A/N: Wow, I managed to update today; I didn't think that I'd be able to, but here's chapter thirty-nine. Sorry if it seems to be a bit short--I've been pretty swamped this week. ; )

Jedi Knight247

Uncertain Fates

"Son, you must calm down," soothed Denethor. "All things will happen in due time—I am certain that she will come around."

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Boromir asked in an agitated voice; he stopped pacing and turned to the Steward. "She doesn't love me, father!"

Denethor pursed his lips and sighed. "She may say that now, but—"

"And she never will!" Boromir interrupted.

"Do not say such thing, my son; you must let time take its course; but I will say that you must find a way to tame that woman, for she alone could put enough shame on the house of Hùrin to last for all of the ages!" after saying this, Denethor stood up and walked to the window.

0-0

Later that evening, all eight sat down to dinner at the long table—that is, Denethor, Boromir, Éowyn, Éomer, Théoden, Théodred, Grima, and last but not least, Denethor's advisor, Gelidir.

The dinner was, no doubt, uncomfortable; Grima made sure that he was sitting next to King Théoden so that he could constantly whisper things in his ear. This annoyed not only Théodred, but Éomer and Éowyn also.

Éowyn could see that her cousin and her brother desperately wanted to talk to her, and she wanted to speak with them too, but she knew that it would just have to wait.

At this time, all around the table were preoccupied with either their food, or in some form of conversation—all except for Denethor's advisor.

Gelidir was miserable. He missed his family dearly, and yet Denethor would brush him off so easily whenever he asked permission to see them; he knew that he couldn't leave without the Steward's permission, but now he wanted nothing more than to be with his family.

000

They had been marching all day without any rest, and Faramir thought that he was going to collapse at any moment.

The rope which had been tied around his wrists began to cut into his skin—but the elf who was leading him didn't seem to care. Finally, when he thought that he was going to drop dead, they stopped and rested by a stream.

The elf released his grip on the rope, allowing Faramir to wander to the stream; even though the elf had released his grip, Faramir could still feel eyes watching him keenly.

As he knelt down by the stream to drink, he knew that it would be difficult, for the ropes were tied tightly around his wrists. But he didn't even think about that much, for it had almost been a day since he had had an adequate amount of water; forgetting about maintaining his dignity, he cupped the water in his hands and began to drink.

He suddenly stopped when he could see someone next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Sonya.

The Elven woman quickly began to fill the water skins, glancing only briefly at the captive. Even though her sister would have, she didn't feel much compassion for the Gondorian at all; but she and Tatiana were completely different people.

She glanced at him again, only to find that he was looking at her. Annoyed by this, she just ignored him.

"Is this your first time—going to Mordor?" Faramir asked softly.

"What does it matter?" she asked dryly.

"Perhaps it does not, then," Faramir replied.

Sonya and Faramir went on in silence, and spoke not one word to each other again up until the very day that they entered the land of Mordor.

000

Before either Sonya or Faramir set a single foot in Mordor, the uncomfortable dinner had just ended.

To Éowyn it seemed that Théoden never even tried to make contact with her. He was much too frail and weak. In addition to that…he looked very ill.

After the meal, Éowyn had had a not-so brief conversation with Éomer and Théodred. She had told them everything that had happened, and it made her feel much better to talk to people who didn't scorn her deeds, but understood that she did it out of sheer desperation.

Éomer and Théodred had instructed her to be obedient, so that she would draw any bad attention to herself; Éowyn had, of course, told them that she would only do what she thought to be right.

While she was conversing with her brother and cousin, she completely ignored Boromir's very existence; if either of them by chance got eye contact, she would look through him as though he were nothing more than air—Boromir had never been treated that way before, but he handled it well, and tried to remain unfazed.

They seemed less like husband and wife that night, and more like bitter enemies.

000

Éowyn spent much of the next day with her maiden, Norah; Éowyn had apologized to Norah, and had explained to the maid that it wasn't her, but merely the situation.

It was now evening time, and the guests for the important dinner were beginning to arrive.

Éowyn was dressed in a sky blue wide necked dress, with her hair flowing freely down her shoulders.

Éowyn and Boromir arrived in the large hall at the same time, but they spoke not a word to one another. Éowyn wore a straight face and looked quite unapproachable; Boromir was almost immediately engaged in a deep conversation with Laddyn's brother, Philippe.

Éowyn was saddened that Éomer, Théodred, and Théoden couldn't stay; she wasn't exactly sad about Grima leaving.

Soon, servants of the Steward entered the hall, and ushered them to the room where the actual dinner would take place.

It was a large hall, with an enormous table, which was obviously the center of the room. And at the head of it sat Denethor; he was smiling broadly (and some would call it fake) at his guests.

Once they were all seated, Denethor cleared his throat loudly and spoke.

"Thank you all for coming, as you know, this is a very serious matter that has brought us together: Osgiliath."

Everyone around the table nodded in approval—all except for Éowyn. At this moment, she didn't care for Osgiliath.

"Ithilien Rangers reported to me that orc reinforcements are on the way; and that is not all. I have also received word from some of the soldiers that they also have elves on their side."

Denethor stopped speaking for a moment to let what he said sink into his guests.

There was talking amongst them all, until Denethor began to speak again.

"This means only one thing: we must send more soldiers to Osgiliath to repel their attacks! It is the only way!" he roared.

Everyone except for Prince Imrahil and Boromir agreed.

Prince Imrahil spoke first. "With all due respect, my lord; if we continue to pour more and more men into Osgiliath, our defenses will be weakened elsewhere."

Denethor's expression soured; Boromir took advantage of the silence and spoke up. "My lord, lord Imrahil is right; for we need these soldiers elsewhere: look at South Ithilien for instance. Haradrim have been spotted journeying to and fro, but they have all met with little resistance. That is because we our focusing on Osgiliath and nothing else!"

Denethor was crushed that Boromir wasn't backing him; the table was now in uproar, and when everyone was calmed down, Boromir looked at the chair that was next to him, only to find it empty.

Éowyn was gone.