Chapter 8 – A Discussion:

"Eomund?" Mal's voice behind him startled Eomund and he hastily ran his arm across his face before turning toward the older man. The old sailor was standing behind him, his face full of regret and sadness. "I'm sorry."

Eomund turned back and let his head drop down again, resting it on his forearms where they lay across the rail. The twenty-five stripes he had taken yesterday as they approached Pelargir had scoured the skin from him, leaving open bloody wounds that burned and throbbed as he searched for an answer. "Why?" he asked, his voice bleak and empty. "Why did he do it? What purpose did it serve?" He suddenly looked up at Mal with surprise. "You called me by my name." Mal gave him a little smile and approached the rail to stand beside him.

"I believe you." He leaned across the rail and kept his eyes on the horizon. "It's the only explanation for your behavior. You have to be either telling the truth or mad." Raising his eyebrows and looking Eomund up and down he shook his head. "You don't look mad to me, so you must be Eomund of Gondor, the son of the Steward." With a jerk of his head he motioned behind him. "I think he believes you, too."

"Then why not let me go?"

"It's not that easy, lad." The old man pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "If he lets you go, he would be admitting he believed you. That would mean listening to every other man on the ship, thinking about them, considering them. He might have to change the way things are done, change the way he treats the men, even reconsider taking on conscripts, everything. That's a frightening thought to a man." He looked at Eomund with a measured glance. "He's afraid of you."

"Of me!" Eomund gave a derisive laugh. "What can I do to him?"

"Tell your father, of course," said Mal.

Eomund's face hardened. "Tell him what? That I got drunk in Umbar, was robbed, and ended up here?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't tell. The Captain doesn't need to worry about that."

Mal made a thoughtful face and they stood quietly, watching the sun turn the sea to blood. "Let me ask you, if you had gotten the chance, would you have jumped ship and run yesterday, in Pelargir?"

Eomund took a deep breath and then let it out in a ragged sigh. "Yes."

"So you see part of his reasoning."

"NO!" Eomund straightened, wincing as the torn skin across his back stretched and burned. "I am charged with finding my sister, Mal. My king has given me his command, and I am failing him. She is lost, missing, and I cannot find her from this ship!" His hands gripped the wooden railing as he spoke, his sense of helplessness digging his fingers into the worn wood. "I am here on illegitimate charges, against my will, and I am failing in my duty. My duty to my king…and to my father." His voice broke, the last words whispered.

Mal said nothing as Eomund made a strangled noise in his throat and stood upright, moving carefully this time and looked out across the water dyed red by the sinking sun. "My father is not well," he said finally, softly, the words spoken almost to himself. "He and I – we argued." He stopped, shook his head. "No, he did not argue. I was angry, I said things. Now he is ill, and I fear if I do not find my sister he will not recover."

"Surely it is not your fault if he is ill," The old sailor tried to comfort him and Eomund laughed harshly, humorlessly.

"Ah, but it is, Mal. It is my fault." He turned away from the rail and crossed his arms, his lacerated shoulders slumping as he fought to control his emotions. When he turned back Mal could see the grief on his face. Eomund rubbed a shaky hand across his eyes and stepped back beside him and let out a gusty sigh. "My brother was killed in the spring," he began in a low voice, and as the sun slid below the horizon and the sea went from red to burgundy to black Eomund told his story to the old man, the first time he had spoken of the past spring to anyone, and Mal listened. Listened without comment or question, without even looking at the younger man, so that Eomund was not embarrassed by the tears that ran down his cheeks or the quiet moan of anguish that welled up from his throat when he finished. Mal merely let him talk and when he was through they were both silent for a long time as the sea splashed softly against the side of the ship and the sounds of the men on board floated around them.

At last Mal turned his head and looked at Eomund. "Do you still think your father is to blame for your brother's death?"

"No." Eomund shook his head. "I didn't really believe it even then, I was angry and upset and I wanted to hurt him." His mouth trembled and he cleared his throat roughly. "And I did. I haven't been home for months, even though Mother wrote and asked me over and over, and now he is sick, and Estel is gone, and I …" His voice faltered and he rested his head on the railing again.

"Things happen." The old man looked out at the ocean again. "Things we never plan on, things we never even imagine." His hand rubbed absently along the smooth wooden railing of the ship, then slid it over and patted Eomund on the arm awkwardly. "Go home, lad. As soon as your time here is up, go home and apologize to your father." His toothless mouth was set in a firm line.

Eomund raised his head and swallowed, stared at the water in the dim light of evening. "If I don't find my sister, I don't think I can face him. I don't think I can go back without her."

An angry frown creased Mal's face. "You think that's the right thing to do, boy? Your father has already lost a son and maybe a daughter. Now you are going to just disappear, too?"

"But it's been months and I haven't found Estel." Eomund shook his head from side to side slowly. "And I don't even know where Father is, the King sent him away."

"Listen to me, Eomund." Mal's voice was a fierce whisper. "Go home. Whether you find your sister or not. Face your king. Find your father and apologize."

Eomund looked at him curiously. "Why do you care so much?"

The old sailor straightened up and glared at him. "I have lived a long life. I've known happiness and I've known grief, and I'm telling you what you need to hear." His face softened a little. "Besides, I like you, boy, I can't help it. You've got the hardest head of any man I've ever known." He glanced at Eomund's back. "And now one of the worst scarred backs because of it." He leaned in close again. "Time to grow up, Eomund. Learn from this, and go home."

Eomund ran a thoughtful finger across his lower lip. "Do you think he'll let me go, the Captain, I mean, after my time is up?"

Mal felt a twinge of uneasiness, knew that if Eomund was indeed the Steward's son the Captain might not want to risk having him report his treatment to his father, but he decided to be optimistic. "Of course he will. He's hard, but he's fair. Once your time is served, you'll be free to go. But Eomund?"

"Yes?"

Mal turned and took him by the arm, turned him so that they faced each other, and stared into Eomund's face. "Please, keep your mouth shut. Try to stay out of trouble. I was serious when I said you frighten the captain. Don't give him a reason to put you on the mast again." His eyes moved to glance down the torn and bruised flesh of Eomund's back. "Another beating like that could kill you."

Eomund could read the worry in the old man's face and it surprised and touched him, that the old sailor cared for him and he knew he was giving him good advice. The agony of the stripes was as fresh in his mind as on his back, and he had no desire to have it repeated. He gave a reluctant nod, a quick jerky motion. "I'll try, Mal, really."

Eowyn managed to hide her smile as she watched Feorl lean down to bid Estel good evening before he left them, seeing the warm affection in his eyes as he made certain to give her a chaste peck on the hand while Estel grinned at him with equal fondness. Turning to Eowyn and Alasse he bowed his head in as regal as gesture as he could muster, his face slightly flushed. "My lady." His face flushed even darker when he raised his head and caught Eowyn's eye. "I thank you for your consideration." She gave the young man credit for meeting her gaze squarely.

"Good evening, Feorl." Eowyn returned his bow with a nod of her head and he left them and she was sure she saw his shoulders slump in relief. He had barely disappeared before Estel anxiously turned to her. "Well?" Her face was full of hope and worry as she looked at her mother and Eowyn busied herself with the napkin on her lap for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.

"He's very sweet, Estel," she said.

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" said Estel dreamily, earning her an annoyed look from her sister and another smile from her mother. They sat together on a terrace that faced west, in the King's apartments in Edoras, enjoying the last of the evening sunshine. Estel's shoulder was still bandaged but she was rapidly recovering her strength and restlessly waiting to be released from the healer's care. Now she waited for her mother's answer.

In the days between Estel's discovery and Eowyn's arrival, Feorl had managed to visit Estel each day, bringing her small gifts and news and in general keeping her entertained and happy and the affection she already bore for him had quickly grown into something more serious. Lothiriel, seeing her niece's wild heart had been caught by the young Rider, watched with approval and convinced Eomer to find a reason to keep Feorl nearby for the time being, even against his worries that he was usurping Eowyn and especially Faramir's authority.

"He seems a good man, 'Thiri," he said with exasperation one morning when she brought up the subject once more. "But I am not her father, I cannot approve or disapprove of him."

"But Faramir will ask you about him, you know he will," she had returned complacently, picking through her own breakfast. "What will you say?"

Eomer frowned, his blond brows wrinkling over his eyes. "I will say, quite truthfully, that I really don't even know him. I need to ask Wulffon." He shook his head at her. "You are just an incurable romantic." She only grinned at him in answer.

"She's like you, my King," she said, knowing it annoyed him when she called him that. "And like her mother. You are all the same, headstrong and willful." She giggled at Eomer's glare. "And when you find the one you love, you are hopelessly lost." Eomer's face softened and he slid his hand across the table to take his wife's.

"I'm not lost," he said in a mock growl, and Lothiriel laughed. "I note you do not dispute me on headstrong and willful, my lord." Eomer gave her a wicked grin as he raised her hand to his lips.

"You'll speak to Wulffon?" Lothiriel gave him her best pleading look and he groaned in surrender. "I will speak to him."

When Eowyn and Alasse had arrived in Edoras, there had been tearful reunions and apologies and Feorl had been momentarily forgotten. The next day, however, Estel had begged that Feorl have dinner with her mother and sister and he had reluctantly agreed, slightly in awe of Estel's noble family. Still, he had resisted his nervousness and come to the meal, spoken politely with Eowyn and Alasse, eaten without embarrassing himself too much, and found to his great relief that they were rather pleasant people after all. One meal had become another and within a few days it seemed to be taken for granted that Feorl would eat with them. Now, a week later, watching her daughter's face, Eowyn's smile faded and she tried to look stern.

"However, no matter how sweet he is, on you or otherwise, you cannot marry."

"But Mother!" Estel wailed.

"Yet," finished Eowyn, quickly taking a drink of wine to disguise her expression when Estel's cries were instantly stifled and transformed into an angry glare directed toward her sister's giggle.

"Yet?" Her voice was hopeful. "Soon, though?" She gave her mother a beseeching look. "He was so nervous about asking, you know. You frighten him."

"I frighten him?" Eowyn rolled her eyes at her daughter. "Estel, there is no hurry. You are young, you have time to wait and I need to talk to your father. He will want to meet Feorl, you know, before he even considers giving permission."

"Oh." Estel looked down and toyed with her food. Her mother had told her about her father being sent away to recover his health, and she felt more than a little guilty at the part she had played. "What do you think he'll say?"

"I don't know, Estel." Eowyn appeared to be thinking the matter over intently. She studied her daughter. "Perhaps you should be a little more concerned about that, and what I might say."

"You?" Eowyn watched worry and anger both come over Estel. "Why?"

"Estel." Eowyn sat back and crossed her arms, frowned at her daughter. "You did a very foolish thing. A very immature thing. Not the behavior one looks for in a girl of marriageable age."

"But Mother!" Estel wailed. "I had to do something. It was so awful at home, I hated it." Her dark brows drew together in a fierce frown.

"You look just like Uncle when you do that," murmured Alasse, earning an angry glare from her sister.

Eowyn shushed Alasse with a motion of her hand and matched Estel's look with one of her own. "Do you understand what your little escapade did to your father and I? How it hurt us?"

Estel's face went white and she looked down at her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry."

Eowyn doubted Estel truly understood the hurt she had inflicted, wondered if that was possible at her age, but she tried again. "We were both frantic, Estel. We had no idea where you were, or what might happen to you." She ignored the tears starting the ooze from the corners of the grey eyes. "Did you even give a moment's thought to what it would do to your father to read your letter, read that you were afraid of him?"

"I was afraid," said Estel, beginning to sniffle.

"Afraid OF him, Estel, or afraid FOR him?" Eowyn could see Alasse's eyes threatening to spill over as she watched her mother and sister, and she scooted her chair over beside Estel, trying to find the balance between having her acknowledge the part she had played in Faramir's condition while not blaming everything on her.

Estel wiped at her eyes with her napkin and looked at her mother. "I don't know, Mother. He was just so sad all of the time, and unhappy, and I felt like I couldn't breathe, and then that night when the King came…" Her mouth trembled as the tears began again in earnest. "I've never seen him like that, so angry, and I just wanted to get away."

At her words Eowyn put an arm around her, motioned Alasse over beside her and hugged both of them tightly. "But that is when you need to stay, Estel. When people need you the most." She kissed each girl on the cheek and looked at Estel. "He needed us there, all of us, do you understand?"

"And E'mun had already left him," said Alasse quietly and Eowyn nodded.

"Yes, he had, so your father needed us more than ever."

"I'm sorry, Mother." Estel's voice was wretched. She gave another sniff and blew her nose on her napkin before she looked at her mother. "But he is getting better, yes?"

"Yes, I believe so," said Eowyn. "But I want you to remember this when he comes home. He loves you." Her eyes moved back and forth between them. "Both of you, all of you. More than you can ever know, and I don't want to ever see him hurt like that again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mother," said Estel and beside her Alasse nodded, her grey eyes bright with tears. Eowyn decided she had made enough of an impact and settled back in her chair again.

"What should I tell him about Feorl, when I see him?" Instantly Estel's face lit up.

"Tell him Feorl is sweet and kind and funny, and handsome, and smart and a good fighter, and brave, and-" A giggle from Alasse stopped her recitation of Feorl's sterling qualities and she snapped her mouth shut and glared at her sister.

"Estel," said her mother dryly. "Does he have any faults?"

"No." Estel shook her head emphatically as Eowyn slowly folded her hands before her and looked across the table to give her daughter a skeptical look. Estel lowered her eyes and sighed. "Well, he – he doesn't - I told him it doesn't matter, that I can teach him, that lots of people can't, but it's not really hard." Her words fell over one another as she spoke and Eowyn looked confused.

"What are you talking about?"

Estel sighed and looked down in her lap for a moment. "He can't read. Don't say anything, Mother, it embarrasses him, please? I told him I could teach him, and he wants to learn, and he's so smart I know he'd learn fast. He never learned when he was younger. He helped his parents until he became a Rider, they raise horses along the Entwash River. Reading's not important here like in Gondor."

Her mother raised her hand to silence the flood of words. "I think I know a little something about what's important in Rohan, Estel." Estel was silent, hung her head, did not expect to hear Eowyn's small chuckle. "Who do you think taught me to read, my dear?" Sudden realization brought Estel's head up sharply and she stared at her mother.

"Father?"

Eowyn gave a little laugh at the look on her face. "Oh, I could write my name, but not much else. You are right, reading is not a skill that is highly valued in Rohan most of the time." She fell silent and a soft smile appeared on her lips as she remembered quiet nights before the fire with a book and Faramir's gentle encouragement as he helped her sound out a difficult word, his quiet voice, the glow in his eyes when she did it correctly, and how he would lean close and reward her with a slow kiss. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her mouth as the longing for him suddenly overwhelmed her. Quickly rising from her seat she turned away from the table.

"Mother? Are you all right?" Estel and Alasse exchanged worried glances.

"I'm fine, I – I just miss your father." She straightened, wiped at her eyes and turned back, smiling tremulously. "You are right, Estel. Tell Feorl it is nothing to be ashamed of and I think you should teach him." She gave them each a kiss. "I'm going to go talk to your aunt and uncle."

She forced herself to walk slowly from the terrace and into the King's apartments, resisting the urge to race to the stables and take a horse and head straight for Rivendell that instant. Lothiriel saw her come in and noted the strained look. "Eowyn?" She hurried over to her sister-in-law and took her hand. "Are you all right?" Leading Eowyn to a chair she sat down beside her, keeping a tight hold on her hand. "What's wrong?"

"I have to leave for Rivendell, 'Thiri." Eowyn spoke in a determined voice. "Today. I must. Can the girls stay with you? I must go, but I must go alone, do you understand?" She looked at her as if she expected Lothiriel to try to persuade her to stay. The Queen of Rohan had lived with Eomer long enough to recognize the look she now saw in his sister's eye but in truth she would not have tried to keep Eowyn in Edoras regardless. When she had first arrived and told them all that had happened, Lothiriel knew it would only be a short time before she continued on to Rivendell. She had watched Eowyn and Faramir's relationship for years, and knew they could not be parted for long. Now she simply nodded her head and patted Eowyn's hand.

"Of course, I understand. But don't leave today. It's late. First thing tomorrow morning." Eowyn seemed to droop in the chair.

"I miss him so much, 'Thiri. Even if he is – " she broke off. "I have to see him."

Lothiriel put an arm around her and drew her head down on her shoulder. "I know. It's all right," she said softly. "But don't let yourself get all upset. Didn't you say the Elf's last letter to Aragorn said he was doing better? And now that Estel has been found, I'm sure that can only help." Eowyn nodded against her.

"If only Eomund would come home," she murmured. "If he would just talk to Faramir."

"He has to make that decision himself, and he's very stubborn, and can be quite heartless," said Lothiriel. "I see so much of Uncle Denethor in him. You never knew him but Eomund is much like him, and that his words doubly cruel to Faramir, I think." Eowyn nodded wordlessly and Lothiriel hugged her. "He needs to grow up a little, but you cannot force him, and you cannot change him, that can come only from within, only he can do that."

"I know," Eowyn said dully. Lothiriel gave her another hug and stood up. "Well, then, it's a long way to Rivendell, let's get started packing. I'll tell Eomer you'll need a horse and an escort." Eowyn got to her feet, wiping at her eyes with her fingers and looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm usually not so emotional."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I know that, Eowyn. You have been through a terrible time these last few months. It's certainly understandable if you get a little upset." She looked into Eowyn's face, her grey eyes serious and Eowyn saw the uncanny resemblance to Faramir and the pang of his absence hit her again. "I just want you and Faramir and your family to get through this, and whatever I or Eomer can do to help, we'll do it." Eowyn gulped back a sob and let Lothiriel pull her close, rub her back soothingly. When Eowyn drew back self-consciously Lothiriel turned toward the guest chamber she had been using. "Let's get your things together."

Pippin opened his eyes with a start and realized he had fallen asleep once more. The chair beside him was empty, but he could hear the quiet sound of someone moving books somewhere so with a grin and a luxurious stretch he got up from the chair he had been seated in and started through the shelves of books in the library at Rivendell.

"Faramir?" He called quietly, the idea of shouting in the library somehow unthinkable. "Where are you?" He didn't really expect an answer, knew that once Faramir got into a book he would be oblivious to any sound not bellowed directly into his ear. His suggestion that Celeborn ask for Faramir's help in the library had been successful, and they had spent many days since among the dusty books and tattered scrolls. Faramir had agreed to assist in copying the oldest ones merely to be polite in the beginning, but as the days passed Pippin could see him becoming interested almost against his will. Often the scroll he was copying was some ancient tale that he had never heard before, or knew only a part of, and it would send him off on a hunt through the shelves for more information. He had even hauled some of the disintegrating texts back to his room to read late in the evening and both Pippin and Celeborn were pleased with themselves.

The weeks at Rivendell were at last beginning to show a change in the Steward. A good change. He had put on some weight thanks to the elvish food and Pippin's insistence that every meal be observed and appreciated. The dark circles under his eyes were not gone entirely, but they were lessened, as a result of, among other things, a little more sleep and an almost daily walk with the Elf Lord among the woods and gardens. And best of all, in Celeborn's mind, he had begun speaking of his grief.

As Pippin had suspected, personal conversation came more easily to Faramir when he had some delicate piece of parchment before him as a distraction. He and Pippin would begin talking about the story it told and that would often lead to discussions of other things, and suddenly, Pippin would find the Man speaking of something he knew would have been politely avoided if he had asked outright. At those times the hobbit would clamp his mouth shut and let him talk, and in such a way Faramir's carefully buried grief and sadness were quietly drawn out little by little.

Now, Pippin turned the corner and nearly fell over the Prince of Ithilien, seated cross-legged on the floor with his head bent over a dusty volume, reading softly to himself. "What are you doing on the floor?" ask Pippin as he plopped down beside him.

"Do you know the story of the Akallabeth?" asked Faramir abruptly, looking over at Pippin with a strange look on his face.

Pippin had never heard of it but he tried to look thoughtful for a moment. "Um, no, I don't think so."

"It's a story about King Isildur." Faramir placed his finger carefully along the story in the ancient text. "The book in Minas Tirith only has the beginning, but the entire story is here." He ran his finger across the page, reading quietly. "You know some of the story, surely. Isildur founded the Kingdom of Gondor, with his brother, and fought by his father Elendil's side in the Last Alliance." Pippin nodded seriously as if he indeed knew the entire story although he had little more than some vague memory from years ago when he and Merry had accompanied Frodo to Rivendell with the Ring. But he could see the story had Faramir's total attention and so he listened closely as he continued.

"That story is in the book at Minas Tirith," said Faramir, "but there is more, here. Isildur's grandfather, Amandil, saw the race of Men fall to the seductions of Sauron, and learned of his plan to destroy the Two Trees of Valinor. Isildur risked his life stealing a fruit from the White Tree. It was an ancestor of the tree that grows in Minas Tirith now." Faramir turned the page and Pippin couldn't help smiling at his intense scrutiny of the book but when he looked up the hobbit was taken aback at the look of intense longing in his eyes. "Do you think that it is true?"

"True?" Pippin was puzzled. "I suppose. Why wouldn't it be?"

Faramir laid the book down on the floor in front of him and leaned back against the shelf. "I don't know. I want it to be true. It intrigues me, I suppose. The idea of the love between the grandfather, father and son. Of generations knowing each other. The sacrifices made, the loyalty." He closed his eyes and rubbed them, and Pippin wondered if it was from concentrating on the book or if he had not slept the night before. Since the news of Estel's discovery had arrived he had been sleeping better, but there were still some bad nights. "I never knew my grandfather," Faramir said in a soft voice. "And the older I get, I realize I never really knew my father. He belonged to Gondor, not me. Not even Boromir. And my sons and daughters never knew him, or their uncle, or Eowyn's parents, even she can barely remember them, just as I hardly remember my mother. We seem so alone sometimes. It doesn't seem right, somehow."

"It's not right," said Pippin, shaking his head, thinking of his many relations in the Shire and wondering what it would be like to have no one. "But those were difficult times. That's behind us now. You have had a chance to really know your children, haven't you? And you've got a grandchild coming soon. You'll know him, too. Or her."

"I suppose." Faramir sighed, opened his eyes. "I'm not sure I really do know my children, though, Pippin. Not any more."

"They're growing up," said Pippin decisively. "Becoming their own people. I see it with my own boy. You can't avoid it." He gave Faramir a gentle poke. "You don't want to, really, you know." He was rewarded with a tiny smile, one of several he had received in recent days and his heart leaped.

"You're right." The smile faded. "Except Bara. He will always be twenty." Pippin cursed himself as he saw the sadness come over his friend again.

"Accidents happen, Faramir," he said. "That was not your fault."

"I know." Faramir's voice was hushed and his fingers brushed across the book before him again. "But maybe Eomund was right, maybe I should have let Bara resign from the army."

"Maybe's don't help anything," Pippin said firmly. They had discussed this topic over and over again and Pippin could see it was still eating away at Faramir even though he always answered the same way, as he did now. "You cannot change the past, no matter how much you might want. And it was not your fault. Eomund was wrong to say what he did."

"He loved him so much." Faramir looked over at the hobbit and a sad smile was on his mouth. "They were so close, from the time Bara was three or four, they did everything together. Played, rode, ate, slept." He fell silent and Pippin suspected he was remembering another beloved brother. "It kills a part of you," Faramir finally said in the smallest whisper. "To lose someone you love, who loved you."

The hobbit reached over and patted the Man's larger hand. "I am sure you are right." There was silence as Pippin tried to give Faramir time to grieve without letting him fall into despair. "But you have others who love you, too, now," he finally reminded him and Faramir nodded. "Including your son. He just needs a little time." They sat quietly for a long time, the hush of the library folded around them like a blanket and to Faramir it was a safe, comfortable feeling, a familiar one that he had cherished all his life, and he felt at peace for a moment.

"I need to talk to Eomund." He rested his head back against the cracked leather books behind him. "I don't want this thing between us to become worse. For us to end up like my father and I, always so careful around one another, measuring each word, each look." He suddenly looked over at Pippin. "I miss home." The hobbit gave him a sympathetic smile. "I miss Eowyn," Faramir continued, rubbing his dusty hands together and frowning. "I miss – " He started to say more but then unexpectedly grimaced and gave Pippin a severe look that had a hint of his old humor in it. "You are a sly one, Master Peregrin Took. You sit there quietly while I ramble on in ways I never would with anyone else."

Pippin saw the moment had passed and he didn't try to recover or force it, only grinned and stood up. "Then I'm glad I'm not anyone else." He looked around them, trying to gauge the time of day by the amount of sunlight coming through the windows above them. "Surely it is close to lunchtime by now. Are you hungry?" Faramir shook his head. "Oh, come on now," Pippin coaxed. "It's been hours since we ate."

"You go on. I'll stay here a bit longer." Faramir got to his feet, still holding the book. "I want to read the rest of this."

"Hmm." Pippin eyed him suspiciously, trying to gauge his mood, unsure if he wanted to leave him alone. "All right," he said finally. "But I'll be back after I eat." Faramir nodded and started back through the shelves toward the desk he had been using.

The door to the library gave a slight thud as it closed and Faramir heard the footsteps advancing along the wider space between the main shelves. "I suppose you've brought a plate of samples?" he said without looking up. "A little bit of everything that I must try?"

"No, I've brought only myself."

Faramir's head jerked up and he looked behind him and a little cry was forced from him as he leaped to his feet and stared at Eowyn. She stood on the dark red rug before the library window, the sunshine making a golden aura about her, as if she were some otherworldly creature, and Faramir approached her slowly, fearfully, as if she might disappear from before his eyes at any moment. She smiled at him and held out her hand and that broke the spell. He was beside her in seconds, his arms wrapped around her, his face buried in her hair, holding her so tight he was crushing the breath from her. "Eowyn," he whispered as he hugged her against him. "Eowyn."

"My love," she whispered, twining her fingers through his hair and pressing her face against his shoulder. "Faramir, my love."

"I've missed you," he said in a hushed voice, reaching over to stroke her cheek and trace his fingers down her chin. "So much." He turned her face up to him and kissed her, softly, tentatively, at first, as though he was still unsure if she was real or not, but she kissed him back, encouraging him, and he responded, kissing her with all of the love and tenderness she knew so well. Tenderness she had feared she might never see or feel again and she laughed from the sheer joy of having him near her. When he had finished kissing her he hugged her again and then led her over to the cushioned bench beneath the window and they sat, staring at one another until they both gave a little laugh of embarrassment and the sound of Faramir's happiness, a sound Eowyn had not heard for months, put a thrill through her, and she leaned over and kissed him again. "I've missed you, too," she said softly. "How are you?"

He held her hands between his, gently running his fingers across hers, and didn't look up. "Better." There was a long silence and she knew he did not want to talk about it. He finally looked up at her. "How is everyone?"

"Everyone is fine," she said quietly. "Everyone sends their love."

"Everyone?" He sounded suspicious. Eowyn saw the hopeful look in his eye as he looked at her and she hesitated. Faramir sighed and dropped her hands and stood up.

"It's not what you think." Eowyn rose and took his hand again. "Eomund is away, on special duty for the King."

"Special duty. What kind of special duty?"

Eowyn clasped his hand tightly and leaned against him, feeling his heartbeat, inhaling the smell of him. "He is searching for Estel."

"Estel?" Faramir looked down at her and frowned. "I thought Estel was in Edoras? Your letter said – "

"She is, she is in Edoras," Eowyn reassured him. "Aragorn called Eomund home from Pelargir the day she disappeared and charged him with finding her. He's been looking for her ever since. The last report he sent to Aragorn he was in Umbar. A notice has been sent to all of the governor's offices to let him know she has been found. He'll be home, soon." She put her arms around him and buried her face in his tunic, felt his arms cautiously encircle her and his cheek rest on her head. "He was upset to find you were gone," she said quietly into the cloth of his tunic.

"Hmm."

"He was." She straightened, still keeping her hands on his waist, and her green eyes met his. "Elboron said his face went white when Aragorn told him you had gone away, were not well."

Faramir looked away, not wanting to think about either the King's meeting with Eomund or why he himself had been sent to Rivendell. At length he made a small noise in the back of his throat and took Eowyn's hands in his, keeping his eyes down. "Eowyn, I'm sorry, for all that happened. I never meant to hurt you, never meant for it get so bad." As he spoke his eyes sporadically flicked up to her face, searching, beseeching. "I don't know what happened."

"I'm sorry, too," she said quietly. "Sorry I got angry and said hurtful things. I was afraid." He pulled her close and gave her another hug and she pressed herself against him. "And I know what happened. We had a terrible thing happen to our family, and it hurt all of us; it hurt me and it hurt you, and then Eomund hurt you more." She saw him begin to shake his head, knew he would not allow himself that excuse, and hurried on. "He was wrong, Faramir! It was not your fault or your doing. It just happened and there is nothing else to say." She pressed against him, put her arms around him and held him tightly. He kissed her forehead and Eowyn was glad to see the dark shadows that had haunted his eyes for months in Ithilien were lessened, and she returned his kiss. He looked down at her, suddenly thoughtful.

"Are you here to take me home?" he asked, and she could tell from his voice he was both hoping to return to Ithilien and yet fearful at the same time and she thought back to what Aragorn had told her when she left Minas Tirith.

"He'll know, Eowyn, if it is time yet," he had said reassuringly, shaking his head at her concerns and questions. "Celeborn's last letter said he is improving, but as much as I want him home, I will not rush him, and neither should you. If he is not ready, he must stay. Just ask. He'll know."

Now she stared at him, examining his grey eyes carefully. She wanted him home, desperately, wanted to try to pick up their life, but not if it meant a return to the way it had been before he had come to Rivendell. "Are you ready to go?" she asked, not sure what answer she preferred.

Faramir met her gaze without flinching and she saw he knew and understood her thoughts, shared some of her worries. At last he shook his head. "No," he said. "Not yet." He squeezed her hand. "But I want you to stay."

She smiled. "Of course I'll stay, my love."

They ate dinner that night in his room, together, Eowyn having refused to even consider moving into a larger one. "You've been here for weeks," she said. "You're comfortable here, why change?"

"It's not large enough for us both," he said, motioning around him as if to prove his point.

"It's got enough chairs, and a bed," she answered. "What more does it need?" She sat on the bed and smiled sweetly at him. "As long as it's with you, it's perfect." And he had returned the smile, perhaps not quite as effortlessly, but still she had felt her heart leap when she saw it.

So they ate and she told him of home. Of Sam's progress in the army, and Theoden and Elabet's preparations for the soon coming baby. She told him of Aragorn's high praise for Elboron , of Alasse, and of Estel's escapades, and that a fair-haired Rider seemed destined to join their circle soon. He listened with a regretful expression. "So much has happened, and I missed it. I should not have left."

"No." Eowyn surprised herself with the force of her words. "I am glad you did." She reached across the table and took his hand, squeezed it tightly. "That did not come out the right way, did it? I meant I have hated you being away, but you don't know how happy I am to see you looking better." He dropped his head in embarrassment and she put a finger under his chin and raised it and smiled into his eyes. "I could not bear seeing you so unhappy and whatever it takes to keep that from happening again, I will do it." She laid her fingers along his cheek and seemed to consider. "And so will you, won't you?" He reached up to pull her hand to his lips and kissed it and nodded his head slightly. "Yes, my lady" and she thrilled because she heard the faintest teasing in his voice.

To Be Continued…

THANKS for great Beta'ing - Clairon, Princess Faz & Catherine Maria, and to Cressida for information on the Akallabeth, a barely mentioned reference in the Silmarillion.