After the Storm 5
The doors to the Council chamber burst open, crashing against the walls that framed them. Striding from the room came Lord Aragorn and Faramir in step, the former serious and solemn, the latter furious. Swiftly on their heels came Eomer-King, Prince Imrahil, and Lord Hurin.
The group crossed the courtyard at speed, entering the King's House and headed directly for the rear salon that Aragorn favored.
"Ale! Wine! Mead!" Eomer roared at the startled maids.
"Which, my lord?" one asked in a frightened voice.
"All of them! Any of them!" Eomer shouted back, before slamming the door of the salon shut.
Aragorn seated himself with relief, but Faramir began to pace.
"I can not believe it! I had thought that all resistance had been eliminated." He turned to Aragorn, his expression supplicating. "My lord, you must know that I flatly refuse to even discuss the idea, let alone support it." A timid tap at the door preceded a trio of maids who brought bottles and goblets and departed hastily. Free to speak candidly again, Faramir continued, "Lord Alcar is mad if he thinks this a sensible option." He went to one knee before Aragorn. "My lord, you must know how sorry I am."
"Peace, Faramir." Aragorn said, smiling. "I know you support my claim to the throne. You've only been rearranging the City in preparation for days now! I imagine you want me crowned and seated so you can escape to Ithilien as soon as possible. Not that I would gainsay that impulse."
The door opened again, admitting Legolas and Gimli. "What has happened? You have disturbed the staff," the elf asked.
"One Lord Alcar, with a surprising number of supporters, has proposed that Aragorn has no right to the throne of Gondor, being Isildur's Heir, not Anarion's, and that Lord Faramir should take up the mantle of Ruling Steward, or the Crown itself, whichever suits," Imrahil succinctly explained.
"Did he now?" Gimli said, amused.
"That he had any supporters at all is disconcerting," observed Lord Hurin.
"Politics," Eomer pronounced, disgust in his voice.
"It's utter madness, of course," Faramir agreed with the King of Rohan. Then a hard expression stole across his face. "But I know how to ensure it stays quiet." He crossed the room to a desk, and drawing about a piece of parchment, began to write.
"What is that?" Aragorn asked.
"Lord Alcar's father in law is about to find out some rather unpleasant information about the funds he entrusted to his son in law." Faramir replied as he wrote.
All around the room were shocked. "No, Faramir," Aragorn said quickly, halting the Steward's work. "No," he continued more softly. "We cannot begin like that."
"Kicking the horse only encourages it," Eomer agreed.
All in the room had grown to feel a close companionship over the last few days. Once Lord Frodo had awoken the morning after the hosts arrived home, the heroes of the War had come alive, and through periods of work, friendly bouts of sparring, and times of leisure, all had learned to respect one another. Faramir's sudden plan to blackmail the councilman not only startled but surprised them all.
"That was Denethor's way, nephew," Imrahil said, his voice gently chiding, and Faramir covered his face with his hands.
"Forgive me, my lords," he begged, his voice muffled. Rising slowly, he drew the parchment close to a candle's flame, and watched it burn. As the ashes fell into the wax, he rubbed his shoulder absently.
"Faramir." Aragorn stood, approaching his Steward with a frown. "When was the last time you slept a full night?"
With a small smile, Faramir replied ruefully, "Some time before Boromir left for Rivendell, my lord."
Aragorn laid his hand against Faramir's shoulder, and Faramir felt some of the fatigue and pain he'd labored under leave him. "You should rest. Do no work for the rest of the day."
"We'll ride!" Eomer declared, looking eager for agreement.
"What shall be done about the Council?" Imrahil asked.
Faramir felt a sudden inspiration. "Nothing."
"What?"
"We do nothing. The Council was instituted by Cirion, in the days before the Rohirrim rode down from the North and rescued Gondor. It is a thing of the Stewards."
"Sweep it away?" exclaimed Imrahil.
"Yes." Faramir began to pace again, energized anew. "We certainly left Alcar and the others with no doubts as to our opinion of his suggestion. The coronation is tomorrow! Aragorn will be crowned as planned. At which point, he is King, and may continue or disband the Council as he sees fit."
Aragorn began to shake his head, but Lord Hurin spoke up. "'Tis brilliant. Once the crown sits upon a brow once more, they'll fall into line. Especially if they think their positions are tenuous."
Aragorn frowned. "I do not wish to appear threatening."
"Of course not." Faramir explained, "But they are well aware of the history of the Council, and if we but insinuate that you might consider a more traditional rule, they will quickly cease this pointless testing of your resolve. Those with sense will speak up when necessary or when truly concerned. Those without, we will encourage to consider retirement after a time."
Aragorn nodded, pleased with the wisdom of this more levelheaded advise, when a new tap on the door was heard. "My lord Aragorn, the seamstresses would like a moment for your final fitting, if that is possible?" asked a maid.
Aragorn rolled his eyes. "The Valar protect me."
"It is settled then?" Faramir asked.
"Yes, yes, that seems for the best." Aragorn gave Faramir a swift smile and made for the door.
"Here, I shall accompany you, for support." Legolas said, his voice teasing as he followed Aragorn.
"Harumph. I'd better go too, lest you end dolled up like an elf!" Gimli quickly hurried after them.
Hurin bowed and made his excuses as Eomer rose. "So, we ride then?" Eomer asked eagerly.
"I think my nephew could use some rest. You and I should be enough to match across the fields. Perhaps, to the port and back?" Imrahil steered the young King out of the salon. Eomer paused to glance back at Faramir.
"You will not join us?" Eomer asked plaintively.
Faramir smiled. He'd come to admire the reckless cheer of Rohan's King, finding in Eomer something of how he himself might have been, had life been different for the Steward's second son. "Another time."
They departed, and Faramir sank to a chair, alone. He wondered how it was that an impulse to blackmail Lord Alcar, and so control the Council in such a fashion, had come to his mind. He was not so underhanded. Yet at that moment, it had seemed a most sensible action. Certainly his temper, normally even and boundless, had been tried these last few days, as the lords of Gondor tested the resolve of both Steward and King. But to even suggest that the House of Hurin should rule formally, that Faramir would even remotely consider such an action, was in fact the height of foolishness. Faramir carefully considered his own words and actions over the last few days. He comforted himself that nothing he had done could have given the slightest impression that he, as rightful Steward, did not fully support Lord Aragorn's claim, and decided that Lord Alcar's proposal was merely a test or a wild attempt to derail the proceedings. And yet, why would the man do so? It was in the best interests of all that Aragorn be crowned. Certainly the blooming Tree was a sign of that. As for his own initial idea to control Alcar, he could only admit that he was indeed very tired, and in some pain. He'd found little sleep over the last three days, spending long hours in meetings both private and public, shoring up Aragorn's support. Could it be that he had it within himself to become as bleak and bitter a man as his father? He had not thought so, but as the prospect of long and difficult years of diplomatic service stretched before him, Faramir wondered what solace and strength he might find, in order to endure.
Power corrupts, he reminded himself as a warning, eyes closed, seeking relaxation.
"Yes, that's perfect." Eowyn nodded her approval of the garments prepared for Lord Faramir for tomorrow's ceremonies. The midnight trews and tunic matched well with the black velvet surcote, and embroideries of white and gold flowers on the surcote highlighted the gold quilting of the tunic sleeves, and matched the trim of Faramir's mother's mantle, which Eowyn would insist complete his wardrobe. She meant it as her token of regard to him. Since he had gifted the mantle to her, she saw it as her own. In Rohan, such actions as bestowing one's own cloak upon a knight were signs of a lady's favor. "A manservant will see to the polishing of his armor? Good."
Her brother's crimson tunic glittered with gold embroideries, and leatherworkers had already repainted and waxed his armor. Seamstresses were at this moment finishing Aragorn's robes. While Faramir and Aragorn saw to the politics and ceremony of the coming coronation, Eowyn commanded a battalion of servitors with mastery, ensuring the finery and feasting to be of the highest level. She did not for once feel wasted as only the mistress of the house, but rather, she fancied herself as responsible as Faramir for the ordering of the occasion. And in truth, whenever she thought on her motivations, it was her love for Faramir that drove her onward, that his burdens be lessened by her work. Twice since the King had come home she'd met with Faramir, to appraise him of her progress, and after both lengthy sessions of consultation, having discussed a number of matters of Citadel and even City management with her, and listened carefully to her advise, he had thanked her gratefully and praised her work. Both times, as she'd left his office, she'd paused to look back, to find him watching her, and when their eyes met, she'd felt such a longing for him, she could not believe he did not see in her face.
And yet Faramir continued to be scrupulously courteous, proper and polite, never once even hinting at great regard. He expressed his admiration for her skills freely, but no words of love for her passed his lips. She wondered if he could be so calm, he must not have any feelings for her.
Her final approvals on the garments complete, Eowyn dismissed the staff and made her way through the King's House. She'd heard her brother's bellow earlier, and so assumed the Council was finished for the day. Such things were not heard of in Rohan, where the King had absolute control over his lands, though she seemed to recall discussions between Theoden and trusted officers from her youth. Here in Gondor, aged noblemen with property and fortunes to protect quibbled over precedence and trade and whose warehouses ought to be repaired first. Eomer had expressed admiration for Faramir's patience with it all.
"Still, I believe he'd rather ride, or wander among the trees across the river," Eomer had confided in his sister. Eowyn was pleased about the regard that had sprung up between her brother and Lord Faramir. Should her hopes become real, she would be glad indeed.
She remembered Lothiriel's assertion that Faramir loved her, but Eowyn could not see it for herself. But she would cling to hope, as Faramir himself had taught her.
She went to the salon that the Fellowship seemed to favor, which opened onto a spacious balcony and a view of the City and Pelennor Fields. Sometimes, when she looked out on the field of battle, she felt a lingering chill, but she swiftly reminded herself that the Light had won the day, and there was naught to fear. This time, however, when she entered the room, her eyes were not drawn to the fields, or even the expected party of noble men, but to a lone figure seated on a divan, hunched over as if exhausted. She knew him immediately.
"My lord?" she asked, crossing to stand by Faramir.
"My lady Eowyn," Faramir greeted her, struggling to his feet. Eowyn fancied she could hear the weary groan of his joints as he stood.
"Sit, please," she forestalled his rising, seating herself next to him on the divan. Almost unconsciously, she took his hand in both of hers. Their eyes met, and she read the exhaustion upon his face. "You are tired, my friend. What has happened to so burden you?"
He smiled a little. "Politics," he growled, as if he were Eomer.
Eowyn's lips curved in response to his imitation of her brother. "I had thought all were glad to have the King returned to Gondor."
"As had I. Ever since the Ring was destroyed, I have worked to ensure that naught should impede Aragorn's coronation, and the restoration of the Crown, but today, a lord proposed that I continue ruling as Steward or…" He hesitated.
Eowyn was shocked by the idea. "You! Not that I doubt your abilities to rule well and fairly, my lord, but that they should prefer Steward over King? Or what else might they want?"
Faramir grimaced, and Eowyn could tell that he was loath to expose the foolishness of some people. "Or I take the Crown myself, being closest to Numenor in blood remaining in Gondor."
Eowyn felt horrified at the proposal. She knew well that Faramir resisted taking up the full mantle of Stewardship, for many reasons, not the least that his father had not named Faramir heir even after the loss of Boromir. But to suggest that Faramir be crowned king? "You could not. You can not."
Faramir looked at her steadily. "Not for the whole of Arda. Not even for - " He broke off, glancing away. "It matters little. You can well imagine the response Lord Alcar received to his proposal, not only from myself, Lord Aragorn, and my uncle, but from the majority of the Council and nobles of the kingdom. The Coronation will occur as planned tomorrow. Aragorn will be King." He glanced back at her, and then gently pressed her hands with his. "My lady, I must tell you how grateful I am for all that you have done here to prepare Minas Tirith for the return of the King."
Eowyn blushed at the clear admiration in his gaze. "My lord, I am glad to do what I can. It is my honor. For - For Gondor." She nearly expressed her admiration for him, revealing her work solely for his benefit, but she covered herself with modesty.
Yet a shadow crossed his face so swiftly, she could not discern its cause, and he gently withdrew his hand. "Yes. For Gondor," he murmured. "My lady, I -- forgive me. Lord Aragorn bade me take some rest today, and as he is my healer as well as my King, I am minded to obey. If you would excuse me?" Faramir bowed formally to her, and as she nodded her acceptance, he departed.
Eowyn stared after him. Where had the awkwardness come from that now stood between them? Before the fall of Mordor, there had been only easy companionship. Even as the East brightened, and they knew their people freed from dark oppression, they had worked well together. Now, since the armies had returned, Faramir seemed to retreat from her behind a façade of formality. She could not think of any of her own actions that would drive Faramir away. She still saw the warm expression in his eyes when he looked at her, and she knew that she could not control her own expression around him. What could possibly make Faramir think he must maintain some distance? Perhaps Eomer had said something? Something about her previous regard for Lord Aragorn?
Realizing that it must be indeed that Faramir had some expectation of an understanding between Eowyn and Aragorn, she rose swiftly to her feet. She must find some way to disabuse him of that notion.
Though he had vowed to rest, Faramir did nothing of the sort. Instead, he paced his room for hours, annoying his cat and causing his staff to mutter in concern. When dinner approached, he sent his apologies to the King and his relatives, and instead took his meal alone in his chamber.
For Gondor, he reminded himself. Throughout his life, every action he had ever undertaken had been for Gondor. Even now, he planned to retain the position of Steward after all, seeing that his people needed that connection between the past traditions and the uncertain future, despite his own inclinations. He wanted nothing more that to go to his knees before Lady Eowyn and declare his love for her, and beg her to accept his suit, but he restrained himself, for Lady Eowyn was the ranking lady in the West now, and Lord Aragorn would need a wife. Faramir tried not to imagine too often a future wherein he bowed to King Aragorn and Queen Eowyn.
Faramir repeated Prince Legolas's words to himself. There is a lady. He will be surprised. And yet, it did not follow that even if the elven prince were correct, and a high elven lady appeared to claim Aragorn's hand, that Eowyn would immediately turn to Faramir. It was more likely that the lady, disappointed in her pursuit of Lord Aragorn, would return home to Rohan, and never return. He had watched Eowyn dance with Aragorn, and seen true affection between the two. What claim had Faramir then, but the claim of friendship?
Faramir laid himself down to sleep, his questions unresolved. The turmoil within him gave him little rest, and so it was when the door to his chambers opened in the small hours before dawn, he greeted Ergadol evenly.
"Do not you sleep, faithful Ergadol?"
"My lord, his highness Prince Legolas has come, and bid me wake you. He says he has need of your assistance."
Rising, Faramir dressed and went to meet the elf. Legolas's smile was sly as he insisted the Steward accompany him down the levels of the City, and once they were mounted, had Faramir order the Watch to prepare for visitors.
So it was that Faramir sat atop Sunny's back and watched the first delegation of Fair Folk to visit Minas Tirith in millenia ride over the rise of the Pelennor Fields down from the North, casting their own silvery glow in the predawn light, the soft chiming of bells accompanying their melodious voices as they sang songs of rejoicing while they rode.
Faramir could hear the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears as the delegation approached. At the head of the party rode a tall and stern elven lord, his hair as black as jet, his expression solemn. But beside him rode a vision that stole Faramir's very breath away. The elven lady had skin like alabaster, and her hair hung loose in a wave of darkness. The light of the stars shone in her eyes, and Faramir could not help his gasp. "Luthien Tinuviel!"
The lady's face broke into a wide, delighted smile, echoed by many around her, and even the stern lord's lips twitched with humor. "Nay," he said, his voice seeming to resound in both the ears and mind, "But her kinswoman."
"May I present Lord Elrond Halfelven, Lord of Rivendell, and his daughter, the Lady Arwen Undomiel. Here too are Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, protector and seneschal of Rivendell. My lords, this is Faramir son of Denethor of the House of Hurin, Lord Steward of Gondor." Legolas made the introductions, and Faramir bowed as deeply as he could from Sunny's saddle.
"Welcome, my lords all, to Gondor," Faramir said, awed by the presence of such legendary beings.
"We thank you, Lord Faramir," Elrond replied. The party advanced to the City gates together. Faramir noted the guards of the City seemed as startled and awed as he at the sight of so many High Elven nobles. The party from Rivendell numbered thirty, lords and ladies both.
"My lords," Faramir began, mind whirling at how large and noble a party might be accommodated in the City still struggling to restore itself. "I am afraid we had no word of your coming. Lodgings –" He broke off, humiliated.
The Lady Arwen rode close, and laid her hand gently on his arm. "Lord Faramir," she said, her low voice warm. "We need but a few chambers to refresh ourselves from the ride. The day begins, and so you need not worry about accommodations now. In faith, we wish to maintain a certain amount of… secrecy." Her voice grew coy, and it was then Faramir realized that this was the lady who would claim Aragorn's hand, and become Queen over all of Gondor and Arnor. He returned her smile with a small one of his own, and her expression became one of delight. "I think we shall become friends, you and I?" she asked. "Now that we are co-conspirators, of course."
Faramir laughed, and Arwen laughed with him. Early risers throughout the seven levels of the City paused to watch their beloved Steward ride with the Elves, and felt their hearts lifted at the sight, and told others, whose hearts were lightened in turn.
The whole party dismounted at the tunnel to the Citadel, and the elven mounts docilely followed the mortal grooms. Faramir did not need to give orders for the horses, for he could tell by the spark in the stablemaster's eye that the steeds would be given the best. The lords and ladies of Rivendell with their baggage were conducted to the Steward's House. Faramir was proud to offer his own home, and the elves cheerfully doubled and tripled up in what chambers were available.
"It is an early start to the day, I know," Faramir told Ergadol, "but we must do what we can." The light grew in the East, and Faramir still managed to watch the dawn, despite his unexpected guests. As he stood in the courtyard watching the sunrise over the no longer ominous eastern mountains, he felt a presence join him.
"It has been many ages of Man," Lord Elrond observed quietly, "since I have at peace watched the sun rise in the East."
Faramir nodded. "Daily I rejoice to see it."
Elrond smiled. "I too." He glanced at the Steward. "You are in pain." He stated with a healer's concern.
Faramir bowed slightly. "It will heal." He hesitated, then added, "I will heal."
The elven lord watched him a moment, then laid a hand on Faramir's shoulder in fatherly benediction.
Eowyn bathed and washed her hair thoroughly, trying to enjoy the luxurious facilities. Her suite in the King's House included a bathing chamber with a tub built into the floor, large enough for her to float in it. Clever pipes brought water from the mountainside, through hypocausts for heating, and into individual chambers. In Edoras, baths were laborious affairs, requiring the heating of water in kettles over fires and freestanding tubs of copper.
Last night, she had prepared herself well, choosing a gown of green and white, and eagerly attending the evening meal, only to learn that Lord Faramir had shunned the company by remaining away. She'd thought to go to him, but Lord Aragorn had suggested that the Steward be left alone to get some rest. He expressed concern that Lord Faramir was not healing as rapidly as he'd hoped, and carefully interrogated Eowyn as to her health as well.
Aragorn had been quite carried away with the idea that both Eowyn and Lord Faramir were in need of his skills as a healer, but Eowyn insisted that she was well, and Imrahil managed to convince Aragorn that Faramir mended also. Eowyn could tell by the stiffness with which both Imrahil and his children greeted Aragorn's inquiries, that such discussions were not meet at the dinner table. The Gondorians had a particular sort of manners that Eowyn found highly constraining, but at the same time, she had come to understand them well. Certainly, implying that the Steward was somehow in ill health was not wise when so many Gondorian nobles were present and might overhear.
Eowyn sensed that Aragorn would need a great deal of help in adjusting to Court in Minas Tirith. She heard at the table that Faramir had agreed to stay on as Steward indefinitely, and she wondered what such a concession might have cost him. She mourned the merry man who'd lifted her into the air and spun her about after the Ring was destroyed. As the days progressed, she saw less and less of that man, and more of the grim Captain who'd plotted evacuations and contingency plans.
Eowyn had hoped that she could find time with Faramir that evening, to somehow let him know that no understanding stood between herself and Aragorn. But the table was lively, and with Lord Frodo at last joining the Fellowship in the King's House, a great number of stories were told, and conversations lively with the expectation of the next day's events. All four of the Hobbits took pains to thank her for ordering garments made for them. Eowyn found herself truly enchanted by Lord Frodo Ringbearer. There was something about him that reminded her greatly of both Prince Legolas and Lord Faramir. Indeed, Frodo had inquired after Faramir as well.
"He showed sense in the end," Sam said at one point in the conversation regarding the hobbits' capture by the Ithilien Rangers.
Frodo shook his head. "He was in a bad situation. The Ring was speaking to him, and though he did not once try to claim it from me by force, between the Ring's pressure and the invasion of Osgiliath, what else could he do?"
Aragorn had grown concerned at their tale. "Faramir did not try to bring you further West than Osgiliath?"
"It was there the Nazgul almost took Mr. Frodo, and after, Captain Faramir had seen how things really stood, and he emptied his own kit to give us travel rations, and showed us the safe way out of the ruins." Sam explained.
"One of his men said Faramir's life was forfeit for releasing us," Frodo said quietly.
"It was," Gandalf interjected. "And he nearly lost it on that damned suicide charge. But that is not a subject for so many ears," he intoned, and so directed the conversations to other topics.
After that meal, Eowyn had spent a restless night. It seemed to her as if the constraints that had so burdened her were very similar to all that Faramir had gone through, and her heart ached for him, to see that even now when the whole world rejoiced, he found little freedom and less pleasure.
Leaving her bath behind, Eowyn dressed her hair with the assistance of faithful Tayriel, and prepared for the day's occasion. The golden gown that Faramir had commissioned for her suited her very well, being almost the exact shade of her hair. Arraigned in gold, with borrowed jewels, she joined her brother and the rest of the party in the main foyer of the King's House. Eomer complimented her broadly, his attention split between her and Imrahil's daughter, well turned out in a wine colored gown. Lothiriel's eyes were merry as she teased Eomer, and she linked arms with Eowyn in a friendly fashion. Aragorn was already gone to prepare, for the ritual of King making took place in the Great Hall. The actual crowning would take place on the steps of the Great Hall, and already, hundreds of citizens made their way to the courtyard to witness the historic event.
As they make their way into the sunlight, Eowyn looked especially for Faramir. When she found him, she gasped in breathless appreciation. He appeared even taller, russet hair glowing, standing proudly in his silver armor, the engraving of the White Tree sparkling in the sun. She saw that over his arm, he carried the blue mantle. The garments she had ordered for him greatly became him. Giving a final order to a guard, he turned and approached them.
"My Lady Eowyn," he greeted her gravely.
"My Lord Faramir," she replied softly, curtsying.
For a moment, neither said more, and she waited patiently. To her, his eyes were the whole of Arda in that moment, and she could dwell there happily for all her life, should he let her.
Finally, he said, "You outshine the sun," in a wondering voice, as if he could not believe what he saw, and she colored in pleasure at his obvious admiration. "My lady," he said, "this mantle -- it was a gift to you."
"I do know this, and thank you. And as it is mine, I do wish for you to wear it," she explained quietly. "If - if it would please you to do so." This formality of the Court in Minas Tirith would not allow her to say what she wished. In Edoras, she might be able to speak plainly of her desires, and learn at last the truth of his feelings for her. But here, she could only hope he'd understand the subtle signal of her action.
To her delight, it seemed he did, for he immediately donned the mantle. Unthinkingly, she stepped forward to help him with the clasps that held the fabric in place, and for a moment, her fingers lingered on the metal of his breastplate.
Faramir took both her hands in his, and placed gentle kisses on the backs of each, the touch of his lips sending warmth through her, just as every touch before had done. She longed to embrace him then, but could not, not so publicly, with no understanding between them. But at last, she thought she saw more in his eyes than ever before. A light grew there, and Eowyn recognized her merry companion returning at last.
When Eowyn explained that she'd sent the mantle to him, in expectation that he would wear it and as a token of her regard, Faramir quickly threw the mantle over his shoulders, for he knew of the tradition in Rohan. He'd read of this symbol of regard, often described as 'cloaked in favor' in translated lays of her country. He dared to hope again as she stepped closer, affixing the clasps of the mantle. He took her hands, pressing his lips to each. Her eyes widened, and he thought he read something of her heart and mind in them. If he was correct, and he had earned favor in her heart, then he would not wait another day. But still he hesitated, wondering what would be her reaction, when the elven lady was revealed.
Almost on the heels of that thought, the guard trumpeted the clarion of the King, and the doors of the Hall opened. The crowd jostled for viewing positions, though both Faramir's and Lady Eowyn's rank kept them unmolested along the corridor the guards maintained. Aragorn was presented to the populace, and despite his kingly demeanor, Faramir fancied he could see some desperate idea on the man's face. It was too late, Faramir thought at Lord Aragorn. Too many people filled the Courtyard should Aragorn attempt to make his escape.
A smile at that thought played about Faramir's lips as he watched Gandalf recite the names of Aragorn's descent down from Elendil, and he felt Eowyn press against him as the crowd drew close. He glanced down at her, and when she saw his smile, she bestowed him one of her own, gladdening his heart even further. In the presence of the Elves in the early dawn, Faramir had found joy again in his heart at the coming of the King, and in expectation of the future. He'd been offered comfort for his losses by Lord Elrond, and had come to know the sense and humor of his future queen. Now at last, he saw the Crown Restored, the King Returned, and felt the beginning of the renewal of Gondor.
At last, Gandalf intoned, "Now are come the days of the King. May they be blessed." Aragorn seemed to hesitate, then turned to face the acclaim of his people. Faramir found himself cheering as loudly as the rest, applauding. Aragorn sang the words of Elendil, reaffirming the lordship of Numenor, before descending the stairs to greet the populace. Faramir bowed formally to his King, pleased to have his hopes at last come true.
He watched, a foolish smile crossing his face, when the Lady Arwen was revealed, and Aragorn's unabashed embrace of the lady drew laughs and cheers from many. Quickly, Faramir turned to Eowyn, to judge her reaction.
Eowyn curtsied as Lord Aragorn, King now, passed them with a formal nod. She wondered that he could be so calm, this scruffy northerner she recalled as seemingly always in need of a good scrubbing. She watched him acknowledge her brother Eomer-King with an equal nod, giving Rohan courtesy as a fellow sovereign, not lesser. This pleased her, for the Ruling Stewards had never let Rohan forget that their lands were the gift of Gondor. Now Rohan stood on equal footing.
She was startled to see the appearance of so many Elven folk, and then watched amazed as Aragorn enthusiastically embraced a woman of such remarkable beauty, she knew it could be none other than his presumably lost lady. She clearly did not sail away into the West, and the expression of relief and joy upon Aragorn's face easily told the tale of his longing.
Eowyn smiled, laughed even, to see Aragorn so happy, with no more thought of her own past fancies beyond her pleasure at seeing a good friend made joyous. She looked up at Faramir, to see his thought on this his future queen, and was unsurprised to find his expression knowledgeable, as if he expected this display. His eyes met hers, and she recognized the questioning expression in them. Faramir seemed to seek something in her, and so Eowyn held his gaze unwavering, longing for him. She knew then that he did care for her, for his expression softened, loosing its intense light in favor of that warm regard she'd come to expect, and now knew to be the glow of his love for her. She read the promise in his eyes, and she nodded in acceptance of his wordless promise.
They reached for each other's hand at the same moment, fingers entwining just as they had on the balcony of the Houses of Healing, when the world stood upon a knife's edge.
Later, Faramir could hardly remember how they were separated. Eomer came forward to speak to Eowyn after all honor had been given to the four brave Halflings. One conversation led to another, then celebration, and soon, Faramir was ordering the guards to clear way for the King, who took up his seat in the Great Hall, Arwen by his side, that he might give his first court.
Lord Hurin called the rolls, and one by one, notables were honored. Gandalf, then Legolas and Gimli, were honored with titles. Rohan was proclaimed Gondor's closest ally, and Eomer could not pass without joking about herds and breeding fees that made many laugh.
So it was with amazement that Faramir heard his own name called. Confused, he stepped away from his place beside the Black Chair of the Stewards and knelt before his King.
"Faramir son of Denethor. The White Rod of the Stewards is yours and in the keeping of the Line of Hurin for all time," Aragorn announced, and Hurin handed Faramir the formal sigil of the Stewardship as the people cheered. Aragorn raised his hand for silence. "Moreover, in recognition of the service of your family, and in acknowledgement of the service you yourself have given Gondor for the whole of your life, it is our wish to bestow the Province of Ithilien upon you, to be your princedom, for yourself and your children forevermore."
Faramir stared up at the King, shocked. Hurin produced a circlet of hammered mithril, a large opal representing the moon of the province's name centered upon it. He set the circlet upon Faramir's brow, who took little notice as he tried to read the intentions in his King's eyes.
Aragorn smiled broadly, all formality set aside. "I hope you'll settle in the hills of Emyn Arnen? It's near enough that should I call for you, you might come quickly?" A plaintive note crept into his voice, subtle enough to be overlooked, though Faramir caught it easily.
Faramir smiled then, in reassurance to Aragorn. In receiving Ithilien, Faramir had received not only the land that he'd loved and fought for and bled over for most of his life, but as Ithilien was the largest province of Gondor, he'd been given permanent rank second only to the King, apart from his service as Steward. Rising, he heard Hurin call for accolades for the new Prince, but his eyes only sought Eowyn's. Her smiling approval upon him, Faramir accepted this new duty with joy, and with a plan in his mind for the future.
When the Court was finished, and all made their way to feasting and celebration, Faramir sought out Eowyn as swiftly as he could. All the noble folk honored to dine with the King made their way to the hall. Finally, Faramir found Eowyn in the company of her brother and Prince Imrahil.
"My lady Eowyn," he bowed before her.
With a sweet smile, she cursied low. "My lord Prince."
He paused, at a loss over the new title. His hesitation garnered laughter from his friends and family, and instead of finding the opportunity to speak privately with Eowyn, Faramir was drawn into their party, and led in to the hall to be seated among them. Thwarted, he looked at Eowyn, and when her eyes met his, he could read clearly at last her regard for him, and her understanding of his intentions. Relieved, Faramir lifted his glass and drank. Tonight was a night for celebration, and very soon, that which he wished for the most might be his.