Chapter Two: A Preliminary Meeting

It was beautiful. Just beautiful. How could a place like this be so unappreciated by his country? The flowing grass swayed in the wind. Such a magical ripple ran over the hills of gold. It was like the ocean, but fairer. It was so fair.

Shaking his head Faramir spurred Silivren forward into the fields. The wind ruffled his hair and he let his imagination go again. He imagined running across these plains, through this deep grass. It was so nice. He could live here forever. He had fallen in love with the country the first moment that he set his eyes on it.

He wondered what the people were like. Would he fall in love with the people as quickly as he had fallen in love with their land? He hoped so. He hoped that this would be a journey to be remembered. Remembered for all the right reasons.

He still had a great deal of distance to cover ere he reached Meduseld, the royal hall, but he had no doubt that he would enjoy the remainder of his trip.

And sure enough, by the time he reached Edoras, Faramir was wishing that he never had to leave.

At the gates, he dismounted Silivren, and approached the guard.

"I am Faramir, second son of the Steward Denethor of Gondor. I come on a diplomatic mission to bring Gondor's condolences to Rohan and her king, Theoden, for the loss of the King's son, and Rohan's Crown Prince, Prince Theodred of Rohan." He breathed a short sigh. These things got so complicated.

The guard nodded and opened the gates to the city. Theoden was being careful, barring his gates to a single traveler.

Yet the chilly welcome was nothing compared to that which he received upon arriving at the gates of Meduseld.

"Can I help you?" The gatekeeper demanded, rather haughtily.

"I am Faramir, second son of the Steward Denethor of Gondor. I am here to offer Gondor's condolences to King Theoden who recently lost his son, Prince Theodred."

The gatekeeper looked at him, as though to determine whether there were any lies in the phrase, before nodding briskly. "I'll announce your presence."

He nodded in thank you.

The gatekeeper returned shortly followed by an odd man. His hair was dark with oil, yet it seemed to share the same gold color that was present in the hair here.

"The King Theoden cannot welcome you, and I am afraid that you must leave now. We thank you for your visit, and bid you farewell," the gatekeeper said softly. It almost sounded as though he did not truly wish to say as he did, but that he had no choice.

Faramir looked incredulously between the two older men who stood before him. What sort of hospitality did Rohan show to her brothers? The second heir to Gondor! What beings lived here?

"The king does not wish to see me?" He asked. He had such difficulty believing that the king would turn him away without so much as a fare thee well on the way out.

The second man nodded. "I'm afraid that the king is much too busy for the likes of you who pretend to be important in order to be acknowledged by such nobility. He is in true sorrow, and you know not his burdens. In these dark times we need not Gondor to aid us."

With a frown at the last line, for it sounded so alike to his brother's comment of Rohan, Faramir turned and headed back to Silivren.

"Lord of Gondor!" A woman's voice rang out.

He turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

Here hair flowed down her back, and it was a brighter and fairer gold than any other hair. It was so akin to the plains that were her home that he wondered that she was not born of them. She was dressed in a black gown, a color unbefitting of her. She should be in white, or green, or best, blue. She was beautiful.

"What brings you to the far north reaches of the countries of Men, so far from your home? Why do you flee us just as quickly? Will you not have some rest and something to eat ere you leave? 'Tis a long journey, ne'er seeing human comforts in between," she said as she descended the stairs towards him.

"Milady, I come to Rohan to offer comfort to your King for the loss of his son, and to offer comfort to your country. I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. However, I was told I could not see the king, and I was asked to leave."

The maiden looked over her shoulder at the second man, the one that made Faramir rather nervous just looking at him, and the man glared back. Tossing her head back to face Faramir, she smiled softly, though a fire raged in her eyes.

"I do apologize for this grave mistake. 'Tis true, My Uncle the King is not in residence at Meduseld at this time, however, you must at least stay the night, to gain your strength, and if you have the time, we would welcome you to stay until he returns. He will return only two days hence."

He stared at her and nodded his head slowly. "I'd be…I'd be glad to stay."

She smiled softly and nodded back. "Then follow me."

She looked back at the young man who was following her with his head down and smiled a little to herself. It was nice to get back at Grima like that. And there was nothing that he could do. The Lord Faramir of Gondor would be staying in Edoras, and he would be staying even longer than any had anticipated.

It was rather nice, she thought, of Gondor to send people for such little things as death. Death? People died every day in both countries, yet, this somehow was much more important to Rohan than any other. Not just because of his status, but because Theodred was royal in spirit. He did not dislike people, he was a jovial and amicable person. Everyone loved Theodred. Everyone.

And Gondor had recognized it. That was nice. It was thoughtful.

"Here's your room," she said to Lord Faramir.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. She smiled, and turned to go.

"Lady?" he called after her. She turned to see his face, looking slightly anxious. "May I ask your name?"

She smiled. "Eowyn, daughter of Eomund and Theodwyn. I am the sister-daughter to King Theoden of Rohan." And she turned and left.

She wondered as she walked down the corridor to the kitchen where her brother and uncle were. Were they safe? Would they return? Eomer was now the heir to the throne, meaning if they both died…

She realized that she didn't know what would happen. Normally, it would pass to her, but with Grima's influence, and the fact that she was a woman, she didn't know if she would be the next ruler after Eomer, or if Wormtongue would do that honor for her. Either way, they would each have to choose a spouse, and Eowyn was sure that Wormtongue would limit her options down to one person.

She shivered at the thought that this was what he had planned, and prayed quickly to Béma that her brother and uncle survived this trip—and everything following it.

She paused and noticed that there were footsteps ringing down the corridor. He no longer even tried to be quiet, for he knew that there was nothing that she could do, should he come to her and attempt to poison her mind. Gracing the hallways surrounding her with a quick glance, Eowyn decided to turn down a slightly longer and windier path to the kitchens. She would stop and request a bath to be sent up. That might throw him off. Ducking into the little room where the chambermaids sat around whispering. They had to speak quietly, for the walls were thin in this part of the house.

"Lady Eowyn!" One of them said, rather loudly.

Hoping that they would follow her example if she spoke softly, lest she be overheard by Grima, Eowyn said "We have a guest. I have put him in the nicest guest room we have, for he is of the noble house in Gondor. Please see to it that he has a bath and anything else that he might need. I am on my way to the kitchen to attend to his dinner. If Gritta would go with me, I would like to ensure that someone I trust is to bring his food to him," she said smiling. Wormtongue could do nothing to her in the presence of others.

Smiling, Gritta rose and and bowed to Eowyn, before following her out. The two women walked together down the hall towards the loudness that rang from the kitchen, as they heard the others scurrying to obey the orders of their lady.

Upon their entering the kitchen, all the clamor of voices ceased. Eowyn walked over to one of the cooks and gave her orders for a meal of fine broth, bread, cheese, warm wine, and—as they had no pies or cakes readily available—an apple.

She watched over the cooks to ensure that things went as she had asked. Finally, the tray was handed to Gritta.

"I shall accompany you as far as my rooms," she said, smiling at the younger maid. The girl smiled back, and curtsied.

Parting ways at her door, Eowyn breathed a sigh of relief. Wormtongue would not bother her until the morn, for she intended to remain in her room until then.

Frustration grew within Eomer, until it seemed that it was gnawing his very heart out. He was cold and snappy to everyone, and nothing would wipe that horrid frown off of his face. But he didn't care. He was angry with himself for having been such at bad brother, for being such a bad cousin, and for being such a bad nephew. He knew that his uncle thought of him as—like Grima had said—a warmonger. And he knew that he would not be returning to Edoras to look after his sister. They had received the decree that day. Eomer Third Marshal of the Mark, son of Eomund of Eastfold and Theodwyn sister to the King, was banished from Rohan. Forever.

What would Eowyn say? Would she hate him for not returning for her? Would he have let her go with him even if he had been in Edoras at the time? He doubted it. Yet, he wouldn't ever see her again. What would he do? How could he live the rest of his life without seeing his sister again? Where would he go? Was there anything that he could do?

It didn't seem so. He would haft to hope that Eowyn heard the truth, and not some lie told to her by Grima, and he would have to hope that he could see her again someday.

Someday. Someday so much could have happened, he was always waiting for someday, but instead, he was on his own, banished from his house and kingdom, for which he had fought so hard, since he was eighteen and before, and he didn't quite know what to do with his life. He could go to Gondor, and join their forces, but he didn't like the thought that there was naught a place to go but Gondor. For he had heard tales that they too grew dark under the sway of Sauron. Little did he trust them. He would not trust one in his own home, to be sure.

Boromir couldn't help staring at the horizon constantly. He wondered if it was another ploy of his father's to separate the siblings, as they never seemed to be together.

But why would his father send his brother to someplace so worthless and dangerous? From the tales that he had heard, Rohan was an ill place, and there were many allies to the Dark Lord among them. He heard that they were the breeders of the Nazgul horses. Yet he knew not whether to believe them or not. He had always placed some faith in the fact that nearby there was some sort of aid, whether willing or not was hardly the issue. Yet the fact that they were there comforted him. The fact that they might be against him frightened him. It would mean that Gondor was surrounded by enemies on all sides.

There would be no escape for Gondor.

For this reason, Boromir had done his best to protect Faramir from these rumors. Faramir, the one there now, knew not of the dangers that he might face there. Of course, there was always an idle whisper here or there that might mention something of the effect, but as long as Faramir didn't realize how likely this was…

He felt safer.

Until now.