The winding road up to the Citadel had never felt so long. The company did their utmost to look inconspicuous while also keeping an eye out for any signs of Imrahil. Thankfully they went unnoticed and reached the Seventh Gate. The two guards eyed them with a bit of a smirk, strangely enough.
They managed to sneak into the Court of the Fountain without anyone stopping them, but they soon realised that they could not possibly enter the White Tower without a plausible reason. While they lingered by the fountain and pondered their options, they noticed a soldier strolling leisurely towards the entrance of the Guard's quarters. He was obviously off duty, carrying his helmet in one hand and an apple in the other. When he became aware of the strange assembly he came towards them with a huge grin.
"Greetings, my lords, my ladies," he bowed his head, "so the legend is true!" He gave Amrothos a pat on the shoulder.
"Greetings to you, Aegas," the long-suffering youngest brother replied. "Do I even want to ask what legend you're referring to?"
The soldier laughed. "Don't be modest, you're considered heroes in the barracks. Your adventure will go down in the Guard of the Citadel's lore. I wish I could have been there. By the way, don't worry, no one has said anything to Imrahil, and we intend to keep it that way."
Now they were even more confused than before. Elphir took the matter into his own hands.
"Listen, old chap, it turns out we got poisoned last night and our memory is rather hazy. You'll have to help us out here. What did we do?"
Aegas worked excruciatingly hard to look Elphir in the eyes without laughing. "In your case, it's probably for the best that you don't remember. No offence."
"None taken. I have gathered that much. Never mind the blasted frock, what happened?"
"Alright, alright," Aegas wheezed. "So, from what I've heard you turned up around midnight, wasted like halflings on pipe-weed."
THE NIGHT BEFORE
"No, Éomer, I'm not doing it!" Faramir planted himself in front of his brother-in-law and crossed his arms.
The Lord of the Mark was not ready to give up so easily. "You went along with all the others' ridiculous quests, whereas mine is merely a sign of respect to your future wife's heritage." He shoved a rolled up banner in Faramir's hand. "I walked all the way to the barracks to get this. By Béma, we flew this very banner on the Pelennor! My people shed their blood…"
"Fine!" Faramir almost shouted. He unwrapped the Rohirric banner, looked at it for a few seconds, and let his eyes wander up to the Gondorian flag that was flying high above the mighty Tower of Ecthelion. "I cannot believe you're making me do this. There are laws against this, you know. Some might consider it treason."
"Some might consider you a bore," Éomer gave back. "You're the steward, what's the worst that could happen to you?"
Faramir stuffed the banner under his tunic, turned around without another word and walked through the Seventh Gate, avoiding the guards' looks at all cost. He waited by the sapling for his band of scoundrels to catch up with him. As usual, there were two watchmen at the entrance to the White Tower. They would let him and his friends in, of course – it was not so much the illegality of this undertaking that worried him, it was the sheer audacity of it, the nerve, the cheek! His ancestors were undoubtedly turning in their graves at this very moment. He half expected to hear a distant rumble from the Hallows. The thought of that place evoked memories that he had no wish to revisit, so he quickly focussed his mind back on the task at hand.
The others, even Elphir, had managed to get past the gate and were trickling into the courtyard one by one.
"For the love of Ulmo, Béma, and whoever else might be listening, I beg you to be quiet and leave the talking to me," he implored them. They approached the guards at the tower's entrance – clad in their shiny parade armour, holding their polished spears, and not at all prepared for what was stumbling towards them.
"Good evening, fellows," Faramir addressed them and they snapped to attention. "Never mind us, my friends and I are just going upstairs for some stargazing. The Eagle shines especially bright tonight." He surprised himself with how naturally this lie was coming to him and blamed it on the prolonged exposure to his cousins.
The guards looked the visitors up and down, but they could hardly deny the steward entry to his own tower, so they opened the door and the company marched inside. Faramir grabbed one of the torches mounted on the wall and ushered them all towards the staircase. The stone steps were worn and slippery, and there were exactly three hundred and eighty-eight of them, as he had verified many times as a boy. He could hear the wind howling louder and louder the higher they climbed.
They finally reached the upmost platform where the infamous flag post stood. The view was indeed spectacular, with the White City sprawled out beneath, the stars glimmering above, and the mountains looming in the distance. But this was not a time for aesthetic contemplation, there was a crime to commit!
The floor on the platform was tiled but had not been maintained very well, so it was full of potholes and puddles from the last heavy rain. Faramir avoided three of them over the short distance from the stairs to the flag post. He tugged on the rope; the mechanism for raising and lowering the flag was all rusty and stuck. He managed to pull it down about three feet, but it was still too high to reach.
"Right, someone has to climb up," he resolved. "Which one of you lot is the lightest?" It was more of a rhetorical question, as that distinction obviously belonged to Amrothos.
He sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Faramir handed him the banner, and Éomer and Éothain gave him a leg-up. He fiddled with the rope for a moment, struggling to see.
"Hand me the torch," he demanded, and Faramir obliged.
What he had not anticipated was a sudden gust of wind that made the torch flare up and blew a few sparks right onto the Gondorian flag. Amrothos dropped the torch and the banner and tried to put out the flames with his hands. He did succeed; however, he also set his own tunic on fire in the process. He let out a scream and fell backwards on top of his friends, who had the presence of mind to dip him into one of the puddles.
The whole spectacle only lasted a few seconds and Faramir observed it in a daze. He looked up at the proud flag of his ancestors that was now sporting two large burn holes. His mind told him that this was a scandal, a horrible disgrace, but when he glanced back at his band of dishevelled, flustered, soaked, bitten, and beaten up friends, he could not help but burst out laughing, and he kept laughing throughout the awkward encounter with the guards who came running up the stairs and who would later claim that they had never seen their steward quite like this before.
Aegas looked at the company with the utmost admiration. "And this, my fine fellows, is how history was made," he concluded his tale.
No one could think of anything to say. They all just gaped at each other, trying to digest what they had heard.
Except for Éowyn. "Splendid, great, wonderful story!" she groaned, clapping her hands. She poked her finger in Aegas' chest and channelled all her built up frustration into one question, "But where is Faramir?"
"I'm over here, what's the matter?"
The whole company turned around as one. Three horses came trotting through the Seventh Gate, bearing the King Elessar, Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf – and Faramir son of Denethor, Lord Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, in the flesh.
Éowyn ran over to him without so much of a word and flung her arms around him as soon as he got off the horse.
"It's good to see you too, my dear," he uttered, clearly at a loss. "This is a most welcome surprise, but what have I done to deserve it?"
Éowyn looked at the company, then back at him. "For starters, you're alive!"
Faramir exchanged bewildered glances with his three friends. He walked over to the adventurers with Éowyn still clinging to his arm.
"Would any of you care to explain what's going on? Why would I not be alive? By the way, you look rough! I'm surprised you're up already, after last night's ordeal."
"We spent all morning looking for you all over the city!" Erchirion blurted. "We had to retrace the entire evening, none of us have any memory of it because of the bloody fire water and the pipe-weed and the ale… or something. Anyway, where were you?"
"Camping!" he said cheerfully, pointing at the rolled up blanket attached to his horse's saddle. "Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli didn't feel like joining our adventure last night – and a wise decision it was – so they picked me up after the flag disaster and we spent the rest of the night by a campfire under the stars. You know, like the old days. Mind you, you all saw me leave."
"Béma's bollocks!" it burst out of Lothíriel. A dozen shocked faces turned to her. "I'm so sorry, I have no idea where that came from," she muttered and cleared her throat. "Glad you're alright, Cousin!"
King Elessar and his friends came to join them, and the Elf curiously examined Éomer's black eye.
"Fascinating," he pointed out. "It has changed colours! And there are so many of them, black and purple and…" Gimli nudged him with the hilt of his axe. "Oh, forgive me, I'm sure it must feel rather unpleasant."
King Elessar could hardly contain his amusement at the entire situation. "Faramir has told us all about your endeavours, and I must say I'm thoroughly relieved that I had no part in them. Also, you might be pleased to hear that you will not be arrested for mutilating your ancestors' flag." He grinned at Amrothos, whose face turned the colour of a good Dorwinion late vintage.
"Sorry, my Lord King," he mumbled, and to his companions he added, "So, should we, maybe… leave?" The others could not agree fast enough.
"Let's find something to eat!" suggested Éothain and made for the gate with Elfhelm and Amrothos in tow.
"I'm going to lie back down," Elphir resolved and strolled off, followed by Erchirion.
Éomer approached Lothíriel. "So, Swan Princess, now that you curse like a Rohir you're one of us. I was wondering… would you like to meet my horse?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Uhm, why not. Oh, and I can whip up some marigold ointment for your eye, it works wonders."
When everyone had eventually wandered off, including King Elessar and his friends, Faramir and Éowyn stayed behind by the fountain.
"Well, at least the families have had an opportunity to get to know each other…" he stated, scratching his head. "Really makes you wonder, doesn't it? How will they ever get by on their own when we leave?" He chuckled.
Éowyn took his hand and grinned. "I don't even want to imagine."
