Another morning, another small foot in the guts. This time the small girl stopped on his bed and he felt something made from soft fabric hit him in the face. Trying not to wince (his head could have been better) he opened his eyes.
A large red boot was being swung in front of his eyes.
"Santa's been, Santa's been. And he even knew to bring you a stocking."
Faramir took the proffered garment, thinking this will never fit, and there's only one of it… Then he realised that it was quite heavy and filled with small lumpy items.
"Go on, see what's in it."
On the main bed above, Éomer sat up. "Don't I get one?"
"Of course you do. Santa knows you live here." Kelly produced another, very similar looking red sock. Éomer wasted no time tipping it out onto his bed. A cascade of small packages fell out. Faramir followed suit.
"This is the best one," said Kelly, pushing a small, highly stylised golden bear towards him. He picked it up.
"You take the gold foil off and eat it," Kelly explained. She was getting quite used to their strange visitor who needed even the most everyday things explained to him. Faramir did as he was told and then cautiously nibbled an ear. Then the head. He broke off a chunk and gave it to Kelly – it seemed only fair, given that she had let him know that this wondrous item was edible. Then continued with most of the rest of the bear.
"Good, isn't it?"
"Good… the best thing I've ever tasted."
"Santa's left presents under the tree for all of us. Come downstairs." She grabbed Faramir by the hand and pulled.
"Wait… I'll just get dressed then I'll come straight down."
~o~O~o~
An hour or so later, Faramir found himself sitting on the floor watching Kelly make something elaborate with more of the brightly coloured bricks (smaller ones this time) that he'd already encountered. The toy even included two tiny figures with brightly coloured swords. Now that the children had opened all their presents, the adults were opening theirs at a rather more leisurely pace, accompanied by a dark bitter drink which Faramir wasn't entirely sure he liked, but which certainly seemed to be helping with the lingering traces of a headache from last night's ale.
"Here." Faramir looked up to see Éowyn smiling shyly at him, holding out a brightly coloured parcel. He took it, stumbling over his thanks and apologising for not getting her anything in return.
"Don't worry, you weren't to know. Open it."
He followed the example of the others and tore open the brightly coloured paper – blue with silver snowflakes falling across its surface. Inside was a garment. He shook it out. A short knitted tunic with long sleeves, similar to the ones the fishermen wore in Dol Amroth. But in a deep green.
"Somehow I thought green would suit you." Faramir nodded and took off the top Éomer had loaned him, replacing it with the green. "See, it does suit you." She smiled at him, and he felt as though he would never want to take this garment off again, if it could make her look like that.
"Wyn, I've got something for you." Éomer held out a long, thin, oblong parcel, longer than Faramir's arm. Éowyn jumped to her feet and clapped her hands with excitement.
"You haven't even opened it yet…"
"But I can guess from the shape." Almost reverently, she took it from him, and ripped the paper off, then opened the box inside. Within lay a sword. Faramir was puzzled – not a metal one, but some sort of strange white substance. It had a very slightly curved blade, and instead of a cross guard, an elaborately shaped guard which started where the cross would have been and formed a crescent shaped filigree piece to connect with the pommel. He realised to his surprise that it was admirably thought out – such a guard would protect one's knuckles and hand perfectly, as well as deflecting strokes away from the wrist and forearm.
Éowyn picked it up and quickly ran through what Faramir knew as the "Winds from all directions", the fluid set of strokes from all angles.
"No swords in the house." Jane's voice was firm, and brooked no dissent.
"Sorry, Jane! But it's only a nylon practice sword. Well, I say 'only' but it's a beauty. Thank you Éomer. It's perfect – the balance is spot on and it's weighted just right."
"Boxing Day fencing?" asked her brother.
"Of course. I'll even give you a handicap of a couple of points if you want," Éowyn replied with a cheeky grin.
Kelly had finished her model, and came over to Éomer with a book tucked under her arm.
"Thank you for the present, Éomer. Will you read me one of the stories?"
"Which one?"
"Sleeping Beauty is my favourite."
Theo laughed. "Very different from Éowyn! She hated that story when she was a kid. Always said 'But what if the princess didn't like him?' She said if some weird bloke she'd never met before tried to wake her up by kissing her, she'd punch him in the nose."
"She would have done, too," said Éomer with feeling.
"Yeah, well," Éowyn retorted, "In the unlikely event I ever get kissed by Prince Charming, I want to be fully conscious."
"On evidence to date," Éomer said, "You only seem to kiss frogs."
Éowyn reached out and flicked him on the ear. "Ouch."
Faramir listened to this exchange, thinking Never before have I set great store by the titles which a man accrues by a mere accident of birth, but, oh, would that I could change places with one of my cousins, just for the title… Would she settle for the younger son of the Steward, though I have no title beyond lord, and none that I have earned, beyond captain? In his heart, he knew that Éowyn would not give a damn one way or the other – if he could persuade her to take him at all, he sensed that she would take him for the man he was, not for any title.
He took another sip of the strange bitter drink to cover his feelings of confusion. It seemed his heart was set on courting her, and this sudden realisation surprised him somewhat. When had feelings of admiration, then attraction, then desire, taken on such substantial form? And why was his heart so much at odds with what his head told him was the only rational course? For he could hardly court her, thrown into a strange world where he had no standing, no status, no home, no occupation, nothing.
Odd details of his previous life came to him, but he still did not know why he was here. He had a sense that it was important. He also had a vague feeling that he had not landed up here, with this particular family, at random. Something to do with a swordsman kept popping into his head, but he wasn't sure exactly what. Anyway, Éowyn wasn't a swordsman – she was, well, what word would he use? Swordswoman? The only word which really seemed appropriate was shieldmaiden.
He would have to content himself with admiring his beautiful, wondrous shieldmaiden from afar.
~o~O~o~
True to his word the day before, Faramir peeled a great many potatoes. He watched as Jane put a large bird in the oven, and started to cook many delicious things to accompany it. Éowyn shepherded the children into the dining room to help her lay the table – once his potato peeling duties were done, he sneaked a look.
The table was a marvel – a bright red cloth of a silken material, glittering knives and forks, sparkling glasses of a fine quality he had not seen rivalled even on his uncle's table, the centre laid with some of the glittering gold "fluff" (for want of a better word) the children had added to the tree.
The meal was wonderful. The table creaked with enough food for an army – golden potatoes, carrots glistening with butter, roasted vegetables, peas (oh the wonders of this world, which could deliver peas in midwinter, encased in ice rather than dried, which tasted as good as if they had just been picked on a summer's day). Sausages wrapped in bacon – pigs in blankets, the children informed him. Rich gravy, delicious sauces. And wine. Not quite Tolfalas, but certainly passable, no, better than passable.
Then there were the strange tubes, with twists of paper, brightly coloured and covered in glitter. Again, the children explained – you grasped an end each and pulled. They came apart with a loud bang – louder even than a champagne cork. Then various brightly coloured but flimsy toys cascaded out, and a paper hat. Faramir was far from convinced by the paper hat, but everyone seemed to be wearing theirs, so he put up with the slightly ridiculous headgear.
Then a wondrous flaming pudding, a couple of holly leaves gracing the top of it. Rich with fruits and nuts and spices and brandy, and covered in a delicious sweet sauce, egg-yellow and piping hot.
After the meal, they went to the sitting room once more.
"Queen's Speech," said Jane, firmly, and Theo groaned. The children set to, laying lengths of wooden strips with grooves cut in them, along which wagons could trundle. Kelly seemed intent on constructing an elaborate knotwork pattern with the wooden strips, to rival the intricate knotwork on Éowyn's brooch. Callum seemed equally intent on dismantling it as fast as she made it, and eventually Éomer had to get down on the floor to act as referee.
Faramir took up the same position as he had the night before, sitting next to Éowyn, while Jane turned on the TV. Faramir marvelled at the age of their queen, tiny, white-haired, face deeply lined, yet eyes still sparkling. He tried to pay attention, but her clipped accent, the unfamiliar dialect of Westron, and the pudding with its wondrous yellow sauce, soon put paid to that. He nodded off once more.
~o~O~o~
Éowyn woke to realise she was delighfully warm and comfortable, cushioned against a firm pillow that seemed to have moulded itself to her body. Then she realised what, or rather, who the pillow was, and sat up, cheeks flaming. The pillow yawned and stretched.
"Sorry," she said. "I hope I didn't drool on you."
Faramir laughed.
Theoden and Jane were nowhere to be seen, and Éomer was still constructing railway with Callum, studiously ignoring his sister with the air of a man who had decided that there were some things he simply did not want to know about. Kelly was sitting with her book of fairy tales. She looked up.
"Good. You're awake. Faramir, I want to play schools. I'm the teacher and you're going to be the class."
Faramir looked slightly startled, but dutifully got down on the floor.
"Cross-legged. That's how you have to sit for carpet time." Kelly came and sat next to him, and opened the animal alphabet book that had once been hers, and was now Callum's. "You have to learn the letters for all the sounds. Ah is for ant. Buh is for bee. Kuh is for cat..." And so she went on, tracing the letters.
Éowyn watched with interest and more than a hint of concern. Jane had mentioned the man couldn't read, and that he'd seemed really distressed by this. She knew from her time in the army that though recruits were meant to come in with a minimal set of qualifications, some of them had only scraped minimum passes and really struggled. And those who were illiterate, usually through no fault of their own, tended to be absolutely mortified about this fact. She felt a knot of worry in her stomach; she liked this man, liked him a great deal (liked him more than she should and certainly more than she was prepared to admit). She really didn't want to see him humiliated. Maybe she should go to help Jane and Theo, to spare him embarrassment.
Too late. "Wyn… you have to come and do carpet time too. Pretend you can't read either. Puh is for pig..."
Some half an hour or more later, at least three things became apparent. One was that Faramir genuinely couldn't read. The second was that he was starting to learn – with absolutely startling rapidity. And the third was that he wasn't just quick-witted, in a street smarts sort of way (which she'd already guessed) but that he was very, very bright indeed.
She guessed he must come from a country with an alphabet, because clearly the general idea of what Kelly was trying to explain was familiar. Greek? Russian? Arabic? He didn't look like he was from any of these countries, but then again, Éowyn had seen enough of the world to have found out from experience that crude caricatures were rarely accurate. Then again, Faramir's English, though quaintly old-fashioned, was nearly accentless.
He had a fearsomely good memory. By now he seemed to have memorised the whole alphabet, so Kelly sent Éowyn ("you're class monitor for the week") to fetch a "proper book." Éowyn returned with Fox in Socks. Faramir's eyes narrowed, and he gave her a sidelong look of pretend annoyance, shaking his head slightly, so she stuck her tongue out at him.
But before long, he was slowly sounding out the beginning pages, much to Kelly's approval. She'd decided her star pupil was clearly a credit to her miraculous teaching abilities. What was even nicer, Éowyn thought, was the look of sheer delight on Faramir's face. He sat bowed over the book, strands of his black hair escaping from the pony tail he'd tied it into earlier when he set to work in the kitchen. Éowyn looked at them and got an almost irresistible urge to reach out and brush the dark hair away from his cheek.
He looked up and just for a moment Éowyn felt almost as though an electric spark had passed between them. She felt herself blush again (she swore she'd blushed more in the last two days than the previous ten years), and saw the hint of a smile form on Faramir's face.
"Pay attention," Kelly admonished him. Faramir grinned broadly, and Éowyn felt as though she'd just been gifted the best Christmas present of all.
~o~O~o~
AN – The fencing exercise Éowyn works through is a "Moulinette" - the basic exercise with a military sabre.
If you haven't read it, Sian's Animalia is a wonderful story about alphabetical bestiaries and fatherhood.