II
Faramir hated himself. She thinks me childish, he thought. He replayed the scene in the library over and over again. It mocked him and sneered at him.
By the Valar, he thought, gripping the stone railing of the veranda. Father was right. I am not ready for love.
He thought of his father. When he did, he rememberedoil and heat and a singed hairandflames.Flames that burnt high and left him smelly for two days. Faramir shivered at the memory. He remembered how the cold oil touched his forehead, how he felt the wood stick into his shoulder-blades.
Faramir remembered his feverish dream. He dream of his mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, Lothliriel's aunt. He remembered her red-gold hair, so much like his own. He remembered her grey eyes and ruby-red lips that shamed the red rose. His father spoke seldom of her. But Faramir knew. Faramir had killed her.
They were on the way to Dol Amroth, to visit his uncle Imrahil. Bandits swooped down upon them. Finduilas had covered her younger son's tiny body lest the bandits batter his body. He could see her mouth clenched shut, so she won't scream, lest she frighten her four-year-old son.
A tear rolled off Faramir's nose and dripped off his nose. It made a black spot on the grey stone railing.
"Now, m'lord," came a soft and gentle voice. "Why do you cry?"
Faramir looked up and saw Queen Arwen smiling at him. Her Elven beauty surpassed all the fair maidens in Minas Tirith, except for Éowyn. But, then again, Éowyn was not of Minas Tirith. She was of Rohan.
A wild shield-maiden of Rohan, he thought. He remembered that day two months ago, when he had kissed her. He could almost hear the people say, "There goes the steward with a wild shield-maiden from the north!"
"'Tis nothing, my queen," Faramir said. They were silent as they looked out the window. Faramir could see the smoke of a thousand fireplaces, warming up to cook the evening meal.
Then Arwen spoke: "Are you thinking about someone special, Prince Faramir?"
Damn! How did she come so close? Faramir wondered. Surely she isn't from the House of Húrin?
Faramir opened his mouth, ready to say, "Nay." but he thought better of it. Everyone knows you do not lie to an Elf. "Perhaps, m'lady," he mumbled, finally. "Perhaps."
"Lady Éowyn?"
There are just some times where Faramir hated Elves and their ability to see into a mortal's soul. It was like their eyes would spill into your mind, picking up little details that have been shelved over the years. He saw no point in lying. So he told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
"Aye, m'lady. I am thinking of the fair Lady Éowyn, who is fairer than any flower that has blossomed in the Field of Pelennor," Faramir burst out.
Queen Arwen smiled knowingly. She took Faramir's arm and they strolled slowly down the stairs. "You seek to woo the lass?" Queen Arwen said.
"Aye." Faramir blushed redder than before. "Perhaps you could teach me a few paltry tricks, your ladyship. If that is within your league." Faramir pulled his arm out of Queen Arwen's grip. The queen turned and looked to the window, the sunset bathing her snow-white skin orange.
"I can teach you, Faramir." There was a twinkle in Queen Arwen's blue eyes. "But I won't. Every lady is different, Steward. To win the lady's blessed affection, you have to learn for yourself." Queen Arwen curtsied. "If you will excuse me, King Elessar is expecting me for supper."
Faramir watched the queen disappear around a corner. He rolled his sky-blue eyes. Women!
Some movement caught his eye. He saw Lady Éowyn walking briskly up the stone stairs. She did not see him, and he pretended not to see her.
