Part 2: A Plot Revealed
By the fourth day of their journey to Edoras, Éomer was beginning to think that he had seriously underestimated the hobbits. Merry and Pippin were much better at keeping secrets than he had given them credit for, and he had been able to learn nothing of what their plan was. Merry had been given the task of riding by Théoden's bier as his arms-bearer, and Pippin spent most of his time with his friend. So every day he had been forced to watch as the two of them conspired, speaking in whispers and occasionally glancing over at him with mischievous grins. Asking them outright what they were up to had not worked at all, nor had riding a little closer to the hobbits in an attempt to overhear their conversation. He had even sent several of his lieutenants to ride nearby in an attempt to see what they could learn, but that had not done anything save to cause a great deal of amusement among his men at the thought of being asked to spy on hobbits. He favored a direct approach both in battle and in his everyday dealings, and all of this sneaking around had put him in a foul mood. Éomer could only hope that the two Halflings were grating on Faramir's nerves just as much; as for himself, he was certain that if they had been riding further north, he would have thrown both of them into the Anduin by this time.
Only about ten more days of this, and I will be home, he reminded himself. If only he could be certain that Merry and Pippin would not drive him mad before that!
He had to try again. With a sigh, he rode towards Merry and Pippin, keeping Firefoot to a walk in order to minimize the noise. His pathetic attempt at stealth failed, as he knew it would; Pippin saw him first, waved, and Merry turned his head to see.
"Good day, my lord!" Merry called out with a grin. "I am glad you're here; we need to talk to you."
"You do?" Éomer carefully kept his voice even; perhaps he would finally be able to learn something useful if he did not seem too eager.
"More like deliver a message, actually," Pippin said. "Aragorn wanted to know if you would be joining us for supper tonight after we make camp."
Éomer was caught more off-guard by the question than he wished or cared to admit. "Why?" he asked before he could think about it.
"Because you're his friend would be my guess," Merry said, his amber-brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
Éomer sighed; he knew that he should go. Although there was no animosity between the men of Gondor and those of Rohan, save perhaps between himself and the Steward, the two groups had stayed separate throughout the journey. Aragorn had expressed his wish before that the open friendship between Gondor and Rohan would be renewed during his reign, and Éomer knew that avoiding the king's party was a poor example to his own people. But though he liked and greatly respected Gondor's King, he still had no wish to be anywhere near its Steward. The two men had not spoken at all since that initial encounter in Minas Tirith, and for his part, he was more than content to keep it that way.
He clenched his jaw in frustration, but knew that he had to keep the interests of his people in mind instead of his own. "When you speak to Aragorn again, tell him that I will be there," he finally said.
"Great! We'll see you tonight, then," Pippin said. He and Merry turned their ponies and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" Éomer asked, a little surprised at their hasty retreat.
They gave him completely innocent looks. "I'm going to deliver your message, of course," Pippin said.
"And I need to get back to my post," Merry added. With that, the hobbits rode away before Éomer could reply, talking to each other in low tones. Éomer desperately wished he knew what they were planning; he was certain that he could not handle this much longer without losing his temper completely. Maybe I can at least throw Merry and Pippin in one of the horses' water troughs once we reach Edoras, he thought, clenching his hands around Firefoot's reins.
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Faramir generally considered himself to be a patient man; one had to be when serving in the company of the Rangers. He was certain that they had spent a significantly greater amount of time lying in wait for their enemy than actually fighting. But his patience was quickly running out. He had suspected from the time they left Minas Tirith that Merry and Pippin were planning something to attempt to get him to talk to Éomer; he rarely saw either of the hobbits, and when he did, they avoided him. He had said nothing of it in hopes that they would let their guard down and let something slip, but he was beginning to wonder if a more direct approach was necessary. And he was starting to get very irritated at not knowing what was going on.
Aragorn turned in his saddle a bit and looked at him, then slowed his horse slightly until he was riding evenly with Faramir. "Is something wrong, Faramir?" he asked.
"They are planning something. I am certain of it," Faramir answered, inclining his head slightly towards Pippin. The hobbit had just returned from the front of the column, where the Rohirrim were. He had briefly spoken with Aragorn, but had fallen further back in the line by this point.
"I am certain that they mean well, whatever it is," Aragorn said, laughing a little, "but I believe you may be correct."
Faramir groaned silently. "I know that much. If I could get within a few paces of either Merry or Pippin without scaring them off, maybe I would have better fortune in finding out what it is."
Faramir could hear Legolas's light laugh as he pulled his horse up on the other side of Aragorn. "You are too perceptive for them to keep their secrets around, Faramir, and they know it."
Every gift has its curse, I suppose, Faramir thought, though it often seemed to him that the ability he had inherited from his father to read men's hearts caused more problems than it solved. "I wish they were not so persistent in avoiding me. I would be more at ease if I knew what they are planning."
"Yes, those hobbits could rival even the Dwarves when it comes to stubbornness," Legolas said. Faramir smiled as Gimli, who was sitting behind the Elf as usual, grumbled something that sounded rather uncomplimentary under his breath in reply.
Aragorn, who was well accustomed to their banter by that time, laughed at the unlikely pair of friends. Then his face grew more serious again as he said, "Éomer will be joining us tonight. I thought that you would wish to know."
Faramir could feel himself tensing up, but kept his response as cool as he could. "I see."
The king looked at him sternly. "And I do expect you to try to enjoy the meal." Faramir's jaw tightened a bit, and Aragorn's face softened. "You know that I am not trying to upset you, Faramir. But avoiding Éomer will not solve anything."
"I know," Faramir said. "And I do mean to speak to him; I just need more time."
Aragorn's brow furrowed slightly. "I would just hate to see you run out of it. May I give you some advice?" Faramir hesitated, then nodded. "Stand your ground. I have noticed that you have a tendency to wait to act when you are uncertain what course to take, but I suspect that you will win more respect from Éomer if you do not back down." He smiled and added, "And I can think of no worthier cause for you to challenge him over."
Faramir considered this for a moment, then decided Aragorn did have a point. After the War had ended, he had believed that his love for Éowyn would not be returned, and so he had stepped back and poured his energy into his duties as the ruling Steward. And as a result, he had almost lost her. It would make sense that her brother would react in a similar way; from what he had observed, the two of them were much alike.
"Perhaps," he said hesitantly. "I suppose I should see if I can get any information at all out of Pippin. If you will excuse me, Aragorn," he said, nodding his head respectfully as he turned his horse, Wildfire, towards Pippin.
Pippin appeared to be deep in thought as Faramir approached him. He almost jumped out of his saddle in surprise as Faramir said, "Good afternoon, Pippin."
Pippin jumped a little, then smiled—a little nervously, Faramir noted. "Good afternoon, Lord Faramir," the hobbit squeaked.
Faramir smiled kindly. "I have told you before, Pippin, just Faramir."
Pippin relaxed a little. "Can I help you, my lo—I mean, Faramir?" he asked.
Faramir quickly shook his head. "No, I simply wanted the pleasure of your company for awhile. I have not seen you very much on this journey."
"Oh. I've been trying to keep Merry company. I think he gets a little lonely, being alone up there with the Riders sometimes," Pippin said by way of explanation.
Faramir had to give him credit; it was a rather good excuse. "And how are the Rohirrim faring?" he asked cautiously, trying to keep the hobbit's guard down.
"Oh, they're enjoying this, of course, at least as much as they can when they're returning home to bury a King. It seems like they're all having a fine time except for Éo…" Pippin abruptly cut off and s guilty look passed over his face; he knew he had said too much.
"Except for Éomer," Faramir finished. "Is he that upset with me?"
Pippin looked surprised, then he shrugged a little. "I haven't spoken with him much."
That surprised him. He had been sure that Merry and Pippin had been pestering Éomer. But, he reminded himself, Pippin could easily be hiding something.
"If you're so concerned about it, why don't you just talk to him?" Pippin asked, breaking into Faramir's thoughts.
Faramir just stared at Pippin for a moment, then frowned. "I am simply waiting for the right opportunity," he said, feeling a little defensive. He hoped he did not appear to be a coward; he was not afraidof Éomer, though Éowyn's stories of her brother's temper when they were younger certainly had not given him any motivation to approach him too soon. He was just biding his time until he was able to come up with an answer that the young king might accept.
Still, he mused, it was ironic that someone who so obviously favored a direct way of speaking would put him at such a loss for words, especially since words were usually one of his strengths. Perhaps it was because he suspected that words would not be very effective with Éomer; it would be easier to convince a stone to change its mind. And it did not help that he was still unsure how, exactly, he had offended Éomer, other than loving his sister. Then again, perhaps that was the only offense.
Pippin just shrugged in response, then looked over as he heard his name called. Merry had left the Rohirrim and was now riding towards them. "Hello, Faramir!" Merry called out cheerfully.
"Good afternoon, Merry," Faramir answered, giving the hobbit a smile.
"Pippin, I seem to have misplaced my pipe. Do you think that maybe it's with your things?" Merry asked.
Pippin glanced back at Faramir for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'll have to look," the hobbit said slowly.
Faramir furrowed his brow. "You cannot smoke while you are riding, Merry," he pointed out.
Merry paused for the briefest moment, as if he knew that he had been caught and was trying to recover. "Oh, I know. I just want to make sure that I know where it is for tonight," he quickly said.
"Well, let's go then. We'll see you at supper tonight, Faramir!" Pippin said, then the two quickly rode off, talking in low voices.
Faramir just stared after them, shaking his head. Wildfire snorted and tossed his head impatiently after a moment, and Faramir patted the chestnut stallion's neck to calm him. "Do you think they are acting strange too? I wish I knew what they are planning," he said softly. Then he added with a laugh, "Look at me, talking to a horse. Éomer must be rubbing off on me after all." Wildfire whickered his agreement as Faramir spurred him on in order to catch up with Aragorn.
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Éomer slowed Firefoot to a walk as he approached the Gondorian encampment, suddenly reluctant to enter. In spite of this, he still felt a twinge of guilt over avoiding Aragorn and his other friends in the king's party, especially because it was no secret that Faramir was the only reason he did so.
What is it about him that bothers me so much? Éomer wondered. It could not simply be that he was from Gondor. Éomer had developed a deep respect for many of the men of the South during their final campaign to Mordor, not least of all Prince Imrahil—Faramir's uncle, ironically enough. He did not think it was that Faramir had not been present at that last battle, either. Several of his own men had also been too wounded to accompany them, so he could not judge based on that, even though he suspected that combat was not one of Faramir's strengths. He knew that Faramir had been in the border patrol, and anyone could kill while hiding in the bushes at a safe distance. Surely that could not take the same amount of skill needed to stay alive in an all-out battle.
Still, he did not think it was that either; he just could not seem to determine what exactly it was, though sometimes the answer seemed to almost be within his reach. But he did not care to dwell on those thoughts long enough to figure it out.
It is not too late for me to go back, he thought. I could just say that something came up, and… his thoughts were interrupted by Aragorn's greeting call. "Éomer!" he said as he walked up, his smile barely visible in the fading light. "I was afraid you had changed your mind."
Éomer shrugged noncommittally and dismounted. "No, of course not," he said as he picketed Firefoot. "How fares your company?"
"Fine," Aragorn answered. "And yours?"
"The same." Éomer frowned a bit as he followed Aragorn over to the camp; he did not like the awkwardness of this situation at all. It seemed that his grievance against Faramir was affecting his friendships with everyone on this journey, and that irritated him even further.
As he entered the circle around the cooking fire, where Sam was busy ladling some delicious-smelling stew into carved wooden bowls, Merry and Pippin looked up and grinned at him. Lothiríel gave him a small smile, which briefly lightened his spirits. He would have gone over to talk to her, but she was already sitting between her brothers Amrothos and Elphir, talking animatedly with her youngest brother; he had no wish to interrupt. Faramir was sitting between Imrahil and Gandalf. The two men caught each other's eyes briefly and nodded politely but did not speak to each other.
He sat down on a log next to Gimli, who grunted a greeting. "Good evening to you too, Master Dwarf," Éomer said with a grin. He could not help but like the gruff Dwarf, and was certain that he still would even if he did not owe his life to Gimli when they had briefly fought side by side in the battle at Helm's Deep.
"Would you like some ale, Lord Éomer, sir?" Sam asked as Faramir and Imrahil, who were sitting closest to Sam, began picking up the bowls of stew and passing them around.
"Yes, thank you," Éomer replied, gratefully accepting the mug that Sam passed to him. Then Gimli began asking him some questions about the Glittering Caves near Helm's Deep, and he was soon able to relax a little as the conversation continued. But he still kept an eye on Faramir.
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To his surprise, Faramir was actually able to relax and enjoy the meal. It seemed he and Éomer had an unspoken agreement to leave each other alone, and he quickly became engrossed in a conversation with Mithrandir and Imrahil over some of the more obscure points of Gondor's history. He could see Éomer out of the corner of his eye, talking to Gimli and Legolas, occasionally gesturing with his ale mug to emphasize a point. It was the most relaxed Faramir had ever seen him.
Éomer laughed at some comment that Gimli made, and Faramir smiled in spite of himself. His laugh was much like his sister's—loud and hearty. Imrahil noticed the look on Faramir's face and asked, "What do you find so amusing about the Battle of Erui, Nephew?"
Faramir smiled and lowered his voice. "Nothing. I was thinking about Éowyn." His uncle nodded in understanding.
Apparently he had failed to lower his voice enough. Pippin and Merry had moved closer to him once the meal started in order to talk to Frodo, who was sitting on Mithrandir's other side. Pippin looked up at him and said in his usual loud voice, "I bet you're excited about seeing her again."
Éomer's head snapped up and the suspicious look returned to his eyes as he heard the Halfling speak. Faramir glanced over at the King of Rohan, then back at Pippin and cautiously said, "Yes, I have missed her greatly."
"I am sure you have," Éomer muttered. "You could hardly keep your hands off of her the last time I saw you."
Not again… Faramir silently groaned as the various conversations around the fire rapidly died down. "I told you, nothing happened!"
"And nothing will happen," Éomer snapped, his eyes burning with barely-suppressed anger. Faramir briefly wondered how much ale the man had consumed by this point before Éomer's words registered.
"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.
"I will not release my sister into the hands of some smooth-talking Gondorian," Éomer said angrily.
"Éomer!" Aragorn exclaimed, disapproval clearly written on his face.
The others silently watched as Faramir's face hardened. He took a ragged breath, then slowly rose to his feet, his grey eyes flashing fire. "Think what you will of me," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. "I care not. But the only way I will agree not to marry her is if Éowyn's wishes on the matter have changed."
Éomer jumped up, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. Immediately Legolas and Aragorn were at his side, restraining him. Faramir looked over at Aragorn briefly. He knew that if he did not leave now, this would quickly disintegrate into a brawl, and he had no wish to fight with Éomer over this issue. Aragorn nodded in understanding as he quietly excused himself and left, his dark hair blending with the surrounding shadows as he disappeared from view.
It was not until Éomer moved his hand away from his sword that the holds on his arms were loosened. He shrugged off the man and the Elf, glaring at both of them as he stepped back. Even as he did, his temper cooled, leaving him feeling rather stupid.
"Why do you hate him so much?" Merry asked after a long moment of awkward silence.
"I do not wish to talk about it," Éomer said firmly. Everyone kept watching him, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably under their silent scrutiny. "I… it is that…" Éomer fumbled for words, feeling more and more awkward by the minute. "I cannot figure him out, and I do not like it," he finally blurted out.
Aragorn looked at him steadily. "Éomer, have you given him a chance at all?" he asked gently.
Éomer knew that he had not; ever since Faramir had first approached him about his feelings for Éowyn following Aragorn's coronation, he had felt nothing but suspicion towards him. And it irritated him to no end that Aragorn was right about this. He could not deal with this any more tonight. "Good night," he said abruptly, turning and walking towards Firefoot.
He didn't realize he was being followed until he heard Merry's call, "Éomer!"
"Go away, Merry," he growled.
"Look, I just want to talk to you," Merry said, hurrying to keep up with the man's longer strides.
"Then talk," Éomer said.
"I'm sorry," Merry said. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you."
"I am not embarrassed," Éomer groaned.
"Why are you acting like this?" the hobbit pressed. "He is a good man. And despite what you may think, he really does love Éowyn."
"I do not want to talk about it."
"Well, maybe you should anyway," Merry blurted out.
Éomer whirled around without thinking and grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt, then realized what he was doing. He quickly released the Halfling, then stepped back. "Forgive me, Merry," he said softly. "I just need some time alone right now."
Merry nodded, eyes still wide, then quickly retreated. Éomer quickly mounted Firefoot and headed back to his camp, trying to clear his thoughts as he rode. What would Uncle Théoden have done? he wondered. It seemed he had asked himself that question all too often in recent months. This time, however, he had no answer. As he ran his fingers through his golden hair to push it away from his face, he wished yet again that he was still just the Third Marshal of the Mark. Then perhaps things would not be so complicated.
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Faramir could vaguely hear a sound like rain falling softly on the trees overhead as he walked through the forest, though the late afternoon sun filtered its golden light through the leaves. He knew this section of Ithilien well, but it still took all his effort to keep up with the golden-haired maiden who constantly stayed just out of reach. "Éowyn!" he finally called out.
Éowyn turned towards him, allowing him to catch up, and smiled. "Faramir, wake up," she said softly.
He shook his head, smiling, and tried to take her into his arms, but she drew back and shook his shoulders. "Wake up!" she said again, more urgently. Her voice was starting to change slightly too; it became a little deeper.
He blinked in confusion, and when he looked again, she was gone and his surroundings were fading. The voice was still there though, as insistent as ever. "Faramir, please, I need your help!" He reluctantly opened his eyes, and groaned a little. Judging by the amount of light filtering in to the tent, it was barely past dawn. Or perhaps a little later; he could still hear the rain as it fell on the canvas of his tent.
He shook his head a little to clear it, and his eyes focused on a small figure kneeling by him. "Pippin?" he asked groggily. "Why are you here?"
Pippin's curls stuck to his forehead damply, as if he had run through the rain, and his eyes were wide with panic. "It's Merry," he said.
"What?" This had better be good, he thought crossly as he sat up a little. He hated being woken up in the middle of a good dream.
"Last night, after Éomer…well, you know… Merry disappeared. I spent half the night looking for him, and I just found him, but he's trapped."
Faramir was instantly awake. "Where? How?" he asked, reaching for a shirt and his boots.
"We found this old guard tower yesterday, and Merry went there…I think he was upset about something that happened with Éomer after you left…and there's a hole in there because part of the floor rotted out, and he fell in. And I cannot get him out. I don't know if he's hurt, or…" Pippin finished, his voice catching on the last words.
By this time, Faramir had buckled on his sword belt, purely out of habit, and thrown his cloak over his shoulders. Even though it was summer, if Merry was injured it would be best to keep him warm, especially on such a wet day. Before standing up, he clasped the hobbit's shoulder. "We will get him out, Pippin, I promise. Take me to him." Pippin nodded gratefully and led him out of the tent and into the rain.
As they walked, Pippin explained the situation further. Apparently after they had stopped to make camp the previous afternoon, the hobbits had gone exploring and found an abandoned guard station near the borders of the forest at the feet of the mountains which separated the western part of Gondor from Rohan. Pippin said it was far enough from the camp that no one would be able to hear Merry's cries for help. Faramir's jaw clenched slightly in concern; he had grown quite fond of the hobbit during his most recent stay in the Houses of Healing, and desperately hoped that Merry would be all right.
Pippin led him quietly through the trees, and Faramir followed just as silently; practice from years of hunting Gondor's enemies in the forests of Ithilien enabled him to move through the undergrowth almost as stealthily as an Elf. It was not long before he spotted a clearing not far within the lines of trees, and a tall but somewhat crumbling stone tower. Vines were starting to take hold within the cracks of the stones, and the wooden shutters hung crookedly outside the high window slits that, when the tower had been in use, would enable the archers inside to shoot without becoming easy targets themselves. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar. Pippin hung back slightly as he stepped forward and pulled the door further open, causing it to squeak slightly from disuse.
"Merry?" he called out as he entered, unable to keep his anxiety out of his voice. The interior was very dim, even more so than the outside. The only light came from an uncovered small opening that served as an entrance onto the roof, and much of that was blocked by a high wooden platform running around the interior, built for the archers to stand on. He could barely make out the figure of someone who had been kneeling by a hole in the floor jumping to his feet. Someone much too tall to be a hobbit, he realized belatedly. It had to be a trap. His suspicions were confirmed when the man stepped a little further into the light, revealing his golden hair, and groaned, "What are you doing here?"
I should have known. "Pippin said that Merry was trapped in here. Let me guess; Merry told you the same about Pippin?" Faramir said, somehow keeping his voice calm.
Understanding flashed across Éomer's face. "I should have known it was a trick," he growled.
Faramir was about to respond when he felt a hard shove from behind. The unexpected attack made him lose his balance and he fell onto the dusty wooden floor of the tower. He quickly jumped back to his feet and whirled towards the door as Éomer rushed forward, but they were too late. The door slammed shut behind them, trapping them in the shadowy building.
Éomer grabbed for the latch of the door, but his hand came up empty. He furrowed his brow as he ran his hand over the weather-worn wood, searching for a way to open it. Then he turned back towards Faramir and said, "The latch is gone."
"It can only be opened from the outside," a familiar yet muffled voice said from the other side of the door. "We checked."
Éomer narrowed his eyes. "Merry, open the door."
"I'm sorry, but we can't," Pippin chimed in.
Faramir stepped closer to the door. "Pippin, what are you doing?" he asked, feeling more than a little annoyed.
"This is something we do in the Shire, when two people just can't seem to settle an argument and more…drastic measures need to be taken," Merry said.
"What, lock them in a tower?" Éomer groaned.
"Well, no—we just shut them in a room together and make sure they don't come out until they've worked out their differences. It usually works really well…of course, there was that one time where Reggy Proudfoot and Rory Boffin started hitting each other, and…" Pippin mused. Faramir glanced over at Éomer warily, hoping that the hobbit had not inadvertently given the man of Rohan any ideas on ways to release his obviously growing frustration.
"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed. There was a slight thud, and an "Ow! Stop it, Merry!" from Pippin before Merry continued. "Anyway, the point is, since you two are not even trying to get along, we figured you needed a little help."
"I cannot believe this…" Faramir muttered.
"Oh, and don't worry…Aragorn has decided to wait a few hours to see if the rain clears up before we start moving again, so we won't leave without you." Pippin's voice was back to its usual cheerfulness.
Éomer and Faramir glanced at each other. "Does Aragorn know about this?" Éomer asked cautiously.
"No, just us. We'll be back in a little while; maybe we will let you out then. Goodbye!" Merry called.
Éomer pounded on the door. "Merry, you are still sworn to Rohan's service, so open the door! That is an order!" But the only response was laughter. Éomer peered through the hole where the latch should have been just in time to see them dart out of sight. "Bloody Halflings!" he groaned.
Faramir just shook his head, sincerely hoping that the hobbits would not inadvertently let this slip out at camp. If any of his men found out that he had survived the defeat of Mordor only to be captured by two hobbits, he would never hear the end of it.