Eomer's hard boots echoed along the stone floor of the long hallway as he made his way to his sister's chambers. The orange-gold rays of the setting sun struck him as he passed by the open windows that adorned one side of the passage, casting his comfortable dining clothes and newly-brushed hair into varying shades of brilliant gold. He was deep in thought, however, and did not notice.
He sighed to himself as he reached her door; it had been a long day of negotiating, haranguing, and outright unpleasantness, the sort of diplomatic tangling that made him long for the chance to take a nice, rowdy eored out and hunt down some Orcs. But his duty was as King, and he could not simply end a disagreement by knocking heads together, much as he yearned to.
But now, at least, he could look forward to a relaxing dinner and some good wine with his sister. He stopped before the door, and gave it a knock.
There was no answer.
Frowning, he hesitated, listening, then knocked again, harder.
Still no reply came, and he was just about to discard niceties and pound on the portal when he heard his sister's faint voice from within cry, "You may enter, Eomer-it is unlocked."
Puzzled, Eomer pushed open the door and walked inside. There seemed to be no one in the large, sunny main room of the apartment, so he turned his steps through the sitting and dressing areas towards the bedchamber.
This room was open and sunny, accented by large windows hung with thin curtains that allowed the spring sunlight to stream over the bed and floor. A door on the far side of the room led onto a wide stone terrace overlooking the city, and soon Eomer had crossed the space and walked through it onto the porch.
Before he had entered the bedroom, he had detected the gentle fragrance of spring flowers and plants upon the air; now he was in the midst of its aromatic source, for the terrace was almost covered with greenery. Large potted plants and wide beds of earth bordered with stone met his every glance, and against the wall by the bedroom entrance stood wooden trellises, painted white and entwined with climbing flowers of several colors.
It was here that he found his sister, in her plain work gown with the sleeves turned up and her hair pulled back, kneeling before one of the low-walled beds and working in the earth. Upon the approached of her brother, she lifted her head and gave him a somewhat dirt-smudged smile.
He returned it and said lightly, "I see Faramir has allowed you your indulgence with gardening."
Eowyn laughed a little and continue her activity of pressing the soil of the bed. "He prefers it to my sharpening swords or polishing my armor," she replied, before looking into the sky. "It is time for dinner, isn't it? My apologies, brother, the track of the day completely eluded me."
He sat on an ornamental iron chair nearby and waved away her concern. "It is no matter, I do not mind the rest while you finish," he said as he settled down, eyeing her with concern. "And if this brings you comfort, pray continue as long as you please."
She frowned a little now as she smoothed down the seed bed. "It does, but nothing will completely ease my heart until he returns," she said with a melancholy sigh. "It has been only three days since Faramir left, and every hour is as a lifetime, no matter how I occupy myself."
Silence fell between them, and Eomer knit his brows, wishing he knew what to say to ease his sister's pain. His was no silver tongue, but it spoke truly, and when he finally rose and went to crouch beside her, and put one arm around her slender shoulder, his words were plain but honest, spoken from his heart.
"I am certain he misses you greatly as well," he said gently, "and is likewise counting the hours until he is with you again. I believe he would be most proud of how bravely you are carrying this burden, how you are turning your hours to usefulness instead of pining while waiting for him. And if there is aught I can do to hurry your empty hours along, simply speak it and it shall be done."
Eowyn smiled wearily and for a moment lay her head upon his shoulder. "Your presence alone has helped me greatly," she said quietly, before lifting her head and looking at the plants around them. "And I must confess to a small amount of selfishness in growing these plants and flowers for the Houses to use; their fragrance reminds me so much of Ithilien, where we shall live, that whenever I sit among its perfume, it seems I am there, with him, in the home we will share to the end of our days. That seems to shorten the hours, at least to a small extent."
He squeezed her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "Then by all means, sister, you may stay out here until the moon rises; dinner can wait. I can have the kitchen send it here, if you would rather-"
"No, no, I am finished," she said. They both stood, she wiping her hands as she looked over the garden. "This is wearying, and I must rest, for tomorrow I have promised to go assist in the Houses. I shall be cleaned and ready soon, and we can go eat while you tell me all about the negotiations today. I am eager to know how it is proceeding."
She lifted her dirt-stained skirt and went before him as they walked back towards the apartment.
"Ah! It is still the same," griped Eomer as they strode across the wide terrace. "Adir has demands, Aragorn and the Council can't agree whether to accept them - what manner of flowers are here on these trellises, sister? Roses?"
They were at the door, Eomer curiously examining the blossoms that bedecked the portal.
She was already inside, and looked behind with a smile. "Yes; they were the favorite of Faramir's mother. He says their scent always reminds him of her, and he loves to have them about the doorway, so I've been working with the King's gardener to keep the trellises going. I think Faramir will be pleased to see them when he returns, they're doing much better this year than last."
"Hm," answered Eomer, idly wondering if Lothiriel liked roses.
Inside, Eowyn had stepped into the washing chamber. "Do you think the Council will agree to the Haradrim's wishes?" she asked, although he could no longer see her.
"I wish they would not," was the disgruntled response as Eomer walked through the doorway, leaving the roses behind. "We have given them far too much already. We should treat them as what they are, a conquered people, else I fear they will take the freedom we allow them and form a revolt with it."
He crossed the bedroom and took a seat in the main room, while the sound of splashing water wafted in from around the corner.
"I would not coddle them either, Eomer," said Eowyn's echoing voice from within the bathing room, punctuated by more splashing, "yet they are more likely to be restless if we are harsh with them than otherwise. If they have a good life under Aragorn's rule, they will be less driven to try and break from it."
"That is what Aragorn and Imrahil say," remarked her brother sullenly as he glanced in her general direction. "But until we know for certain what manner of men they are, we must be cautious. I am still far from trusting them, regardless of how noble this Adir seems to be, and I am not alone in my views."
Some minutes of silence followed, and Eowyn appeared, now clad in a plain but formal gown and fastening her hair back as she walked to her brother.
"Yes, I know," she said as she finished her task. "That is why you are all still arguing, and you will probably all still be arguing when Faramir returns. Sometimes I believe you men love fighting with words as much as with weapons."
Eomer stood and regarded her with a wry smile. "I suppose you believe you could do better," he said, tilting his head back a little.
"Indeed," she replied with a grin, brushing off the sleeves of her pale green dress. "Although I still might encourage a few lively debates, just to keep the matter interesting." She looked up at him and sighed, shaking her head. "I do hope it can all be resolved soon. Faramir would be so pleased to come home to his land finally at peace."
"A peace ill-forged is no victory, sister," warned Eomer as he gently took her arm and began walking her towards the door. "The Haradrim must prove they are worthy of our good faith, live under Gondor's firm rule without trouble for some years, before allowances can be made. If we are generous with them now, we will regret it, and I will not jeopardize the safety of Rohan for the sake of Aragorn's kind heart."
Her expression turned solemn. "It is a shame for Gondor and Rohan to stand in disagreement, after all we have endured together."
The King of Rohan could only shrug. "We are each thinking only what is best for our people," he offered, "and, I suppose, it is a good lesson for us both in diplomacy. I am sure we will come to some understanding in time. Now, let us talk no more of such things, but go downstairs to dinner, where I intend to negotiate with none but the mutton, and demand its immediate surrender to my appetite."
She smiled and allowed him to escort her through the door. As they strode towards the dining hall, however, Eomer could not help but notice his sister glancing towards the east whenever they passed one of the hallway's many windows. He followed her gaze when the chance arose; twilight had fallen, but the eastern sky was even darker beneath rumbling clouds. Rain, perhaps even a storm, brewed over Mordor, and Eomer felt his heart tighten as he thought how it almost looked as if Sauron dwelt there still, covering the land again with his foul shadow.
It was not hard to guess where Eowyn's thoughts lay, and Eomer silently blessed his brother-in-law and his companions, wherever they were behind those sharp, black mountains.
'I have no cause to bemoan my task,' he thought to himself, remembering his earlier dissatisfaction with a small amount of shame. 'The hard road of diplomacy is nothing to what Faramir and the others are bearing for our people. Safe passage, brother! May the Valar guide us both in the duties we have set ourselves!'
Then he turned a smiling face to Eowyn, and they went down to dinner.
-------------------------
Henvain looked out at the pouring rain and sighed, trying hard to keep up his enthusiasm for the situation he had volunteered himself into. But so far, his quest for excitement, recognition and maybe a little glory was turning into something a bit more different than what he'd bargained for.
He stared from his place in the dark cave out into the not-much-brighter morning, their fourth in Mordor, as he tried to recall all the glowing talk he'd spouted to Faelor five days ago. It would be an easy journey, he had said. A jaunt there and back, perhaps a few scraps with Orcs but nothing they couldn't handle, and then a triumphant return home none the worse for wear, with something at last to boast about.
Yes, he thought glumly as he took another bite of his lembas bread, the only food that they had packed since they were trying to travel light and swift. Yes, those had been his words, and he clearly remembered how bright his expectations had been when they set out into the former domain of the Dark Lord.
Now, after three full days of constant travel, punctuated by short bouts of rest and constant vigilance against Orcs, Henvain's thirst for glory had ebbed a bit, and he found himself fighting off the nagging thought now nibbling at the edge of his mind, the thought that perhaps this had been a mistake.
No, he told himself firmly as he swallowed his food. No, he didn't want to think it had been a mistake. He could do this, Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas needed him, and he wasn't about to lose heart when the opportunity to finally have something over his older brother still beckoned before him. Certainly, the way had been far rougher so far than he had planned for, and he felt close to exhaustion and they hadn't even reached the hidden fortress yet. But he wasn't about to give up; he had only to endure a few more days of this, and then he would be home, nice and dry and the hero of the family for once.
He peered into the rain, hoping it would end soon. Somewhere out there was Lord Legolas, keeping an eye on the Orcs they had been tracking, who had also stopped for the night. Thunder rumbled overhead, and as he looked out, he wondered at how all of Mordor had the same look to it, hard and cold and desolate. It had been fascinating for him, at first, to travel into the legendary land he had heard so much about all of his life. When they had caught a glimpse of Minas Morgul during the first day, he had been in awe, even though it was only in the far distance and looked like little more than a large, crumbled, empty fortress.
But the interest had worn off quickly, somewhere around the five hundredth razor-sharp rock he had had to clamber over to keep up with Lord Faramir and the Elf.
Then it had started to rain.
He rubbed one of his sore legs and glanced over at Lord Faramir, who was sitting close to the small entrance of the cave, likewise eating a piece of lembas bread and drawing out a map on a piece of parchment spread before him atop a small rock, marking their route as they traveled through Mordor. The Steward's figure was indistinct as he sat in the dim glow of the early morning light, yet he could see Faramir clearly enough to marvel at how his commander looked hardly tired at all.
Henvain still could not help but feel slightly awed at the idea that he was traveling so closely with the second most powerful man in the kingdom. As he studied his commander, he thought how he'd come to see him differently these past few days. At first, his attitude had been a mixture of reverence and opportunism, the idea that Lord Faramir as a very powerful man whose good opinion he had to gain so that he could benefit by it later on.
As they had traveled together, however, Henvain had observed many things about the Steward. One was that he could move as swiftly and silently as an Elf; Henvain felt like a galumphing oliphaunt next to him. It had been marvelous to see Lord Faramir sliding around rocks and over stones without making a sound.
Something else he'd learned was that Lord Faramir treated him completely unlike any of his other army commanders. He'd actually regarded Henvain with kindness, not the usual cold military attitude he was used to from his other commanders. Oh, his other commanders weren't cruel, just...indifferent. To them Henvain was just another soldier, a very ordinary one at that, one they only spoke to when it was time to order him about.
Lord Faramir, on the other hand, hadn't spoken one harsh word to him this entire journey, even on the times he'd lagged behind. They weren't best friends, certainly, but at the times when Lord Faramir had asked him how he was doing during their stops, Henvain was surprised at how sincere the question sounded. It was all very bewildering, and not at all what he was used to.
Henvain was just thinking how it was no wonder that so many men were willing to ride to Osgiliath and their deaths with Lord Faramir when the Steward's head suddenly lifted, and their eyes met.
Startled at being caught so, Henvain blinked beneath the young Steward's scrutiny and braced himself for a curt word.
The Steward, however, simply gave him a slight smile and said, "I hope you are enjoying your rest, Lieutenant; we shall likely not stop again until we reach the fortress," before going back to his map.
It was said in a mild tone, not angry or annoyed at all, and Henvain found himself nodding even though Faramir wasn't looking at him anymore. "Yes, sir," he said, instinctively sitting up a little straighter. After a pause, he decided to add, "I believe I'm fit to go the whole way, sir, once the word is given." Might as well do his best to impress his superior officer.
Faramir lay down his pen and stretched his arms out, glancing out at the gloomy morning. "That is well," he said, "for we shall certainly be moving soon." He let his arms fall to his sides and sighed as he looked down at the parchment, then back up at Henvain. "Lieutenant, I would very much appreciate your opinion on this map. The King will want it as accurate as possible so we may find the fortress again."
For a moment Henvain could only stare, as thrown as he had ever been in his life. "Um...my opinion, sir?"
Faramir's gaze remained genial; he even seemed to be smiling a little. "Yes," he replied, as if such an idea was not absurd. "I shall ask Legolas' viewpoint as well, when the time is right. I have done my best with this, but one man cannot recall everything, and you may remember some turn or path that has escaped my memory."
Still Henvain hesitated, paralyzed with amazement. No commander had ever thought it worth the time to ask Henvain's thoughts on any matter, let alone one so important. He scarcely knew what to say.
The smile on Faramir's face grew a bit wider, and he waved Henvain over with one hand. "Come, Lieutenant! I seek merely to test your recollection, not to drill you over some complicated battle history," he said in a friendly manner. "And it is, I fear, an order. Attend to me, if you please."
The last words were spoken with a touch more firmness, and Henvain swallowed his nervousness and rose, walking over to stand behind his commander. The map lay before them, spread out on the rock. The gloom of the rainy morning had lifted a little, and the drawing was plainly visible in the gray-bluish light, so that Henvain could easily discern every line.
It was beautifully drawn, and for an instant the soldier marveled at the sheer artistry of it; he had no idea the Lord Faramir was such a skilled draftsman. It showed their route from Ithilien into Mordor, every turn they had taken to their present position, where the lines turned sketchy and uncertain. The way before them was blank.
"Do not hesitate to say if you see some error," Faramir advised him; the tone was still friendly, but formal. "The future of our country may depend on the accuracy of this map."
Silently, Henvain studied the rendition before him, walking the route again in his mind as his eyes traveled over the course Faramir had laid out. Henvain was a little surprised to find that he remembered much of the journey, almost every jagged rock and twisting step.
After staying quiet for several minutes, Henvain pointed (respectfully) to a certain area of the drawing. "It looks just right, sir," he said, "but I believe we took this way, rather than that, to reach the other side of that valley. That other way was blocked by fallen rocks, if you'll recall, sir."
"Ah, so it was," muttered Faramir with a shake of his head, as he bent over the document and made the correction. "My thanks to you, Lieutenant, that was exactly what I looking for from you. Well done."
It was the first real praise Henvain had ever heard from a commander. "Oh-thank you, sir," he stammered, hastily attempting a formal military pose, as was proper when receiving a compliment from a superior officer.
Faramir was still revising the map. "Tell me, Henvain-you have a brother in the service, do you not?"
At once, Henvain sighed and slumped a little despite himself. He should have known Lord Faramir would ask him about Turwaith the Hero-didn't all the commanders, at some point? "Yes, sir, Captain Turwaith. He rode under Lord Aragorn at the Black Gate." Might as well tell it all.
"Hm." The pen had clogged; Faramir was trying to clear the nib. "Yes, thank you, I recall the name now; the King has mentioned how well he fought that day."
"Yes, sir, so I have heard," replied Henvain in a rote fashion, just as he had learned to do whenever the conversation turned to his elder brother.
As Henvain finished speaking, Faramir suddenly looked up at him, and for an instant the young soldier feared he had given the Steward some offense. Before he could mutter an apology, however, Faramir spoke.
"Forgive me, Lieutenant," said the Steward, startling Henvain at the amount of sympathy in his voice, "you were not able to join your brother?"
Henvain sighed again. "No, sir," he said, regret and disappointment creeping into his voice despite his efforts. "I, er, was ill. The army rode without me."
No words were spoken as Faramir peered at Henvain, no trace of disdain on his face. Then he put down the pen and stood, facing Henvain with an empathetic expression.
"Feel no shame for that, my friend; many men longed to join that great army, but could not," he said. He paused, then added quietly, "I myself was unable to fight, and could only watch the King lead the men of Gondor and Rohan away, from the walls of the Houses of Healing."
Henvain's eyes widened; he'd never known that Faramir had stayed behind. His illness had rendered his memory of the time somewhat foggy, and he had always simply assumed Faramir had gone with the King.
Unable to think of a coherent response, Henvain was rather glad when Faramir continued speaking.
"It was painful, to stay behind at such a time," he said with a sigh, his gaze becoming distant at the memory. Then he looked at Henvain and gave him an encouraging smile. "But perhaps you were saved from that battle for a greater purpose yet unknown. It was only by remaining in the City that I came to know the Lady Eowyn, a blessing I may never have survived to know had I gone to the battle."
Henvain considered this, although in his heart he felt certain that nothing could ever surmount the last battle with the Dark Lord in glory or importance. "Yes, sir," he said aloud, "I'll, um, try to remember that. Thank you."
Faramir nodded once, and at that moment Legolas' form appeared in the small mouth of the cave, dripping wet but somehow still appearing immaculate.
"The Orcs are moving," the Elf said quickly, a gentle urgency in his voice and manner. "And there is the glow of fire against the clouds in the dark skies to the south."
At this news, Faramir's expression became hopeful. "Some large bastion, perhaps even Karil's lair itself."
Legolas gave one firm nod, smiling in anticipation.
"Very well," said the Steward as he hurriedly packed up the map and his writing gear in a large oilskin pouch. "Lead on, my friend, we shall be close behind you."
Legolas vanished into the misty morning as Faramir drew his hood over his head and looked at Henvain.
"Follow me, Lieutenant; important work awaits us. This may be the day for which you were spared." With that, Faramir carefully stepped out into the rain-sodden morning.
Henvain adjusted his long gray cloak, his face contemplative as he pulled up the cowl. His heart did feel a little lighter than before. Even if he doubted that anything he did here could make up for missing the great Battle of the Black Gate, he at least now felt sure that he could manage some feat to win some bragging time of his own when he returned. He'd certainly gone farther into Mordor than any of the other soldiers, so that was something right there. The Steward seemed to like him, too, and it was good to have a highly-placed man for a friend. Soon they'd find that Harad prince's hiding place, and then it would be a short trip home to fame, free drinks at the tavern, and, well, who knew what else?
Lifted by these hopeful thoughts, Henvain drew his cloak around him and ran out after Lord Faramir, eager to resume the journey and the happy future that lay ahead.