It was a trick the Steward had learned early on, a sort of self-preservation tactic, something that even an Elf might be impressed with... or not. Faramir, though looking alert and attentive and concerned, was in fact deep in contemplation. As Aragorn, Éomer, and Imrahil started out trying to clear up this matter of just why Faramir had left Minas Tirith two months early, without notice, one thing just precipitated another until the three of them were arguing over things that Faramir's presence was a moot-point in.
Faramir situated himself further to the side in Aragorn's study, where he hoped to fade into the background. On the way to such unpleasant and unnecessary meetings as these, Faramir was choose a topic to concentrate and reflect upon. This afternoon it was wondering what could have driven him to behave so coarsely toward Éowyn. He knew that somehow, someway, he had to figure out what was troubling him so, and he had to find a way to change it. Never before had he treated a lady in such a manner. He was hating what he was becoming.
Always had Faramir been the one who could be counted on to be completely and utterly urbane, if not unreasonably reserved, around women. There had been a time early in his manhood that he and Boromir had made their way to the Merry Widow. Almost immediately upon being seated women seemed to come out of the woodwork to fawn over Boromir. The elder brother had his arms full at all times, hardly getting a chance to get near his ale. Faramir sat by in silent annoyance. The two had come to this place to talk away from the eared walls of the Citadel. When Boromir finally managed to pry his attention away from the feminine beauties who besieged him, he noticed his brother across the table looking bored.
Faramir was by no means any less handsome than his older brother, but since he unconsciously assumed that women were more interested in swordsmen than bookmen he did not even try to attract attention. He was not aware that he was the focus of much more than his fair share of ladies' attentions with his quiet ways, and left them disappointed when he paid no heed to their gazes. The few times that he did notice a lady staring at him he thought she probably found something unright about his appearance.
Shaking his head at his little brother's introversion, Boromir whispered to the woman who had found herself a comfortable place at his left side. Moving over to the other brother, she laid a gentle kiss to Faramir's cheek, pulling him perplexed out of the daydream he was having. Before he had time to react, she was nearly dragging him by his shirt sleeve up the stairs by the bar, Boromir and his attendant following too close for Faramir to escape.
Faramir was shaking like a leaf as his brother helped give him a shove into a vacant room. He seriously hoped that he could get out of this with little more than some intelligent conversation. Denethor was always strong in cautioning people against false hope, but Faramir never put stock into that. The nameless woman efficiently unlaced and shrugged off her bodice before cornering Faramir and pressing a kiss to his lips.
Faramir broke out into a cold sweat as he tried to gently push her away in a manner which would seem gentlemanly and yet not cause her shift to slip any lower on her chest. It was impossible. Instead he reached for a small pouch he kept on his belt. He fumbled for a silver coin, hoping if he paid her she would leave him alone. Instead, she tossed the money on the bed and dropped to her knees, where she began to unlace his breeches. Faramir finally broke impatiently away from her.
"What do you think you are doing?! I paid you, move on. What's gotten into you woman?" he asked, offended.
She only smiled though, used to gentlemen who played hard to get for a while, just to maintain a façade of reputation. "Nothing has gotten into me, soldier... not yet," she said suggestively.
"And nothing shall as long as i am in this room, which i shall not be longer. You may note that i have enough respect for you to pay you without expectation. Just leave me alone, please," Faramir said, almost pleadingly. All it earned him was an extremely hard slap to the face.
When he saw Boromir next he could not help telling him off about giving up his habit with tavern women, at least in respect of their mother. Faramir had counted that evening the most humiliating experience of his life, but it was not without benefit. It had shown him just why he did respect women, and it made him realize that he needed to do something to apologize to Éowyn, the sooner the better.
In his meditation, Faramir did not hear Éomer's remark to Aragorn that his Steward's comportment was comparable to that of Theoden's chief counselor.
That was far too much for Aragorn to stand and the instincts of fatherhood took over, as Gondor's King slammed a fist to his desk to avoid allowing it to connect with Éomer's jaw. "You will not speak thusly of my son!" Aragorn fairly roared in rage.
Éomer started to shout something about it being Faramir's fault that his sister was in such distress, he was going to sharply point out the fact that Faramir was only Aragorn's Steward and not really worthy of his sister's hand anyway. Then confusion struck the Horselord. "Why did you refer to him as your...," Rohan's King trailed off seeing the warning fire in Aragorn's eyes.
The next few months were sure to be very interesting around Minas Tirith, Faramir thought to himself before slipping out unnoticed as another fight erupted between the two Kings and the Prince.
ooo
I think i might have had a real note to leave here, but i can't think of it. Hopefully i will have this story complete in the next couple weeks. I will (finally!) be off on a lovely seaside holiday the week beginning the 11th. Hopefully i won't drag it out and make you all wait... hopefully :)
