
"And one of us is even good at it," quipped Elrohir. Faramir shot him an irritated look, then turned his attention back to the board. My lover got to his feet with something less than his usual flowing grace.
"You may need some time to work your way out of that one, my lord Steward," he said, smiling. "And I have outstayed my welcome now that your dinner guest is here."
"Oh, were you welcome? I don't recollect," murmured Faramir, and I stared at him in astonishment. Such open rudeness was hardly his usual manner, and what came next was even more unbelievable. "Do you truly wish to finish this game at some point? Or shall we leave it as it is?"
"Tomorrow evening, perhaps?" suggested Elrohir, seemingly unoffended. Faramir nodded. "I shall return after dinner then, Prince Faramir. Perhaps you will have found a way out of your dilemma by then."
"It will not take me so long as that by any means, Lord Elrohir. You will have to look to yourself tomorrow night."
"We shall see. A good evening to you, Prince Faramir, Snowsteel. Enjoy your dinner." He got all the way to the door and was halfway through before the irresistible impulse to twist the knife overcame him. "Providing you can actually chew it, of course." He slipped immediately into the hall afterwards, but still heard Faramir's voice floating after him.
"I do hope that you don't encounter your father or the King with that nose in the condition it is in." A muffled chuckle drifted back to us, and I could hear the sound of the maid showing him out.
The Steward of Gondor then looked up at me unrepentently out of his black eye, and I suddenly realized that even though I had spent four years in the company of two hundred men, and had thought that I knew all there was to know about masculine nature, there were still going to be times when I did not understand men any better than my more sheltered sisters. This was immediately confirmed by his next remark.
"What happened to YOUR face?" he asked.
************
Lothiriel was what had happened to my face. Escaping the King's scrutiny by fleeing into the Citadel, I had only just left the Prince's company when I encountered his daughter within. Lothiriel was chatting with some other ladies, but when she saw me, she waved and indicated that I should wait for her with a gesture. After bidding her friends good-bye, she came over to me with a smile.
"Hethlin! How are you?"
"I am well, my lady. And you?"
" Very well, thank you. I needed to speak to you, so it is good fortune that I found you here. May we go up to your rooms?"
"Of course." It would hardly be politic to refuse my liege lord's daughter's request, though I was both curious and uneasy about her chosen topic of conversation. She spoke of nothing of consequence as we traveled upstairs, merely chatting lightly about court happenings instead. I tried to keep track of who figured in her stories and in what way. Such information might one day prove useful. Father had always been fond of saying that when one traveled to a new country, one should always avail oneself of a native, to learn the foibles of the climate and the plants and creatures who lived there from an expert. If there was any more expert native in the courts of Minas Tirith than Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, I did not know the person--other than, of course, her father.
And not surprisingly, he was what she wanted to talk to me about. Once within the privacy of my rooms, she settled into one of the chairs with the grace of a blossom drifting down to float upon the water, her skirts in smooth and ordered folds about her, and gave me a very direct, though still charming, smile.
"I was hoping to discover from you exactly what went on at the wedding the other night, Hethlin," she said, "since Father is being totally silent upon the matter. My brothers and I tried to question him a bit about it last night at dinner, but he would not tell us anything! He kept changing the subject, and he had even invited Cousin Faramir to dinner as a reinforcement!"
"A reinforcement?" I asked, curious.
"Oh yes! I suspect he's told Faramir everything. They're tight as two halves of an almond, Father and Faramir, always have been. It quite annoys Elphir at times."
"Does the Prince truly favor Faramir above his own son? That doesn't seem like your father. He loves you all very much."
"Not favors him, exactly. It's simply that Uncle Denethor was always so hateful to him that Father feels he has to make an extra effort on Faramir's part. And since we already know that Father loves us, Faramir takes precedence." She paused suddenly, and her eyes narrowed in a way that reminded me very much of Eowyn. "You're doing it too!"
"What?" I asked with what I hoped was convincing bafflement, though I suspected I knew what I was about to be accused of.
"Changing the subject!"
"Oh. I'm sorry." I wasn't particularly, but I settled back into my chair and tried to look both comfortable and contrite. Lothiriel's air of suspicion did not abate.
"Come now, confess! Why did Father kiss you? Did you ask him to? Did you like it when he did? It would seem," and here the Princess's fair cheeks reddened a bit, "that Father is a very good kisser, given his performance at the wedding. I have heard tales of his scandalous youth before, of course, but I never really believed them. After the other night, they become much easier to believe."
"He told me once that he had been quite a rogue in his younger days," I said slowly, thinking my way through things with care. That I would have to tell the Princess something was clear, and I did not wish to lie to her. But I did not wish to reveal the full extent of her father's affection for me either, as it would do neither him nor I any service, and make both of our lives difficult. "Has it never occurred to you, Princess, that he might be reluctant to speak upon the subject because he was embarrassed?"
"Embarrassed?" She did not look convinced.
"Indeed. He apologized to me afterwards, told me that he had been overcome by the drink. The Rangers brew some really vile stuff up there in the hills, and they brought a keg of it down with them to the party. It's generally best not to ask what is in it. He gave it a try, at their insistence, because he wanted to be friendly. Lord Elrond had warned him that because he'd been ill, he might not have much tolerance for drink, and so it proved to be. Between that and all the beer and other things, he became intoxicated, and kissed me when he caught me out of the dance." Casting a glance in Lothiriel's direction, I found her giving me a dubious look, and decided that further explanation was necessary.
"So, your father was somewhat drunk, and I think he also wanted to get back at me a little. You see, he was always referring to himself as if he had one foot in the grave on our journey to Lorien, and I got tired of it." The Princess nodded, sudden comprehension on her face.
"I know. He does that to me, every time I suggest he find a lady friend. I hate it so!"
"I hated it as well, for it is truly ridiculous behavior on his part, and told him more than once that he ought to stop acting like that. So I think that he kissed me to show me what he was capable of, should he choose to do so. And yes," and here my cheeks got pink in their turn, "your father is a very, very good kisser." That last little personal detail seemed to have finally persuaded Lothiriel, for she relaxed and relented.
"I wish he had meant it for real," she complained, a frown-line marring her pretty brow. "I was so hopeful, for a moment there.....I don't suppose I could persuade you to try to get him to court you in earnest? You are the only lady I have ever seen him treat like that."
I gaped at her. "Princess, consider what you are saying! His wife would be the Princess of Dol Amroth! My blood may be good, but I am but a rough, unlovely girl, ill-suited to such a role! Not to mention being considered odd and fey by the court! Besides, as his esquire, it would hardly be appropriate for me to pursue him in such a manner. It would reflect badly upon him, and upon me as well. He has taken great pains to assure me that his actions will not affect my training in Dol Amroth, and I cannot try to take advantage of my situation there in such a way. If I did, I would be no better than those girls at court whom you despise because of their plots to attract him."
"No, I suppose you could not court him as his esquire," Lothiriel admitted reluctantly. She seemed almost sorrowful that she could not persuade me to pursue her father, which surprised me a bit. I would have thought that the idea of him marrying a woman her own age would have repulsed her. Another thoughtful frown crossed her countenance, then she steepled her manicured fingers exactly as her father was wont to do, and gazed at me speculatively across the tops of them. I felt an instinctive prickle of alarm.
"'Rough and unlovely', are you? Well, at least I can do something to help you amend that! After all, the King wished you to acquire polish, did he not? And I am sure that you would prefer my methods to my great-aunt's!"
"There is no doubt that I would, princess, but surely there is no hurry! Your father says that my training will not truly begin until we return from Rohan."
"Your training in arms must wait till then, 'tis true, but there is no reason to delay the polishing! Trust me, Hethlin, I know how arduous the esquire training is! It would benefit you to make a start on your instruction in courtly manners now, while you have a little time to spend upon it."
I stared at her, dismayed. While what she said made perfect sense, it was not something I was eager to do, particularly since I had not decided if I even wished to go to Dol Amroth. On the other hand, such knowledge was something that might be useful to know no matter what I decided. "How did you propose to start?" I asked at last.
Lothiriel smiled, a pleased look upon her face, and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. I felt another of those prickles of alarm. "Well! To begin with, I am ordering you to stop cutting your hair! You are a woman, not a man, and if you ever hope to pass as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, you need to have hair to do it with. Besides, yours is lovely--so thick and such an extraordinary color!"
I wrinkled my nose at her. "Surely you jest! It looks like an old woman's hair."
"It looks," she corrected me somewhat severely, "like snow in the sun! You have no idea what an advantage it will be! The court is full of ladies with raven tresses. You, and Eowyn when she comes here, will stand out amongst all the dark heads."
"And it's a good thing to stand out?" I asked, dubious about the whole business.
"Indeed it is! Had you plans for the afternoon?"
"Not exactly. I am having dinner with the Steward tonight, so I had thought to perhaps get a bath a little later, then decide what I was going to wear." Lothiriel almost bounced with glee.
"Dinner with Cousin Faramir? Oh, this is most excellent! I had thought to have you with me at court tonight, but that will serve equally well. We will make you pretty for your dinner with him." Visions of being shoehorned into someone's borrowed dress for the occasion and subsequently tripping over my feet to Faramir's amusement or derision or even contempt at what he might interpret as a clumsy seduction attempt, made my voice very flat as I said, "Making me pretty for Faramir is a waste of your time, my lady. He has eyes for no one but the Lady Eowyn. And I will not wear a dress tonight."
Being somewhat familiar with that tone in my voice already, Lothiriel did not press the issue. "Very well. I was not proposing that you wear a dress--the one that is being made to your measure is not finished, and it is a day dress in any event. But I can do some things that will help you look very nice, and is that such a bad thing?" She winked conspiratorially. "Let him know what he missed out on."
Now that was an idea that actually held some appeal for me. "Very well, my lady. What shall we do?"
"First, we will ring for Felith. She has some things that I need."
************
Felith, when she arrived, was immediately drawn into a whispered conference with the Princess. Her looks of alarm and the fearful glances she cast in my direction did not fill me with confidence, but in the end she must have decided to do whatever Lothiriel had bidden her to, for she vanished again.
"So--what were you intending to wear?" Lothiriel asked, moving to my wardrobe and throwing the doors open.
"I like the Elven clothing best, but I wore this yellow suit to lunch with your father today, and somehow I think it would be cheeky to wear green to dinner with the Prince of Ithilien. Which leaves the silver-grey."
"It would go well with your eyes and hair," Lothiriel commented, running a hand appreciatively over the cloth. I nodded.
"Or there is a dark red suit of clothes in there that Elrohir picked out for me back when I needed some new things. I like that one as well."
"That is very nice," the Princess concurred, "but the grey is more summery. I think you should wear that."
"As your highness commands, then." She turned to look at me with a wry smile.
"Goodness, but you are much easier than I am! It can take me hours to decide what to wear sometimes."
"Well, you have four wainloads of clothes! I have only these. Perhaps if you were to narrow your selection, your choices would come easier." It was pert of me, but not only did she not take offense, Lothiriel actually laughed.
"So my father says! Not that he has any room to talk--you should see the size of HIS wardrobe! I come by my love of fine clothing honestly--it is in my blood!" At that moment Felith returned, after a knock on the door and a tentative peek into the room. She was carrying a carved wooden case of some size with her.
"Aha! Here is Felith with her box of tricks!" the princess exclaimed with pleasure. "You know what I need, Felith." The maid nodded, and gave me another of those fearful looks. Lothiriel pursed her lips. "I said that I would do it, Felith! Now, call for a bath for your mistress, and see to her silver-grey suit there, and the boots that go with it. She has a dinner date tonight."
I was hardly Felith's mistress, but she did not dispute the term, and rang the bell to summon servants to bring hot water, then opened the box, and gave something to the princess. Lothiriel gestured to me.
"Take up that chair, Hethlin, and sit it and yourself down near the window. I need good light to do this properly." I moved furniture as I was directed, casting a look over my shoulder to the maid, who was gathering up my elven clothes and boots, and fleeing. Her reaction did not fill me with confidence about what was to come.
"Sit down, Hethlin," Lothiriel commanded, a touch impatiently. She approached when I had done so, bending over and peering intently at my face. A delicate finger traced the line of my brows.
"Aunt Tirathiel was being unkind when she described these as hedges, but 'tis true they could do with a bit of shaping. Your face will look ever so much better when this is done."
I was about to protest that I was perfectly comfortable with my face the way it was, when the princess's hand darted out with the small, silver object she'd gotten from Felith's box, and I felt a brief, burning pain on my brow. Yelping, I almost jumped out of the chair, only to be restrained by Lothiriel's other hand firm upon my shoulder. The first pain was swiftly followed by others, each punctuated by a cry from me. Eyes watering, I looked up and discovered that what the princess held was a tiny pair of tweezers.
After the fifth or sixth such cry from me, she paused, folded her arms and looked down at me in disgust.
"Whatever is the matter with you? You've had most of your bones broken, you've been sliced open countless times, you've endured all sorts of torments! WHY are you carrying on so?"
"Because this HURTS!" I wailed, blinking my eyes furiously. Lothiriel snorted disdainfully.
"Stop being such a baby!"
************
I had begun relating this tale to Faramir in answer to his question, in a detached manner rather like the reports I had been used to giving him upon returning from patrol in Ithilien, for I was still not comfortable with him. When I reached this point in the narrative, he held up his hand.
"Hold for a moment, my lady, if you please," he requested, and looking at him, I found he was shaking with suppressed laughter.
"It's not funny," I growled.
"Oh, I quite agree. The torments Thiri is capable of......You have my deepest sympathy!" He lost control of himself then, and began laughing out loud. Said laughs were punctuated with winces because of his sore face. I folded my arms and glowered at him.
"'Torments' is a good word for it! You will not believe the things your cousin put me through this afternoon! And I don't believe any of it does a bit of good. I think it's just something noble ladies have come up with to pass the time."
"You might be right," my former captain said, mastering himself after a moment and becoming thoughtful once more. "I've wondered about that myself upon occasion. Won't you sit down?" He had finally noticed that I was leaning against the door jamb. After a moment, I nodded, came over and took the chair Elrohir had vacated. He then got up himself, moving carefully as Elrohir had, to a side table to pour a couple of glasses of brandy for us. "What else did she do to you besides pluck your brows? Which do look nice, by the way. I am sorry if I made you think you looked ugly earlier. There was just something different about you, and I couldn't figure out what it was."
Appeased, I spoke of how she had sent me into the bath with various unguents and preparations, and had explained through the door what was to be applied, and to what body part. Neither she nor Felith were courageous enough to suggest that they accompany me into the bathroom to oversee the application. When I came out, after having done as I was bidden, and having washed my hair, she and Felith took up where they left off.
"Your uncle came looking for your cousin right in the middle of the worst of it," I told Faramir, as he seated himself once more, and offered me the goblet. "He found me in one of the chairs, in a robe with this muddy stuff smeared all over my face, and my hands in little bowls of oil. Lothiriel had told me I must not speak, that the mud should not be cracked before it had a chance to work. I have never felt more ridiculous in my life! The Prince stood over me with this sad look on his face. 'She told you it would smooth your complexion, didn't she?' he asked in the most mournful tone. 'I must apologize, Hethlin. Try as I might, I have never been able to break Amrothos of reading at the dinner table, or Lothiriel of smearing mud on peoples' faces.'"
Faramir started laughing and wincing once more. "I can just see him! What did you do?"
"Well, for a moment, I thought he was actually serious, and this was all some sort of weird game. I started to get up and protest, and Lothiriel told me to stay where I was and to be quiet. Then I noticed that he had that look on his face, you know the one, where he's pulling your leg?"
"I am not unfamiliar with it," the Steward admitted, lips twitching.
"So when I realized what was happening, I just relaxed and listened to Lothiriel give him a piece of her mind. Which she did, at some length. Eventually he left, she came back to me, and she and Felith spent the rest of the afternoon primping and painting me." I gestured up and down myself. "And here is the result. Now that I've told you about how I spent my afternoon, you should tell me how you spent yours. It appears to have been far more exciting than mine."
"I would really rather not," Faramir said, serious once more, looking down at his goblet and twirling it between sore fingers.
"Your hands are a mess! And they were just starting to heal up! Which one of you started it?"
Directly questioned in that way, he deigned to answer me. "I fear that I did. The hitting part, at least. Your.....gentleman friend showed up at my office this afternoon, and was most insistent about having speech with me. It was close to the time I would have left for the day in any event, so I brought him here. We discussed several matters, and eventually he said something about Eowyn which I could not abide, so I hit him." A look of reminiscent satisfaction came over Faramir's face. "That was when his nose got broken. I had been wanting to hit him for a very long time, it seems, and once I got started, I found myself disinclined to stop. Needless to say, he did not simply stand there and let me do it. I fear that my best parlor is quite ruined, and my servants are still traumatized."
"You won't tell me what made the two of you fight, will you?"
"No, I won't." The forbidding Faramir was back of a sudden. I sipped my brandy.
"Well, it was certainly the strangest thing I've ever seen, the way I found you when I came in. Are you honestly telling me that eventually you and Elrohir got tired of hitting each other and just started playing chess instead?"
He shrugged. "That is truly what happened. We finally became so weary and out of breath that we didn't want to hit each other any more, and by some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, started talking. I must say that our little battle did seem to clear the air between us. I cannot say that I like him any better than I did, but he does not irritate me as badly as he used to." His lips curled up in a very pleased smile. "And looking at what I did to his nose over the next few days will do wonders for my tolerance where he is concerned."
At that, I sat back in my chair, curled my hands about my glass, raised an eyebrow and just stared at him, shaking my head slowly. Noting my expression, he frowned.
"What?"
"Elves heal very quickly, my lord Steward. Remember how Elrohir helped my arm wound after that business on the Pelennor? All he had to do once he left here was pull the hood of his cloak up around his face, get back to his rooms in the Citadel, and send for Elladan to help him. It is not as if he has to be any place in particular either--he is simply the King's guest. He can hide in his rooms if he wishes. I will wager you that by the day after tomorrow at the latest, he will be quite presentable and bouncing about court as if nothing at all had happened. Whereas you, the King's servant, needs must go to work tomorrow looking like.....that." I gestured towards the black eye. "And you will take much longer to heal." After a moment's thoughtful consideration, I added, "Unless you ask the King to help you. But then you'll probably have to explain to Aragorn about the fight."
Faramir stared at me for a moment in dismay, then groaned and clapped a sore hand over his good eye. "You're telling me that I've been had. That he could afford to let me break his nose because I would be the embarrassed party in the end."
"Aye, my lord. Knowing Elrohir, I am pretty sure that is what happened." He dropped his hand, took up his own glass and drank deeply, then sat it back down again.
"WHY do you sleep with him?" There was honest exasperation in his question.
"Because you wouldn't." I had been wanting to say that for quite a long time, and he realized it. With a sigh, he gave me an almost pleading look.
"Are you hungry yet? I am beginning to feel so. Would you not like to go into supper now?"
I smiled graciously. I was beginning to feel better about the evening already. "Of course, my lord Steward."