After the Storm 4
Eowyn rose early, visiting the stables, determined to restore her equilibrium with work. Now that a number of stray mounts had been brought in, she began to assess their health and bloodlines. Eowyn quickly decided that Rohirric mounts had best be sold to the Gondorians and soon, for the few mares left in Minas Tirith would be soon in season, and the remainder geldings, with not a single Gondorian stallion to be found.
This state of affairs greatly concerned Eowyn. Fortunately, her brother would return today, and with any luck, Eomer might have retained his magnificent stallion, Firefoot. If so, then perhaps she could convince her brother to forgo stud fees, and allow Firefoot to cover a majority of the Gondorian mares this season. Most of the mares appeared decently bred. Eowyn wandered over to the stallion barn, where the walls were higher and boxes larger, to select a box for her brother's mount. There she discovered a lone chestnut gelding, a weedy underbred thing with a coarse head, thin neck, knobby knees, and dished hooves. But when she approached the stall, the gelding turned to look at her with such a glint of intelligence in its eye, she smiled in pleasure.
"What mount is this?" she asked a passing stableboy as she scratched the gelding's chin. The horse stretched out its neck to her, huffing in enjoyment of her attentions.
"That's Lord Faramir's horse, m'lady."
"It is!" Eowyn was amazed. Surely Faramir rode a better mount no matter how intelligent this one was.
The boy was eager to relate the tale. "Aye, my lady. Well, His lordship never had a mount what's his, really, bein' a Ranger, and so when the order came to charge Osgiliath, the Lord comes in, and he looks around, and after a moment he walks up to old Sunny here and pats him, and says, 'I'll ride this one.' We tack Sunny up, and out rides the Lord Faramir and all the soldiers." This was said in a rush, and with all the enthusiasm of one who'd not yet had the chance to tell the tale himself. "And we all wait and wait, and nobody comes back to tell us if the soldiers won, and soon we start seeing the black army of Mordor marching up to the very gates. And right before the attack, the guards pull open the gate, and there's Sunny, coming home like the smart one he is, and he's dragging Lord Faramir along. The lord is nigh dead, but good old Sunny knows his job, and he knows to find his own stable, and so he carefully brings His Lordship home. And Prince Imrahil, well, he knows horses, that one does, and he takes up Lord Faramir, and as they go to take His Lordship up to the Houses of Healing, Prince Imrahil orders that someone bring Sunny up to the stables, and treat him real good, since Sunny's like to have saved His Lordship's life!"
Eowyn smiled and thanked the boy well for telling the tale. As the boy scurried off to continue his chores, Eowyn caressed the gelding. "Thank you, for bringing him home," she whispered. "Had you not, I cannot think how much worse the world would be." She caressed the horse, wondering at the weight on Faramir's heart, knowing he alone of all his command survived.
Sunny the gelding huffed and rubbed his poll against her shoulder, accepting the thanks as proper homage.
Faramir met with his archivists and Lord Hurin as his first duty of the day. They soon came to the conclusion that their best course of action was to perform a proper coronation ceremony, without any acknowledgement of the centuries of rule by stewards.
"I know it is sound reasoning," Hurin said, "but I cannot dismiss the obvious gratitude due the House of Hurin." He gave Faramir an ironic smile, for though the majordomo shared the name, Lord Hurin was not a member of the House of Hurin, the bloodline of the Stewards of Gondor.
But Faramir shook his head. "I am grateful only that the King returned when he was most needed, that Sauron is destroyed and that Gondor shall once again have a rightful ruler upon the throne." He dismissed the archivists, thanking them for their efforts in researching the information, and then returned to the conversation with Hurin. "Think you that naught should change?"
"No! No, I too am glad to see the King restored."
"Then we are well." Faramir stood and moved to the window, again contemplating the gardens. "Hurin, I am not suited to be Steward."
"On the contrary my lord, I think you are very much suited to it. More so than your brother, I daresay."
Faramir might have smiled, though the expression more resembled a pained grimace. "Perhaps. But not a ruling Steward. I have not the stomach for it."
"Did not you tell me that Lord Aragorn asked you to stay on as his steward, to assist in the ruling of the realm?"
"He did, but I'm minded to request that he relieve me of that duty."
Hurin met this pronouncement with silence. After a long time, he commented, "Now that peace is upon us, it may be that a man could be free to follow his own wishes." His tone indicated his reservations.
Faramir turned to the majordomo. "You think I flee my duties like some recalcitrant lad?"
"No, my lord. But I do think that perhaps you might wait and find out what sort of King Lord Aragorn may become, before making such decisions." With that tactful suggestion, Hurin rose and bowed himself out of the room.
Almost immediately, a guard came in to report that the armies of the West had been sighted on the road from Osgiliath.
"Good. Send a page with the word to Lady Eowyn." Faramir hurried towards the Steward's House to prepare for the imminent arrival.
Eowyn was on her way to the Citadel when a page found her, reporting that the armies were seen, and would soon arrive. She glanced at the sky, realizing they arrived early. But then, it was likely the men hardly rested at all the night before, being in sight of their home and loved ones. No doubt they got an early start in their eagerness to be home.
She promptly turned her path to the Houses of Healing, intending to wash herself quickly and dress appropriately for the occasion. She was unsure of the customs in Gondor, but in Rohan, a victorious company was met with finery and feasting. Eowyn herself intended to find a fine cup and finer ale with which to welcome her brother and King. Hurrying from the bathing chambers to her room, she discovered a trio of servants awaiting her. One of the women was faithful Tayriel.
"My lady!" the girl cried. "I am glad we found you in time." She waved at the older of the two other women. "This is my aunt Elsbeth. And Savia here is also a seamstress." Laid out on the bed were two gowns, one white with a very full skirt as if for riding, the second a formal gown of gold brocade so exquisite, Eowyn hardly dared to touch it.
"Come, we must try these on you," Elsbeth took control. The white dress was fitted first, and as young Savia quickly made alterations to it, Elsbeth took a more thorough fitting on the gold brocade. In the meantime, Tayriel sought out a large heavy cup for Eowyn's use.
"Where do these come from?" Eowyn asked.
"The white is for today's celebrations," Tayriel explained, errand successful. "It was found in the stores of the Citadel. We had heard the Riders call you the White Lady, thus we thought it would suit. The gold -" She hesitated, and Eowyn gave the girl a searching look. "'Tis your Coronation gown, my lady. The Lord Faramir ordered we make up new the finest gown we could for you." Eowyn flushed at the implication. Faramir was so kind, so good to her, to think of such things and order such a lovely gown for her. But could it be that he admired her more than as a friend? She resolved to find out as much as she could.
Soon, the white dress was finished, and Elsbeth and Savia departed with the gold. Tayriel stayed to help Eowyn with her hair, brushing it quickly but thoroughly.
"Tayriel, you have been long in service in the Citadel?"
"A few years, my lady."
"Hmm. Tell me, why is it that Lord Faramir is not wed? I find it odd."
Eowyn almost felt the girl smile behind her. "Lord Faramir had the command of Ithilien. He was rarely about the Citadel. 'Twas Lord Boromir who bore the brunt of Steward Denethor's speeches about heirs and bloodlines and duties to one's heritage."
Eowyn made some acknowledging noise. The girl said nothing about arrangements or attachments, and were there any to know of, a gossiping household staff would have heard it.
"There, my lady. Now with the blue mantle, you will be a vision to the army indeed." Tayriel offered a silvered glass to Eowyn, to view and approve the simple styling. Braids from the sides held the rest back, worked with white ribbons.
"My thanks, Tayriel." She rose, smoothing the skirts of the white gown. They were full enough that she might ride in them. And on the heels of that thought, an apprentice tapped on the door, to say that the lord Faramir awaited her outside the Houses, just as she donned the blue mantle Faramir had given her.
Puzzled, Eowyn took up the cup and made her way out. There stood Faramir, resplendent in a deep green surcote she clearly remembered selecting for him, with the reins of that disreputable gelding in one hand, and those of a fine bay mare in the other.
Faramir felt the breath leave his body when he saw Lady Eowyn emerge from the Houses. A vision in white and blue, her golden hair shining, Eowyn seemed to him a gift of the Valar, a goddess, a legendary elven beauty come to life. He could only stare as she approached, his talent for words utterly failing him. She wore his mother's mantle, and his heart swelled with love for her, that she would honor him by doing so.
When she reached him, he finally could breathe in, as if he could draw in the essence of her. Everything about this woman, from the spark in her eyes to her bitten nails enchanted him. He dared not woo her, for he still suspected there was some understanding between her and Lord Aragorn, but how he wished for that fortune for himself.
"My lord?" She asked at last, and he remembered himself.
"Will you ride with me to the gates, my lady? To greet our people returned victorious?"
Her face lit with a smile, and she quickly handed him a large cup she bore, the easier to mount the mare. Faramir had hoped to discover if her own horse survived the Pelennor Fields, but time grew short, and he simply selected as well bred a mare as he could find. As she walked by his horse, she gave the gelding a fond scratch.
"Would you prefer the gelding, my lady," he asked, but Eowyn shook her head.
"No, thank you, though Sunny and I are well acquainted." She mounted the mare with no visible effort, and took back the cup from him. "I must stop to find ale. Mead would be better, but ale will do."
Faramir found his seat atop his gelding and replied, "There is a brewer on the fourth level who can provide us a bottle of honey wine." He recognized her request from customs of Rohan he had read about.
They rode quickly down, pausing only to collect the mead. They timed their trip well, for the streets were filling with people eager to welcome the armies home. The leaders of the army of the West were in shouting distance of the gates when Faramir drew his mount to a halt before the great statue of Atanatar II Alcarin, indicating Eowyn to stop on his right, a position of honor. She did not seem to notice though, her eyes fixed on the forms approaching, some mounted and hundreds afoot. Faramir nodded to his cousins Amrothos and Lothiriel nearby, the lady appearing likely to leap from her palfrey and run to the still gate-less arch to hasten the arrival.
At last, Lord Aragorn, accompanied by Eomer-King, Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin, Prince Imrahil and several mounted officers of both Gondor and Rohan, entered through the great arch, and a tremendous cheer rose from the crowds around the great square, flowers flung into the air, and hundreds of hands raised to welcome the army home. Lord Aragorn rode right up to Faramir, and the Steward could see the King fought to keep a serious expression on his face.
"Welcome home, my King," Faramir said loudly and clearly, that all might hear and recognize their new ruler.
"I thank you," Aragorn replied, finally loosing the battle with solemnity. A grin spread across his face. "'Tis good to be home!" His smile seemed to be the signal, for the foot soldiers surged inwards, merging with the crowds in the city, cries of relief and joy filling the air.
Faramir caught a glimpse of Eowyn slipping from her mount and approaching a stern and doughty Rohirrim warrior, cup outstretched. He could not hear the words, but the man accepted the cup and drank deeply, then promptly dropped it and lifted Eowyn into the air, roaring something in Rohirric in a glad voice. Faramir was then distracted by the sudden appearance of Mithrandir, who greeted the King and his companions with pleasure. The whirlwind of happy reunions continued. Faramir was embraced by his uncle Imrahil, the prince laughing as he was soon dragged away by his children.
A sudden pull on his coat drew Faramir's attention down, to find Peregrin beside him. With a smile, Faramir knelt before his Citadel Guard. "I am glad to see you are well, Peregrin."
Unabashed, the hobbit flung his arms around Faramir, hugging the bigger man as hard as he could. "Oh, friend Faramir, it IS good to see you looking well. Wait to you hear the tale. I killed a troll."
"You did?"
"Aye, and so Merry cannot claim all the glory, stabbing wraiths and all that, no matter what he says." Faramir glanced around for the other hobbit, and spotted Meriadoc with Eowyn and the warrior who surely must be Eomer-King.
"I look forward to the tale, Peregrin." Faramir promised to hear all, then made his way back to the side of the King. For a brief moment, as he watched his uncle present his cousins to Lord Aragorn, Faramir felt a strange disconnection, as if he were watching the performance of mummers before him. Those that rode together to the Gate embraced each other and those who waited behind in the City. People cheered and danced in the streets. And yet, the Steward of Gondor stood alone in a small circle of silence. Then the moment passed as Aragorn turned to him, smiling.
"Pray tell me, good Faramir, that at the least, we weary Walkers might find a bath and a bit of sustenance soon."
With a small smile for his King's jest, Faramir replied, "If you would ride up, my King, the Citadel awaits. Baths, clean garments, food, and soft beds are prepared."
"Och, laddie, now that's what we like to hear!" the dwarf bellowed, slapping Faramir's back with an excess of both cheer and force. The Steward staggered and winced, the blow sending pain through his wounds for the first time in days.
Aragorn caught the look and laid a hand on Faramir's arm. "You are healing well?" he asked.
"I am, my lord. I was not properly braced for Lord Gimli's…. appreciation."
"Dwarves," a soft voice came from Faramir's left, speaking in the elvish tongue, "can be careless in their affections." Faramir turned to meet the humorous smile of Prince Legolas. "But that does not mean they are fickle in their loyalties."
Faramir paused before replying, awed at his first sight of one of the Fair Folk. "If I have earned the loyalty of one as renowned as Lord Gimli, I should count myself fortunate the rest of my days," he answered in the same tongue.
Legolas's smile broadened. "Your accent in atrocious, friend."
Faramir was initially mortified, but beside him Aragorn chuckled. "Legolas only teases those he likes, Faramir, fear not." Swept along by the remnants of the Fellowship, accepted into their circle, Faramir traveled with them up the levels of Minas Tirith, until at last they surrendered their mounts and walked through the tunnel to the Citadel courtyard.
There, Aragorn paused, a satisfied smile upon his face. Next to him, Faramir noticed his King's halt, then turned to look where the King did. He gave a sudden wordless cry of surprise that drew the attention of all.
"What is it, lad?" Gimli asked.
"The Tree," Faramir whispered. He glanced at Aragorn in amazement, but quickly turned back to the White Tree. "The Tree blooms at last." Nearly a dozen translucent blooms had opened, and more buds could be seen decorating the branches of the seemingly dead tree.
Faramir went to his knee before Aragorn in homage, unable to articulate all that he felt at that moment, seeing true proof of the Crown Renewed, the King Returned, and Gondor restored. Aragorn did not leave him kneeling long, but quickly drew the Steward up and embraced him, before leading Faramir past the Tree and towards the King's House.
"You did say baths, did you not?" Aragorn asked as they walked.
Eowyn could not help but smile at her brother as they rode up the levels, and her smile only widened at his bemused expression. "What puzzles you so, my brother?" she asked in their native tongue.
"I cannot remember the last time I saw you smile like that," Eomer replied, and to Eowyn's amazement, his voice was choked with tears.
She immediately reached across their mounts to grasp his hand in hers. As children, they had been as close as twins, for all that Eomer was three years older. She had thought that he had not realized the darkness under which she had fallen in the years of Theoden's illness, but she should have had faith in her beloved brother. Now they smiled at each other, communicating in their silent way, reassuring each other of health and happiness.
And if a corner of Eowyn's heart was reserved still in grief, she hid it well.
She had seen how well Faramir had been greeted by the King and others, and it warmed her heart to see him so appreciated, for she had feared that with no immediate loved ones to welcome home, there might be some awkwardness for her friend. But instead, she'd seen him embraced by the King, and his uncle the Prince, and even speaking with Peregrin.
Arriving at the tunnel to the seventh level, they dismounted. Eowyn spotted her young stableboy, and immediately commandeered him. "Here, boy. Take charge of Firefoot and this good lady. Do put Firefoot near to Sunny, would you?"
The boy bobbed a deep bow to her, a clear expression of worship on his face. "As you command, my lady." Taking the horses, he led them away with clucks and kind words, as Eomer chuckled.
"It seems you have made a conquest, sister."
Eowyn lightly struck her brother in the arm, a response to teasing from their childhood. With a laugh, Eomer drew her close and kept his arm around her as they walked up the tunnel.
Most of the grand personages had already made their way to the King's House, Faramir among them Eowyn assumed. She did see Prince Imrahil with his children making their way to the Steward's House, and to her surprise, the Princess Lothiriel waved merrily to her.
"Who is the lady?" Eomer asked.
"The Princess Lothiriel, daughter to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth."
"Imrahil is an excellent man," Eomer announced as they walked to the King's House. Eowyn had arranged her brother's rooms there. "He is the finest rider I've seen in Gondor, and his troops, the Swan Knights, the best cavalry in Aragorn's kingdom. I'm minded to offer stud fees for Imrahil's grey stallion. He's a very fine mover."
Eowyn, knowing every detail of the organization of the King's House, as she'd had the ordering of it, conducted her brother to a suite on the second level. Knowing his feelings about any height above that of his horse's back, Eomer's rooms overlooked the gardens, which only now began to brighten in the restored sunlight, rather than the steep drop to the City's sixth level. A bathing chamber was attached to the room, and the tub was already filled with warm water. Eowyn waited as her brother bathed, examining the embroidery on the green tunic laid out on the table. The seamstresses had worked themselves to the bone, and Eowyn made herself a promise to see that all were rewarded somehow. She intended to speak to Faramir about it.
The thought of Lord Faramir drew her mind back to the moment she'd seen him outside the Houses of Healing. It had been the first moment she'd seen him since she'd fled his presence the day before. He did not allude to that incident at all, but merely invited her to ride with him. There had been a moment, when she'd first approached him, where his eyes seemed to rove over her, and not in the way that Grima Wormtongue had done so, with lust and possessiveness in his gaze, but with admiration and reverence, that made Eowyn feel like the highest Lady upon Arda. Trailing her fingers along the velvet, in her mind's eye it took on a darker green, like the color of Faramir's surcote, and most unlike herself, she imagined touching him in place of her brother's tunic.
She had gleaned from Tayriel's comments earlier that no intentions between Faramir and Lothiriel had ever been discussed in the Citadel, though it was possible that any understanding between them had been kept secret. Part of Eowyn hoped that perhaps there was nothing between them, given the way Faramir had looked at her before.
She suddenly paused, lifting her hand at a surprising thought. Faramir had no idea of her regard for him. Eowyn had made a habit of reserved expression, the better to protect herself from Wormtongue. Whenever that evil man had seen that his words affected her, he would push her further and further. So in defense, Eowyn made certain to keep her emotions hidden. Even yesterday, she had struggled to show Faramir that she appreciated his sympathy and support, determined as she had been to hide her love for him.
She could hear Eomer finishing his ablutions, and wished suddenly for a sister, her mother, any woman that she might trust enough to confide in, to ask advice. Gathering the new garments, she held them out for Eomer when he emerged, flushed and with golden hair gleaming. He thanked her and dressed quickly, planting a brotherly kiss on her cheek when she moved behind him to brush his hair.
"There is a feast prepared for the fifth hour, and the celebrations are likely to last into the night. As the coronation will be a solemn affair, according to Gondor's traditions, this evening is like to be as festive as one of our own celebrations," Eowyn informed her brother, "or so the maids tell me. Barrel upon barrel of ale has been brought up. It's not as robust as our own -- these Gondorians prefer wine from the south."
Eomer tipped his head back to smile at her. "I am glad to hear you speak so warmly, and see you smile so freely, that I shall drink every cup to Bema in thanks." Moved by her brother's love for her, Eowyn embraced him tightly. "So tell me, sister, what or whom has affected this transformation, for when we left for the Gate, I feared the dark shadow might never leave you."
Eowyn sat next to Eomer, leaning her head against his strong shoulder. "Brother, in truth, I did not think I would ever escape my despair. But I made a friend here, and through his support and kindness, I have found my pride and honor again, and a measure of happiness to sustain me."
"His?" Eomer asked, his voice mockingly stern.
"Yes, his, brother. The Lord Faramir has been most kind and attentive. And moreover, he has entrusted me to act as his adjutant," she showed him the Steward's signet, "and gave over the ordering of this house and the Citadel to my care. He also had me supervise the matters of their horses, and I must remember to speak to you about that, for I think we should consider selling some of the herds to Gondor, and perhaps you would let Firefoot cover some of the mares here? A number will come into season shortly."
"Enough, enough!" Eomer cried, laughing. "Truly, the Steward has worked wonders, for I see you have not only regained your strength, but your single-mindedness as well." Laughing together, the King of Rohan and his sister made their way to the salons of the King's House, where the triumphant nobles of the day were gathered.
But after a moment, as Eomer joked with Aragorn, and others milled about, talking and laughing, Eowyn noticed one figure missing from the happy gathering. She did not see Faramir anywhere.
Slipping away, she made her way out of the King's House. She went first to the small office, but it was empty. As she left the hall, a voice called out to her.
The portly majordomo, Lord Hurin she remembered he was called, was nearby. "My lady," he greeted her, bowing deeply.
"My lord." She curtsied briefly. "Have you seen Lord Faramir?" she asked.
The lord Hurin hesitated. "I have not spoken with the Lord Steward since this morning, my lady."
"Oh. Well, thank you." Eowyn left the portly majordomo behind, wondering at his wording. Perhaps he had seen Faramir, but didn't want to tell her. Could Faramir be avoiding her for some reason?
It had been a thoughtless thing for Gimli to say, but the dwarf could be forgiven for not realizing the impact of his words. A careless comment about Boromir, surely meant as a jest, yet the words had pierced Faramir like the arrows that the Healers had removed from his flesh. He couldn't even remember the exact wording now, having immediately removed himself from the King's House under some false pretence. He'd made some excuse and left, fairly certain that no one had noticed particularly.
Faramir found himself standing in the doorway of Boromir's room. The chambers had been kept clean, but elements of his brother's inherent sloppiness still pervaded the space. Only here did Boromir ever relax. On those rare occasions where both sons of Denethor were in residence, and no formal event required their presence, they would lounge in this room, playing games of strategy on the floor before the great hearth, joking and wrestling, and carrying on.
Faramir staggered forward in to the dark room, no fire crackling in the hearth now. "Oh my brother." he gasped, falling to his knees beside the huge bed. He buried his face against the bedclothes, but no sound of sobs broke the silence, only the gasps of a man who wishes to sob, yet cannot. Even now, Faramir could not give voice to his grief. The expectation of his father's reprisal still hovered over him, and he could not but doubt his own every move, as if awaiting the summons to that small office and the inevitable disapproval from Denethor.
"How am I to bear this?" Faramir asked the darkness, as if the shade of Boromir might provide some answer.
Eowyn stood staring at the Tree of Gondor. Now miraculously blooming, the Tree seemed to give off a soft glow in the dimming light of the evening hours. She had not been able to find Faramir.
"My lady," a soft voice came from behind her. Eowyn turned to find the Princess Lothiriel standing nearby. "Lady Eowyn," Lothiriel began, coming closer. "I hope that we might become friends? There are few ladies of rank these days in Gondor, and none others to match your rank in Rohan, I am given to understand. It would be a comfort to have another lady with which to enjoy these celebrations."
Eowyn knew not how to respond to such a speech. Suspicious, thinking that Lothiriel perhaps meant to mock her, she replied, "I have little time for frivolous pursuits. As Adjutant, I must be about those duties given to me. And too, my brother the King will wish to leave soon for Rohan. There is much to be done to restore our lands."
"Oh." Lothiriel seemed taken aback. "I am sorry, my lady, if I offended. I thought -- but it is nothing." She started to leave, then suddenly turned again. "Lady Eowyn? Are you in love with my cousin?"
"What?" Eowyn gasped, shocked by the blunt question from a woman that seemed to project such courtly manners.
"I only ask, because you've been so cold to me, and I thought that perhaps you felt jealousy at Faramir's kind affection for me. But be assured, it is only the indulgent warmth of a gentle man towards a much younger cousin." Lothiriel giggled, "And in truth, he is very much in love with you."
"What!" Eowyn could not seem to find any other words to respond.
Lothiriel giggled again, and linking her arm through Eowyn's, led the shocked Shieldmaiden to a bench along the edge of the courtyard. "Tis too true," Lothiriel confided. "My brother and I are quite certain of it. But you must tell me quickly if you do not feel any regard for Faramir, for then I shall have to work to turn his thoughts and heart away from you." She paused, and then went on in a much more serious tone, "He has been too hurt, in life and in losses. I fear my cousin may be wounded in ways I could not even understand. But he looks at you, and I see something in his eyes I've only seen when my brother Elphir looks at his wife and his son. Something I assume my father felt when my mother still lived." She stopped, waiting for Eowyn's response.
Still unsettled by the suddenness of the conversation, Eowyn had to collect her thoughts. "I am not given to such declarations. I feel …. a very great regard for Lord Faramir." Yet something must have shone through her expression, for the princess began to smile at her.
"I am glad. Faramir deserves all the happiness in the world, as I am sure you do as well. It would be good to have even more joy to celebrate, would it not?"
At that moment, the criers of the Citadel began calling the people to the Celebration Feast that Eowyn herself had ordered. People poured out of the King's House, as nobles began arriving through the tunnel. Almost unnoticed, a lone figure separated from the group crossing the courtyard from King's House to Great Hall, and hurried towards the Steward's House. But before the figure could reach it, another lone man exited the Steward's House. Eowyn saw immediately that the new person was Faramir. She had checked the Steward's House, but to be sure she did not know every part of it. She watched, recognizing Lord Aragorn, as the two men met. Faramir bowed, and made some comment, but Aragorn only grasped the Steward's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, and drew Faramir towards the Great Hall.
"Come," Lothiriel said, rising. "We should hurry. It would not do to leave the Hall without beautiful ladies to adorn it." She smiled again at Eowyn's scandalized expression. "I will bet you a new necklace my father makes a similar comment the moment we enter."
Drawn in by the princess's merry demeanor, Eowyn replied, "Make it a necklace and a dagger that my brother beats him to it."
Lord Aragorn ignored tradition and seated himself a few chairs to the right of the center seat. Legolas and Mithrandir promptly sat to Aragorn's left side, between him and the High Seat, as Gimli and Eomer took the right. That left the center seat open. Faramir frowned at this breach of etiquette. He was certain the intended arrangement had Aragorn in the center seat, the future King seated in the position of power. He had to struggle to keep his expression still as Pippin claimed the center seat, starting up some tale to Mithrandir, and Merry clambered into the seat just to Pippin's left, the seat that would normally be for the Heir, or the Steward's Heir.
"Plans are for naught, if execution be faulty," Amrothos said in Faramir's ear. He stood just behind his cousin, observing the seating rearrangement over Faramir's shoulder. "I do believe Lord Aragorn is attempting to make a point."
"What point do you suppose that is?" Faramir asked. He knew Amrothos to be a cunning observer of mankind.
"Perhaps that he is not yet King? That he does not wish to be so hasty in his claims. That he prefers a certain level of informality. Look you," Amrothos indicated the future King as several courtiers bowed before him. "He asks their names, and sees who is worthy, and who is a toady."
Faramir could not restrain a sound of amusement for Amrothos's assessment. The parade of nobles of Gondor went on, each introducing himself before Aragorn, and either greeted politely yet distantly, or greeted warmly. Faramir knew which received warm treatment -- he had been careful to send such vital information to Lord Aragorn the day before, and was relieved to see that Aragorn had clearly read and absorbed the information.
Suddenly, the activity was halted. Lady Eowyn and Princess Lothiriel had entered, approaching the high table. Both curtsied before Aragorn, then Eomer leaned forward to make some comment. Whatever it was, both ladies laughed, and Eowyn said something to Lothiriel that made the younger lady smile broadly.
"Lothiriel has gotten her claws into Lady Eowyn!" Amrothos mock-wailed. "The Valar preserve us!"
"You are more like to see Lothiriel with a sword than Lady Eowyn devastating an array of merchants." Faramir replied with his eyes fixed on the Lady of Rohan. She still wore the white gown and his mother's blue mantle. Then the lady turned, and for a moment, all Arda disappeared for Faramir, because her eyes met his, and a smile graced her lips. Then she turned, and made for the seat across from her brother. Lothiriel took the chair to Eowyn's left, and Imrahil sat beside Lothiriel.
"Come, let us join my father," Amrothos said.
"You go. The table is unbalanced. I shall take my normal seat." Faramir crossed the floor, nodding respectfully to Aragorn, Eomer, and Mithrandir, to seat himself three chairs to the left of center. That put an empty space between himself and Merry, where Lord Hurin normally sat. Denethor's table had been an exercise in power politics. Denethor sat center, with Boromir to his immediate left, as Heir. To his right was whatever honored guest necessitated a formal arrangement, most often Faramir's uncle Prince Imrahil. Next to Boromir sat Lord Hurin, and then Faramir. The arrangement was subtly insulting to Faramir, though the younger son never once voiced his awareness of that fact. To place a son, no matter second or twenty second, below the majordomo, was almost to say that Faramir's rank as son was less important than his place as a Captain of Gondor. To have seated Faramir at a lower table would have been even more blatant, but even Denethor did not risk public opinion so openly.
Faramir heard the quiet shift of conversation from other parts of the table. Lady Eowyn had ingeniously rearranged the seating of the nobles' tables, creating a large square with both outer and inner seating. Therefore, there were more seats in the traditionally 'higher' positions, a seating arrangement more suited to informal Rohan than traditional Gondor, but Faramir noted that those that counted seemed to approve of the new arrangement. He made careful note of those whose expressions indicated dissatisfaction, and how often they spoke with their fellows, and how quietly.
Eowyn had been certain that Faramir would join her at the table, but instead, he seemed to seat himself apart, as if disassociating himself from the crowd of returned heroes. She frowned, briefly concerned at the perceived separation, until a noble of clear Numenorean blood greeted the Steward, and was invited to sit.
"The heir of Lord Forlong, who fell before the City," Imrahil commented quietly, proving he too had noticed his nephew's separation. "A brilliant fellow, devoted to his father and lands. He was close companion to Boromir in their youth."
"There is some consolation, that not all who were beloved, fell," Lothiriel replied quietly.
Amrothos gave his sister a sad smile, and rising, moved to reseat himself in the empty chair between Merry and Faramir.
Soon the meal was served, and for all that the fare was simple, it was hearty and well prepared, and conversations became scattered as feasters turned their attention to the meal. In time though, needs were filled, and ale flowed freely as conversations turned lively again. Laughter rang in the Hall, and Eowyn began to relax as the evening progressed.
Soon, musicians began to play, and as plates were removed, tables were cheerfully set aside to allow room for dancing. A sprightly tune moved Eomer to draw his sister onto the floor, and soon the room was awhirl with movement. Gimli too danced with Eowyn, and her hand was claimed separately by Pippin and Merry, by Prince Imrahil and by Prince Amrothos. During one stately piece, Legolas deigned to conduct her around the floor, and as they danced, Eowyn caught brief sight of Faramir, staring at her from a knot of Gondorian nobles.
His heart ached within his chest at the sight of her, smiling and laughing as she spun about the floor. But all too soon, other couples impeded his view, and Faramir returned his attention to the nobles before him.
Not long after the meal had finished, Faramir had risen to move among the lords of Gondor assembled, speaking smoothly and politely with all. Using all his gifts of diplomacy and insight, he soothed offended feelings, subtly bolstered the King's standing in their eyes, and reinforced the idea of the Crown Restored.
Finally released by one garrulous Councilor, Faramir took the opportunity to refill his goblet with wine and water.
"A working meal, I see, my cousin," Amrothos said to him, joining him at the sideboard.
"Necessary. I have been working since the Dark Tower fell," Faramir replied ruefully.
"Take an evening, then! I will fetch Lothiriel for you to steer around the floor a bit. Or perhaps, another lady would suit better?"
Faramir only returned his cousin's sly expression with a still and calm one of his own. The music changed, and he turned his attention back to the floor. It was at that moment that Lord Aragorn extended his hand to Lady Eowyn, and led her to the floor. Faramir's heart sank to see them, the noble future King and wondrous Lady. Clearly, Aragorn was well familiar with the steps of the dance, and the pair moved with grace. Faramir glanced about the hall, taking in the expression of pleasure on Eomer-King, the approving glances of the Gondorian nobles. Rising, Faramir said, "Excuse me, cousin, I am reminded of several orders I must see to." His hand tight about his cup, Faramir swiftly escaped the hall.
In the cooler breezes of the night, he crossed the courtyard to stand by the retaining wall not far from his own House. There, he swallowed a great deal of his wine, wishing he had not watered it so sensibly.
Though the night was still, the stone of the City muffled the sounds of revelry, and so Faramir was greatly startled when Prince Legolas appeared by his side.
"Peace, friend," the elf said, holding up a hand. With a small smirk for Faramir's surprise, Legolas continued, "Few there are that can hear the approach of the Elves, and most of those, Elves themselves."
The elven prince's smile widened, and Faramir realized that a common elven jest must be buried in the comment, but he was not of a mood to inquire.
They stood in silence for a while, each gazing upon the stars.
Finally, it was Prince Legolas that spoke first. "There is a Lady," he said quietly.
"Your Highness?"
"There is a Lady," the elf repeated. "He thinks her fled, sailing to the West." He turned to Faramir, his eyes alight with sly amusement. "He will be surprised." The prince walked away, leaving the Steward to stare after him, wondering if he dared interpret that unsubtle message.
Eowyn clung to her civility, using Lothiriel as an example, through several dances with Gondorian nobles, until the majority of revelers began to depart in the growing dark. She reclaimed her ale from Eomer, drinking deep.
"You are well again," Eomer said, smiling at his sister with love in his eyes. She embraced him fondly. "Come," he said, "Introduce me to this paragon that has restored my sister to the Light!"
Eowyn laughed, but could not see Lord Faramir in the hall. She longed to see him, had hoped that he would claim her hand for a dance, but he had not. Quickly, she noted Lothiriel leaving on her brother's arm.
"Did you meet Princess Lothiriel?" she asked her brother.
To her amazement, Eomer flushed before replying. "I did, her father introduced us. She is," he hesitated, "a very lovely girl."
Such a statement was so different than her brother's usually bawdy assessments of women in his acquaintance that Eowyn chuckled. Before she could reply, a maid curtsied before her.
"My lady, your things have been moved to the King's House, to the suite adjoining His Majesty Eomer-King."
"On whose authority?" Eowyn asked, startled.
"His Lordship, the Steward, my lady," the girl replied before hurrying away.
Eomer frowned. "That is not presumptuous? I would have you near to me of course, but to move your chambers and not discuss it?"
Eowyn shook her head. "No dear brother. He is merely making sure I am comfortable, and do not have to return to the Houses of Healing for rest."
"You were still residing in the Houses? But you seem so much healed?" Concern colored Eomer's voice. "I thought you would have chambers here in the Citadel."
"Oh Eomer, you know that is not proper, when I had no guardian here. These Gondorians, they are very concerned with propriety. Had I taken residence in the King's House, they'd have me wed to Aragorn by now!"
"I had thought you had chambers in the Steward's House."
Eowyn could think of no response to Eomer's assessment. She looked at him, surprised. Finally, it was Eomer who spoke. "I am sorry, my sister. I had thought - you spoke warmly of Lord Faramir. I mean, I do not mean - "
"Peace, brother." She laid a hand on his arm affectionately. "Come, let us retire for the evening."
Faramir watched from the shadows of the Steward's House, noting carefully who left together, and overhearing what conversations he could. The information would be vital to King Aragorn, used to consolidate his rule and forestall any dissention.
So it was that he observed Lady Eowyn and Eomer-King leaving the hall. He watched as the two golden haired Rohirrim crossed the courtyard, their voices too low for him to discern. Lady Eowyn drew the blue mantle closer about her frame, and Faramir envied the cloth for its warming embrace.