A/N I apologize for the long delay. The story has me a little stuck and my workload increased for a month or so. Should have more time to write from now on. Suggestions welcome.
At Daybreak the young people left from Minas Tirith riding with little rest until they made camp that evening. Before leaving the city, a small fuss had been made about there being 'no escort' until the suddenly red-faced servant realized that there was no man more suited to protect Eowyn's honor than her scowling brother.
The night at camp was spent in playing of games and talk. The moon rose high over Eowyn's head, and she moved away toward the fire. The men were beginning a drinking game.
She lay down and began to dose.
"Are you content, dear lady?"
Eowyn's eyes opened. "Yes, lord."
"That pleases me." Faramir smiled, stoking the fire, "I cannot help to recall the contrast with moments we shared last year," he said softly.
Eowyn sat up and looked at him. "Then I was often left alone. Now I am not." She lay back down.
He nodded, suddenly sad, and added a log. The fire crackled in turn, sending sparks scattering and blinking into nothingness.
"But then," Eowyn continued, returning his attention to her, "I am also pleased to be released from my Uncle's care. I did not mind serving him, but could not bear seeing all my works and concerns wasted, and knowing that I could not help him."
"And now your works are not wasted?"
Eowyn nodded, "I have you to thank for that. I would like to return to Edoras, sooner than later, and do for my Uncle as I could."
Faramir was beginning to understand her mind, and knew it best not to enlighten her of the truth. He folded his cape under her head, creating a pillow. She murmured her thanks.
Then he stoked the fire again. After a time, he looked down at her. She had fallen asleep.
He went to join the men.
The sword rang as Eowyn pulled it from its scabbard. Delicately she placed it upon her upturned palm and offered it to Faramir.
Faramir inspected the sword closely, noting the modifications for her slight frame, and nodded.
"A fine piece," he told Eowyn, "I would loathe to meet the wrong end of this sword," he commented.
"Pray, do not mock, my lord," she said, eyes downcast.
"Nay, I speak in earnest," Faramir contradicted. "You have studied the craft, am I right?"
Eowyn replied, "The women of my country learned long ago that those without swords can still die upon them."
Faramir nodded solemnly, and continued to inspect the sword saying absently, "Perhaps we could spar sometime."
Eowyn looked at him eagerly, "My lord, do ladies of Gondor spar?"
He smiled, "Some do. Those with sense do. Yet none speak of it and men have long learned to feign ignorance at feminine dabblings into skills reserved to men."
Eowyn laughed, "I thought that was only a sport women were expected to practice," she nodded toward the tent where loud snoring told of the previous night, "not speaking of what we know the other sex does."
Faramir leaned in his voice serious, but mirthful, "Don't tell my brother that I gave away the secret!"
"Nay, man of Gondor, I will take it to my grave." she teased. Then her face grew sober. "I am pleased that I may spar, my lord."
"Pleased," he repeated, ponderous once more. He moved the sword once more through the air. "It is my sincere wish that you will never have to use this in battle." He handed the sword to her, "But until that time of peace comes, know that we have many masters with whom you may train."
Eowyn smiled and thanked him, grateful that he did not judge her masculine sport. More open he was than others. How happy to have such a man as her husband.
It was only that night when it occurred to her that his ease with her knowledge of the sword could be inspired not by uncommon tolerance, but by necessity.
At Daybreak the young people left from Minas Tirith riding with little rest until they made camp that evening. Before leaving the city, a small fuss had been made about there being 'no escort' until the suddenly red-faced servant realized that there was no man more suited to protect Eowyn's honor than her scowling brother.
The night at camp was spent in playing of games and talk. The moon rose high over Eowyn's head, and she moved away toward the fire. The men were beginning a drinking game.
She lay down and began to dose.
"Are you content, dear lady?"
Eowyn's eyes opened. "Yes, lord."
"That pleases me." Faramir smiled, stoking the fire, "I cannot help to recall the contrast with moments we shared last year," he said softly.
Eowyn sat up and looked at him. "Then I was often left alone. Now I am not." She lay back down.
He nodded, suddenly sad, and added a log. The fire crackled in turn, sending sparks scattering and blinking into nothingness.
"But then," Eowyn continued, returning his attention to her, "I am also pleased to be released from my Uncle's care. I did not mind serving him, but could not bear seeing all my works and concerns wasted, and knowing that I could not help him."
"And now your works are not wasted?"
Eowyn nodded, "I have you to thank for that. I would like to return to Edoras, sooner than later, and do for my Uncle as I could."
Faramir was beginning to understand her mind, and knew it best not to enlighten her of the truth. He folded his cape under her head, creating a pillow. She murmured her thanks.
Then he stoked the fire again. After a time, he looked down at her. She had fallen asleep.
He went to join the men.
The sword rang as Eowyn pulled it from its scabbard. Delicately she placed it upon her upturned palm and offered it to Faramir.
Faramir inspected the sword closely, noting the modifications for her slight frame, and nodded.
"A fine piece," he told Eowyn, "I would loathe to meet the wrong end of this sword," he commented.
"Pray, do not mock, my lord," she said, eyes downcast.
"Nay, I speak in earnest," Faramir contradicted. "You have studied the craft, am I right?"
Eowyn replied, "The women of my country learned long ago that those without swords can still die upon them."
Faramir nodded solemnly, and continued to inspect the sword saying absently, "Perhaps we could spar sometime."
Eowyn looked at him eagerly, "My lord, do ladies of Gondor spar?"
He smiled, "Some do. Those with sense do. Yet none speak of it and men have long learned to feign ignorance at feminine dabblings into skills reserved to men."
Eowyn laughed, "I thought that was only a sport women were expected to practice," she nodded toward the tent where loud snoring told of the previous night, "not speaking of what we know the other sex does."
Faramir leaned in his voice serious, but mirthful, "Don't tell my brother that I gave away the secret!"
"Nay, man of Gondor, I will take it to my grave." she teased. Then her face grew sober. "I am pleased that I may spar, my lord."
"Pleased," he repeated, ponderous once more. He moved the sword once more through the air. "It is my sincere wish that you will never have to use this in battle." He handed the sword to her, "But until that time of peace comes, know that we have many masters with whom you may train."
Eowyn smiled and thanked him, grateful that he did not judge her masculine sport. More open he was than others. How happy to have such a man as her husband.
It was only that night when it occurred to her that his ease with her knowledge of the sword could be inspired not by uncommon tolerance, but by necessity.