Chapter 21

Contest

It was not hard to find where the wrestling was taking place. The noise of the excited crowd reverberated through the trees. Faramir approached the rowdy gathering apprehensively and at its centre he was not surprised to see Eomer, tankard in hand swirling down mouthfuls of ale.

"At last," Eomer boomed. "The Steward arrives! I thought you had forsaken Gondor's honour after your young son tried so valiantly to uphold it!"

Faramir could see that both Legolas and Gimli were in the throng surrounding the King of Rohan, their faces flushed and eyes flashing brightly as they enjoyed the moment. There were also a few Gondorian soldiers that he recognised but most were Rohirrim warriors gazing with awe at the mesmerising figure of their King, who bore his years well and boasted a magnificent physique still. Elboron and Cirion stood close to their Uncle and Faramir was somewhat surprised to see Eldarion with them. There was no sign of the young Prince's mother or father or Eowyn. Faramir supposed they must already over in the area prepared for feasting. Eowyn would hate to miss this contest but Faramir was actually quite relieved she was not there.

He sighed. "My good King Eomer," he began. "I really do not see how the honour of Gondor can possibly ride on an arm wrestling contest!"

Eomer wiped the ale from his beard with the back of his hand. His eyes burnt like beacons in the gathering twilight as he stared at Faramir. The look on his face showed it was perfectly obvious that honour could ride on such a contest and Faramir was lacking something fundamental if he could not grasp such a concept!

"I had heard you had taken to hanging around wizard's towers, Steward," Eomer spat. "I thought you had found your honour there by rescuing Gondor's heir. It seems I am sadly mistaken."

There were whistles and guffaws from the Rohirrim behind him.

"Do not speak to me of honour," Faramir said coldly.

Eomer's raised his eyebrows, and turned away to hide his smirk. He knew he had touched the Steward's weakness. Behind him the crowd were eagerly drinking in the entertainment and Eomer realized he had Faramir exactly where he wanted him.

"Then prove it," he said firmly looking back to the Steward.

Faramir looked away from Eomer's combative gaze. "If this is about earlier," he began. "It was an ill conceived and stupid remark, I should not have…."

Eomer let out a loud snarl. "This is about so much more!" he growled. "Do you really think that I would let such an unfounded and insulting remark upset me? This is about Gondor and Rohan."

Behind him his men cheered drunkenly. Eomer smiled at them.

"Come on, laddie!" Gimli's voice could be heard. "You cannot let Eomer claim the victory without even putting up a fight! That just would not do."

Faramir heard his own sons beseeching him too. He felt his cheeks burn. He wanted so much to walk away. He knew from the twinkle in his eye that Eomer was setting him up and he knew that Eowyn did not want him to yield to the provocation, but still she would expect him to defend his honour. All eyes were on him as he hesitated.

"The reputation of Gondor is at stake, Faramir!" Eomer pressed. "Think of your forbears. Think of the honour of the House of Hurin!"

Faramir snorted but finally succumbed, as he had known he would. He stepped forward to hoots and calls from the group. "There is nothing at stake here, Eomer," he snarled. "It is an arm wrestle that is all!"

Eomer smiled. "Whatever! Believe what you wish if it helps you live with defeat, son of Gondor!" he laughed. "I know the truth of it."

A number of the Gondorians patted their Steward on the back as he sat in the place recently vacated by Cirion. Eomer, the smile broad across his face sat down opposite him.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Faramir raised his hand to assume the position. Eomer slowly finished his tankard of ale and threw it away, enjoying the drama of the moment. He took hold of Faramir's hand, smiling as he felt the Steward's cold sweaty palm.

Eomer's eyes sought out those of his brother-by-law and his face creased into a superior grin. Faramir gulped but held the challenging gaze, his heart hammering nosily in his chest.

"Take the strain," commanded Gimli in his role of self appointed referee.

The crowd exploded into cheers as Eomer grunted and squeezed Faramir's hand painfully. The Steward was ready and absorbed the first attack, allowing his arm only a small backward movement.

"It was an impudent remark," Eomer hissed through his teeth. "I will have my retribution. I deserve this, Faramir!"

The Steward would have shrugged, if he could have allowed any energy to another part of his body but as it was he was channelling all his strength into his arm. He was gratified when he noted he had won back not only the ground he had lost but a little more as well.

Around them the cheers of the crowd were raising to a crescendo. Odds were being shouted and Faramir could distinctly hear the voices of his two sons screaming at him. He tried to blot it all out as he concentrated on the bout. He wanted so much to win.

The two men were evenly matched. Eomer was the broader of shoulder but the mastering of his long bow and long hours practising with his sword had increased Faramir's upper arm strength. Still history showed that the King of Rohan always seemed to run out the winner in a test of stamina.

Both men were beginning to show the strain. Eomer's face was flushed and the veins protruded in his neck, while Faramir was sweating profusely.

The Steward grunted in exertion as he forced his hand downwards. Eomer was swearing through clenched teeth in Rohirric. The Gondorians in the crowd were squealing in delight as there were but inches to go, while the Rohirrim growled in dismay. Faramir was almost there, he shifted his weight just a little to press home the advantage and that one lapse was enough for Eomer. With a growl of complete satisfaction the King of Rohan leapt on the momentary opportunity, brutally forcing Faramir's arm back and crashing it painfully on to the table.

The Rohorrim erupted in triumph!

Eomer stood up and roared. Beating his chest with pleasure.

Faramir remained in his seat. He grimaced and shook his head sadly when he saw the disappointed look in Cirion's eye. Gingerly he inspected his arm to note there was no lasting damage, only the immediate pain.

Eomer had another drink thrust into his hand and downed most of it in one massive gulp much to the satisfaction of his men, the rest of the ale ran through his beard and dripped from his chin. Ruefully the soldiers of Gondor reached into their pouches to pay off their debts.

Eomer beamed at Faramir. "Friends?" he boomed.

Faramir stood wearily and accepted another bone crushing hug. "We were never anything but," he confirmed.

"I thought you had me that time," Eomer shook his head, signalling for another drink. "Another bout?" he asked.

"Nay, my Lord," Faramir laughed. "I must save my arm for more important business."

Eomer looked at him aghast. "There is no more important business than winning!" He thrust a drink into Faramir's hand. "Then drink with me to the death of the Easterlings!"

Faramir accepted the tankard but took only a small sip. Eomer shook his head and punched him on the shoulder in a friendly, for a Rohirrim, gesture. Faramir tried not to stagger too much as Eomer said, "I know you are a good man, my brother, but you do have some odd habits! I wonder how Eowyn can live with you!"

As he moved away to be congratulated even more loudly by his men Eomer said over his shoulder, "By the way, that tip you gave me, you know the position you said produced a boy every time? I believe that was how I hit Thiri's target and she produced Elfwine!" He sniffed, "I admit archery has its uses."

"Then I was right?" Faramir questioned aghast. "You do owe me."

Eomer laughed. "I have noticed you men of Gondor never fight so well when you feel beholden to your opponent. Something to do with your sense of honour, I think! The Rohirrim, on the other hand, know that the only honour is to be found in the winning!" He laughed even louder as his men engulfed him.

Faramir watched him go with a wistful smile on his face. The Horse Lord had outfoxed him again!

Accepting his loss with good grace, the Steward was about to try and find Eowyn when he noticed Eldarion lurking on the edge on the group that had started more bouts. Elboron was taking his place to pit his strength against a young Rohan warrior. Cirion was beside him, talking incessantly, giving his elder brother the benefit of his somewhat suspect knowledge.

"Fare you well, my Prince?" Faramir asked as he approached Eldarion.

The young boy turned to greet him and Faramir was struck by the elfish beauty of his features accentuated by the flickering shadows of the firelight. He had the look of his mother and he also looked strangely out of place and ethereal in the present bawdy company.

He smiled. "I am well, Lord Steward. And for that I owe no little thanks to you. Forgive me I have been unable to thank you properly."

Faramir shrugged. "I did nothing any other man would not do for you, my Prince. You are worth any risk."

Eldarion flushed noticeably in the fading light. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and looked back to the arm wrestling. He smiled indulgently at Cirion's exaggerated cheering for his elder brother.

Faramir smiled too. "He is one of kind," he muttered softly. "And even I would not change him."

"I like him a lot," Eldarion disclosed. "He is the first person I have met who treats me like a…. like a friend, I suppose."

Faramir eyed the boy with sympathy as the young Prince continued, "Most people treat me like I am too fragile to touch, others seem to want me to influence my father, and some just appear frightened of me because I am different. Today Ciri told me I was stupid – he is the first person ever to call me that. It was great!"

Faramir's eyebrows arched. "It was?" he asked, unconvinced. He took a further taste of the very strong ale Eomer had given him and then when the foul taste hit the back of his mouth, wished he had not bothered.

Eldarion looked at him. "I just want to be normal," he said. "Do the things that normal boys do."

"I understand that, my Prince," Faramir said gently. "But you must weigh that against the role you were born to play. You will never be a normal boy. You will be King one day and we will all be your subjects."

"I know," Eldarion sighed. "But that is a long way off. Besides surely to rule properly I must know how my subjects feel."

"That is a good strategy but I would not want you to think that Cirion is typical of your subjects. As I said he is one of a kind!"

The crowd around the table erupted once more and Cirion was screaming at his defeated brother.

Faramir shook his head as Eldarion laughed brightly. "It seems that my family are not to be winners tonight," the Steward said.

"Maybe not at arm wrestling," Eldarion said earnestly. "But in other things."

"Your mother and father love you very much Eldarion," Faramir said softly.

The boy sighed, a tremendously eloquent sound that touched the older man keenly. "Sometimes I think they love me too much; they suffocate me. The one chance I had they let me go to Rohan and look what happened."

"You can never love somebody too much. For a parent it is the hardest thing to let your child go," Faramir replied. "You are the most precious being in your parents' lives. Remember that the next time you feel they stifle you. And also remember that they are allowing you to ride to war. Think how your mother will feel when she watches you ride away. You will take a part of her heart with you."

Eldarion nodded his understanding. "She did not want me to go. She said I was too weakened by the trance but father said it was what I needed to restore my strength. He said I must practise weaponry and horsemanship every day. I have never liked riding or fighting before but after what you told me in the tower about sometimes having to fight because it is necessary, I began to see that I must learn such things and become as skilled in them as I can. I may not become the greatest soldier who ever lived but one day I will have the best army in the whole of Middle Earth to command. I must know the ways of war. I still find it hard to believe you do not like to fight, you are so brave and so talented."

"Believe it, my Prince," Faramir said sadly. "For it is true I would hang up my sword tomorrow and not miss it for a moment, if I could believe Gondor would be safe without it."

"Darion!" Cirion called from where he stood with his brother. "I'm starving. Come with us to find some food!"

"Darion?" Faramir asked.

Eldarion shrugged. "You know what it's like, formal names are so stuffy."

"Oh. . . yes," Faramir rolled his eyes.

Eldarion turned to follow Faramir's sons, who, the Steward noted in passing and rather ruefully, had not invited him along also, maybe it was because he was too stuffy! Reflecting on what the young boy had just disclosed to him, an idea occurred to the older man then and he reached out a hand to stop Eldarion.

"Can I ask you something, my Prince?" he asked in all seriousness.

Eldarion stopped, intrigued. "Of course."

"Just as your father fears for you, I worry for my own sons. Bron is old enough to ride with me and I can keep him close during the battle's heat. Cirion will stay with you and the other pages when the fighting commences. Ciri is brave but foolhardy. I would ask that you watch over him, as a King must over his subjects." Faramir said.

Eldarion beamed proudly. "Ciri is my friend and you were my saviour in Saruman's tower. It would be an honour to serve you thus."

He shook hands solemnly. "Thank you, my Prince," Faramir said with equal gravity.

Behind him Cirion skidded back into view. "Come on Darion!" he shouted. "They are serving the meal."

Faramir nodded as the two boys dashed off in the direction his son had come from. He should really seek out his wife and ensure that she was comfortable. He was still concerned that she was out of bed in the first place. Before he made to follow the boys however, he deftly emptied the rest of the ale from his flagon behind the nearest tree!