"All I'm saying, sister-husband, is we must use the utmost caution in this matter. And if that proves futile, our swords and bows."

The morning sun streamed brilliantly through the wide windows of the Citadel's dining hall, causing its white-marbled walls and polished wooden floor to glow with warm radiance. The long wooden dining table that occupied the center of the room was mostly empty save for a small group clustered at its end, composed of Faramir and Eowyn, both in casual attired befitting the early hour, and a handsome, sturdy-looking young man whose age appeared to fall between theirs, and who was approaching both his morning meal and the conversation with equal appetite.

Faramir was in the act of raising his mug of tea to his lips while listening to the young man's words, and as the newcomer consumed a bite of his breakfast, took the opportunity to speak.

"Aragorn and I shall be most wary in this matter, I assure you, Eomer," he said in a serious tone. "Neither he nor I have forgotten the Haradrim's acts when they were our foes in the War. But if they are prepared to offer to speak of peace now, I see no reason to delay meeting them, as long as the proper safeguards are in place."

"Hm," was Eomer's thoughtful reply as he looked up, taking a moment to push several straying locks of his long, blond hair back over his shoulder where they belonged. "I can think of many reasons, most of whom are buried now beneath the simbylemine of Rohan. I do not know what the widows and orphans of Gondor say, but those among my people feel it is too soon to trust the men of Harad."

Faramir peered at him, his blue eyes attentive, as he silently drank his tea and listened.

"Let them prove their devotion to peace by wholly ceasing their attacks against our people for three or four years," continued Eomer, sitting back and laying his utensils upon his plate, "before being treated as honorable men to be bargained with."

"Yet in that time, men may die who would otherwise have lived, had we honored their desire to negotiate," observed Faramir as he picked up a piece of buttered bread from his plate, calmly eyeing his brother-in-law. "And Harad's people will have suffered without Gondor's aid or protection, when they might have enjoyed newfound hope and healing."

Eomer studied him, his dark eyes sharp, before turning to Eowyn with a sigh. "Dear sister, you have married a very stubborn man."

She smiled at him. "It is a trait I find admirable in you both," she replied warmly.

"It shall make the first day of negotiations next week interesting, at any rate," said Faramir as he began to cut his breakfast meat, looking at Eomer without a trace of ill-feeling. "Fear not, my brother, all opinions shall be heard, and you must know that there will be many there who share your views. If all goes well, swords and bows will not be needed, no matter how spirited our discussions become. I might advise a swift dousing in the Anduin for some of our more passionate Council members, however..."

"I have found a bucket of cold water works just as well, nephew!"

At this new voice, all eyes turned towards the large wooden doors that stood at the end of the dining hall. A tall, broad-chested man was walking towards them, a smile upon his square-set face. Black waves of thick hair fell down his back, a few strands of which had escaped the band that bound them back from his face and were now falling about his high, wide cheekbones. His large hands were undoing the clasp of the dusty cloak that hung around his shoulders, and an affectionate gleam was in his sea-gray eyes as he walked to meet the group.

All three diners smiled to see him, and Faramir arose at once with a delighted smile, joyfully exclaiming "Uncle!"

Eowyn and Eomer stood as well, watching with pleasure as the two men fondly embraced.

"I am well pleased that you arrived safely," said Faramir with great relief, after he and his uncle had parted. "Was your journey from Dol Amroth a pleasant one?"

Imrahil finished undoing his cloak, removed it and draped it over a nearby chair. "Pleasant enough, and even if it were not, it would be no hardship to bear, knowing that I should find you, and your family, at the end of it. And how fares the Lady Eowyn this day?"

"Quite well, Uncle," she said lightly, as he took her hands and kissed her cheek in greeting. "You do not know how happy you have made Faramir by your presence here, he has spoken of little else but seeing you again these past days."

"No greater than my happiness at being here, particularly if our aim is met with success," noted Imrahil. He gently released Eowyn's hands and turned to her brother, executing a graceful bow for one so tall and powerfully built.

"Hail, Eomer King," he said, in a more formal tone than he had employed all morning. "The people of Dol Amroth send their official good wishes to the kingdom of Rohan."

Eomer bowed in reply, his face solemn although an anxious light danced in his eyes. "And they are returned, Prince Imrahil," he said, in a voice just as measured.

Imrahil straightened, relaxed a little, and reached into a pocket of his cloak. "And in an unofficial capacity," he went on, his tone considerably more casual as he withdrew a letter from the cloak, "my daughter Lothiriel bade me deliver this to your hand myself the instant I arrived, and made it known to me that if I failed in this I would not be allowed to return to hearth and home. So if I desire to see my sons and daughter again, I suppose I ought to fulfill my pledge."

So saying, he handed the letter to Eomer. The young man accepted it, the anxiousness now replaced with a far more agreeable excitement, and with a bow excused himself to read it, blushing furiously all the while.

Eowyn watched her brother depart before turning to Faramir and Imrahil, a merry light in her blue eyes. "That should lighten his mood, after all of this morning's talk of treaties and negotiations," she remarked with satisfaction. "Pray sit yourself and rest, Uncle, and I will see that some food and drink is sent for you at once."

She dropped a small curtsey in respect and farewell and went out of the hall. As soon as she was gone, Imrahil looked at Faramir.

"Arguing with your brother-in-law so early in the day, nephew?" he asked, as they both strolled back to the table. "Please, sit and eat, don't let my arrival interrupt your meal. With all that lies before us, you're going to need your strength."

"it was not an argument," Faramir insisted as he sat down, with his uncle taking the chair opposing him. "It was...a healthy debate. I fear Eomer does not feel so optimistic about this matter as Aragorn and I do."

He picked up a nearby mug, filled it with steaming tea from the pot, and handed it to Imrahil.

"After what Rohan suffered at the hands of the Haradrim, that does not surprise me," stated the Prince, accepting the mug. "Some of my advisors feel the same way, although most agree with me, that we should at least hear them out before deciding the proper course to take."

Faramir crossed is arms, leaned on the table and looked away, his blue eyes distant and pensive. "Our Council is evenly divided, it seems," he said with a tinge of disappointment. "Half are willing to listen, the other half determined that it is all a trick of some kind." He sighed and bent his gaze back to his uncle. "I fear the way to peace with Harad will not be swift, or easy."

The older man regarded him carefully. "Yet, my nephew, you are willing to walk it."

There was no hesitation as Faramir firmly nodded. "No matter its length or diificulty," he declared. "If we may indeed forge a true peace here, that will make all obstacles all the way seem small, and benefit the people of all kingdoms and races beyond what we see today."

Imrahil smiled at his nephew before saying softly, "I believe your mother, and Boromir, and your father would be very proud of you this day, Faramir."

An appreciative smile lit the young Steward's face.

Imrahil took a sip of his tea, then sat in silence for a few moments.

"But you still may want to have a bucket of cold water at hand," he added, "just in case."

----------------------------

A fair summer wind was blowing across the Pelennor, setting the many-colored banners decorating the seven-layered city of Minas Tirith aflutter in the bright June sunshine. The White City gleamed beneath the radiant sky, its winding road lined with hundreds of excited citizens gathered together. The air on every level was full of talk, the voices rising and falling, some speaking in in loud excitement, others in nervous whispers.

"Do you really think they'll come?"

"If they want peace, they will!"

"King Elessar shouldn't even let 'em near the city. We should be killin' 'em, not signin' treaties with 'em. It's like he forgot they followed Mordor."

"But the war's over now, and their leader says he wants the fighting to stop..."

"Yes, but he's only the leader of one tribe, and it's not like you can trust what any Haradrim says, now can you?"

The buzzing voices continued all morning, reaching from the splendid courtyard on the first level all the way to the Steward's apartments of the utmost story. There, Faramir was standing before a gilt-edged mirror and examining the formal yet comfortable-looking suit of riding clothes covering his sturdy frame.

After a moment, his long, slender fingers had finished fastening the catches on his sleeves, and he straightened, studying his reflection in the mirror. His sensitive blue eyes swept over the image before him, and after a pause he smiled, drew a deep breath and emitted a sigh that was both relieved and a bit nervous.

With one more glance at the reflection, he turned his head to look across the room. "Are the people still gathering, my love, or have they decided to form a revolt and overthrow Aragorn and I on the basis of insanity?"

At the towering window opposite him, bathed in the morning sunlight, stood Eowyn, her form draped in a pale violet gown, her golden hair arranged tightly about her head and adorned with a delicate golden circlet. She had been peering from the opening to the crowds assembling below, and now directed her attention to the young man, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"It appears you are both safe for now," she announced with a wry smile, walking over to him with a gentle rustle as she lifted the skirts of her costly gown. "They seem excited and a bit anxious, about what you and Aragorn expected."

He considered this, gave a short nod, and returned to the mirror, adjusting his raiment. "One can hardly find fault with them for being worried," he replied in a rich, measured voice. "Not long ago, the Haradrim were our sworn enemies. Many of them have never actually seen one, and now we are about to negotiate our first peace agreement with them. If the amount of arguing we endured in the Council over this matter is any indication, this is not exactly the most popular choice for our new King's first major political venture."

When he received no acknowledgement to his remarks, the young man looked over and saw his beloved regarding him with a very fond smile.

He could not help but smile back. "Does my Lady Eowyn have something to say?" he inquired.

She laughed softly, her face quietly radiant with joy. "Only that she believes her Lord Faramir is looking especially handsome today, and that she will be most proud of him as he performs his duty as Steward of Gondor."

"Ah," he said with a chuckle, reaching forward to gently take her in his arms. "Not half so proud as Lord Faramir will be of his Lady Eowyn, I am sure. You will persuade the Haradrim into agreeing to our terms through your sheer beauty alone." He gave her a quick, tender kiss.

"That will be most difficult if you do not ride out in time to greet them and escort them to the city," she observed, kissing him back before smoothly sliding from his arms.

Faramir sighed and walked over to a nearby dressing table, which was laden with a variety of small personal acoutrements. "I suppose for the sake of duty, we must place business before pleasure," he murmured with a smile, picking up a heavy leather belt and sword and buckling them on. Looking over the other small affects, his eyes rested on a silver ring decorated with a large red stone. His expression became reflective, and he lifted the ring slowly, gazing at it with a bemused, contemplative air.

"Hm," he grunted quietly to himself, shaking his head before slowly sliding the ring onto his finger. "If my father knew we were about to sit down with the Haradrim and talk about peace, he would surely declare both the King and me to be mad."

Eowyn's expression was thoughtful as she came to stand beside him.

"Boromir would not countenance it either," he continued lightly, walking over to a nearby chair and picking up the long, dark green riding cloak that casually reposed there. "I can hear him now." His voice turned deeper as he draped the cloak over his shoulders. "'Treaties with the Haradrim, little brother? You'll be inviting Orcs to tea parties next!'"

He laughed a little as he attached the golden clasp of his cloak and glanced over at Eowyn. "I would swear your brother almost said that to me while we were discussing this last night."

Eowyn retrieved her own cape from nearby. "Eomer has spent his entire life hating and hunting Orcs," she said, as Faramir gently took the cloak and draped it around her neck for her. "As the Haradrim were once their allies in the armies of Sauron, he will have a hard time making any distinction between them. It will be a major triumph simply to get him to speak to the Haradrim without a sword in his hand."

As she fastened the clasp, she turned to him.

"Yes, he's made that very plain," sighed Faramir, before giving her a resigned smile. "But I value your brother's opinion most highly, so it pleases me that he's here to help us negotiate. Aragorn and I do not want to go into this without giving full considerations to all arguments, whether they agree with our own opinions or no. For now, we can only see what the men of the South have to say, and proceed from there."

There was a knock on the door, and a deep voice called from the other side, "Are the Steward and his fair Lady prepared to walk an old man down to the Fountain Court?"

Smiling, Faramir replied, "They are, Uncle - one moment!"

Stepping away from the mirror, he offered Eowyn his hand, and together they left the sunlit chamber.
Upon opening the door, they found Prince Imrahil, clad in his formal blue and white velvets. Upon the chest of his ankle-length tunic was sewn the image of a white ship with a graceful swan-shaped prow, the symbol of Dol Amroth.

"Ah! Good day to you both," Imrahil said, bowing slightly in greeting.

"Good day, Uncle," Faramir said pleasantly in return once he had cleared the door. He looked up and down the hall. "I thought to find an old man here who wanted an escort downstairs, but as there does not seem to be one here, I suppose I shall offer the same service to you."

Imrahil laughed a little as he kissed Eowyn's hand. "With that silver tongue, your husband need have no fear of these negotiations," he assured her. "They'll have the treaty signed and sealed before the day is done!"

She laughed. "Perhaps, but he did say something about sending to the kitchen for some buckets of cold water..."

As they walked the hallway, they encountered Aragorn and his Queen approaching their chamber, each clad in their own finery and accompanied by a brace of guards in silver armor. The King wore his ceremonial black armor chased with gold, with a shirt of blue silk showing beneath, covered with a cape of blackest velvet edged with silver. Upon his long black was a silver winged crown. By his side was a raven-haired woman of ethereal beauty, her sharp green eyes and pointed ears denoting her Elven blood.

At the sight of Imrahil, Faramir and Eowyn, they broke into glad smiles.

"Ah! Good morning to you all," said Aragorn, as Faramir and Eowyn both bowed. There was a faint light of amusement in his green eyes. "Are you ready to face the wrath of Minas Tirith?"

"Good morning to you, my King, and to our fair Queen," Faramir replied with the utmost respect as he straightened. "Yes, sire, I believe I have sufficiently braced myself. They seem not as angry now as when the news was first told to them."

"I am glad to see you both so composed," said the beautiful Elven woman, her lips parted in a smile. "Aragorn has not enjoyed a moment's rest all morning. Perhaps you may calm his mood."

Aragorn laughed a little, and they all began walking down the hallway together.

"I promise I shall do what I can, my Queen," said Faramir. "I would say that treaty negotiations should not be difficult for one who has faced much greater challenges."

"I fear Arwen does not exaggerate," the King said as they strolled along, his hand over hers where it lay in the crook of his elbow. "We are entering into a perilous time, my friends, and our actions today will affect those who come long after us. It is a dire responsibility, one I feel pressing down on me most heavily."

Faramir gave him an encouraging look. "There is none we would rather have bear that responsibility than you, Sire," he said. "You have renewed us, been our hope and courage. It seems but fitting that he who led us to triumph in battle should now find that same success in leading us to peace."

"Battle I am used to," sighed Aragorn, adjusting his heavy robes. "Wars, I know how to fight. Diplomacy is another matter. I had scant chance to practice my treaty-negotiating skills out in the wilds."

"It will be a new experience for the Haradrim Chieftain as well, I am certain," Faramir pointed out as they approached the door. "You are two leaders who desire peace for their people; that is a starting point, at any rate, and one we may regard with hope."

They stepped through the doors of the palace and out into the courtyard, which was now awash in the bright morning sunlight. A small crowd had gathered; to one side a military escort stood waiting, composed of some thirty armored soldiers of Gondor. Faramir looked into the clear blue sky, squinting against the brightness, then dropped his gaze to the scene before him.

Eomer approached them now, clad in red leather armor covered with a richly embroidered cloak of burgundy velvet. His long golden hair blew free in the morning breeze, only lightly bound behind his head, and in his arm he bore a helmet of gold and leather surmounted with a long horse-tail.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and bowed to the group.

"Ah! Good morning to you, Eomer King," said Aragorn pleasantly, returning the bow before descending the steps with the others. "I trust you are well this day?"

"I am well any day that allows me to lay eyes upon my sister and my friends, King of Gondor," replied Eomer with a smile as he watched them walk down. As Eowyn neared, he took her hand and kissed it in greeting, which she accepted with a smile.

"Might I hope that this agreeable feeling might soften your heart towards the Haradrim?" Faramir asked in a mild tone as he descended the steps, although his expression of slightly amused resignation indicated that he knew already what the answer to this question would be.

Eomer sighed and shifted the helmet in his arm. "I fear, good sister-husband, that we shall never concur on that point," he said in a firm voice. "I am here as a kindness to Gondor and its King, not for a desire to form any possible kinship with Harad. Agreements for peace I may sign, but my heart will never trust them. Too many of their swords are stained with the blood of Rohan, and of Gondor."

Faramir pursed his lips and nodded with respect as he looked into Eomer's eyes. "You have my understanding, Lord of Rohan," he replied quietly. "But I will yet hope that our acts this day may cleanse at least some of that stain away."

The Rohan King returned the nod, although his eyes remained doubtful. Faramir gave him a companionable grasp of his arm, which Eomer answered, and the kinsmen parted.

As Faramir descended the last few steps to the courtyard, he was met by a young, serious-looking man wearing the silver armor of Gondor. This new arrival was little older than Faramir, his appearance marked by an oval face with a slightly pointed chin, and sharp gray eyes set beneath black brows. His head was bare, his long blonde hair only loosely tied behind his head at the temples. A long velvet cape of dark blue hung from his shoulders to his ankles, denoting his upper rank, and in one arm he bore a silver helmet.

"My Lord Steward," the man announced in a quiet, formal tone, "the military escort is assembled by your instructions and ready to move out at your command, sir."

"Thank you, Captain Irolas, we shall move out at once," was Faramir's amiable response as he looked over the contingent and nodded his satisfaction.

The captain gave a small smile of acknowledgment, bowed and went to mount his horse.

"I see we did not miss the grand departure," said a rough, familiar voice, and the royal party turned to see Gimli and Legolas approaching, each dressed in their formal best.

"Indeed you have not, Master Gimli, and I am glad for it," replied Faramir with a smile as he climbed atop his mount. "As residents of Rohan's Glittering Caves and Ithilien, the Dwarves and Elves also have a voice in this matter, and I am pleased to know each race will be so well represented."

"We are prepared to do our part," announced Legolas with a graceful bow as he and the Dwarf took their place on the steps beside the Kings, Eowyn, and Arwen. He then flicked a quick glance to Gimli, a slight grin sliding across his ageless face. "Although I am certain some voices will be speaking louder than others."

Gimli's eyes twinkled with good humor even as he scowled at the Elf. "Hmph," he grunted, "it is better than mincing at words all day, taking an hour to say what others may tell in a minute!"

"I am certain there will be time to hear all that must be said," Aragorn offered with a smile, stepping forward and looking to where Faramir sat, ready to lead the contingent of soldiers. "We shall await you at the meeting place to greet the Haradrim delegation."

"Very well, Sire," replied the Steward as he picked up his reins. He glanced over to the lead row of soldiers, a segment that included Irolas and the familiar faces of Faelor and Henvain. "Captain, you may order the column to proceed."

With a military call, the column began to move out, Faramir and the commander in the lead. With somber solemnity the delegation began its procession down to the main gates, the colorful banners snapping in the sunlit breeze, the decorative trappings of the horses flashing and singing with the movement.

Down each level they moved, past throngs of the curious. The faces of Minas Tirith displayed a host of emotions as they watched the riders go past to meet the Haradrim; some wore looks of concern, others hope, still others open distrust. The children laughed and clapped with unthinking delight at the spectacle, heedless of its deeper meaning.

Within a short amount of time, the entire parade had traveled the route through the city, and rode through the restored Great Gate onto the plains of the Pelennor. Those gathered along the wall watched the glittering entourage as it traveled across the wide plains towards the ruins of Osgiliath. Soon the riders were lost to view, but every heart in the city knew their destination, and could now only wait while the delegation continued to the Southern road, and the future of their country.