Sorry this update is a little later than usual, but I hope the fact has it has LOTS OF FARAMIR should help make up for it. (Faramir *and* Eowyn, no less!) Now I KNOW there are some big Faramir fans among my readers, and we've seen very little of him lately, alas. So enjoy!

Chapter 30

Tried beyond endurance, Éowyn hurled the book with all her strength against the wall across from her bed. Her timing was unfortunate; just as it left her hand a man appeared in the doorway, hand raised to rap on the partially open door. After following the volume's trajectory and impact with his eyes, he turned to her, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"Oh!" she cried, cheeks blazing. "Please forgive me, sir. I did not see you enter."

He was a tall man with the fine features that she knew suggested Númenórean descent, but his shoulder-length hair was golden brown, lighter in hue than most Gondorians. He was wearing a soft tunic and trews made of the same material as her own gown and his right arm was in a sling, therefore clearly a patient of the Houses as well.

The man's face was somber as he bent to pick up the book, but something in the set of his mouth suggested the possibility of good humor. He glanced at the book's spine and snorted, "Normally I would be the first to protest seeing any book so misused, but in this case I believe an exception can be made."

"You know that book?" Éowyn asked, unable to conceal her astonishment.

"Gwainor's A Gentlewoman's Guide to Courtship and Marriage? Indeed yes, I know it well. My brother and I have whiled away many a rainy afternoon with this very volume."

"Really?" she asked incredulously, unable to imagine any man voluntarily reading such a turgid and humorless work.

He smiled wryly, his eyes bright with amusement. "When I was about ten and my brother fifteen," he explained, "we would read the choicest parts aloud and laugh ourselves sick."

At the mention of his brother Éowyn suddenly realized who the man was. "Oh, my lord, you must be Faramir, Lord Boromir's brother. I am sorry I did not recognize you," she exclaimed. "I beg your pardon for my display of ill temper. It's just that…I asked for something to read and was brought that," indicating the book he held with distaste. "I could not but wonder if it was meant to be a commentary of sorts."

"Ah, I see," he said, eyes widening, "a reminder of what is considered proper womanly behavior?" At her nod he gazed at her speculatively, "If I may ask, who brought you this book?"

"One of the aides, I do not know his name," Éowyn replied.

Lord Faramir smiled, his lips twitching, "Although I suppose that is possible that it was meant as a reproof, I think it would take a bold person indeed to chastise the slayer of the Witch-King for unseemly conduct! I deem it far more likely that it indicates a lack of imagination and the desire to select a 'safe' choice that would not offend a delicate maiden of noble birth. Happily, however, I have access to the Citadel library, a much more extensive collection than I suspect was available to the well-intentioned person who brought you the Gwainor. Could I select a few volumes for you that might be more to your taste?" he asked earnestly.

"Oh, yes, my lord, I would like that very much!" Éowyn replied. "It is very kind of you to offer."

He smiled and bowed slightly, "It would be my pleasure, my lady. My brother would tell you that I need little excuse to lose myself in the library. Now, what else may I do to aid you? Morloth said that you wished to speak to me."

"Oh…is that the dark-haired woman?" At Faramir's nod, she continued, "It is just that there is so little for me do here, and they expect me to stay abed for several more days! I suppose I cannot expect someone like that to understand—a simpering noblewoman trying to fill her empty days with 'good works'—but I cannot not bear the thought of being so long idle!" Éowyn had sensed the self-assurance beneath Morloth's mild demeanor, and had read it as the contempt that some Gondorians held for the 'barbarian' Rohirrim.

Lord Faramir stared at her in silence for a moment, blinking in apparent bemusement. Finally he shook himself, "My apologies, Lady Éowyn, I have never known Morloth to be depicted in such a way, and I was taken by surprise." He smiled gently, "I think you might find Morloth more congenial than you expect. As it happens she is not a noblewoman, but a senior Healer in the Houses of Healing, one of the few women in Gondor's history to have attained that rank." He gazed into the distance contemplatively, "I think you will find her not without courage, though perhaps it is a different kind of courage than is required for feats of arms."

With a start he came to himself again and reddened, "I beg your pardon, my lady, I did not mean to imply…"

"Of course not, my lord," Éowyn quickly reassured him and felt her face heat; it was obvious that he did not mean to insult her but was instead reflecting on his own battlefield experiences. But as well, she was mortified to have misconstrued the situation so badly and slighted someone he evidently held in high regard. Although she didn't quite understand why it was so, the idea that this grave man might think her to be rude and judgmental was very upsetting.

"She is a friend of yours?" she asked quietly.

A fleeting smile crossed his face, "Yes, you could say that. I have known her for many years; her late husband served in my command in Ithilien."

Éowyn's sense of shame magnified; the woman was a war widow, and a beautiful and accomplished one at that! Before she could curb her tongue, she voiced her next thought aloud, "But…she looks like one of the Dúnedain!"

Lord Faramir seemed puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared, "Oh, I see. Is that why you thought her a noblewoman?" He snorted, apparently amused by her assumption, "Despite what many here would have you believe, not all of the blood of Westernesse is confined to the nobility of Gondor. I understand it is quite common among the Northern Dúnedain of all stations, not just Lord Aragorn and his high-born kin."

She looked away, stung by this reminder of Aragorn and his rejection of her, courteous as it was. Surely Lord Faramir knew nothing of her infatuation; it would be just too humiliating if he did.

Apparently he did not, for he continued speaking, seemingly not to have noticed her discomfort. "Regardless of her birth, besides being a skilled healer—she helped save my brother's life when he was wounded—I think you would find Morloth to be quite kind and sympathetic if there is anything you would prefer not to discuss with the male healers. Or, for that matter, if you simply wish to learn more about Gondor; I know our customs are in some ways quite different than those of the Mark," he explained earnestly.

"Thank you, my lord, I will bear that in mind," Éowyn responded, and in truth did resolve to be more hospitable if she had the opportunity to meet the healer again. From what she had heard, women's lives in Gondorian society were even more rigidly constrained than among the Rohirrim, so it intrigued her that this woman had apparently made a life for herself beyond the traditional roles of wife and mother.

"But unfortunately, my lady, I'm afraid I can do little to intervene with the healers on your behalf." He gestured to his arm in the sling, "As you can see, I am as much a prisoner to their care as you are."

Much of Éowyn anger's at her plight dissipated; this man was evidently bearing the healer's constraints on his activities with patience and dignity. Her complaints of the same treatment suddenly seemed childish and petulant. She glanced out her window, which looked out onto the rocky slopes of Mount Mindolluin; a splendid view, but not the one she craved. "I just wish my window looked east," she murmured plaintively.

Lord Faramir's face brightened, "Well, that is not an unreasonable request. If you wish, I will speak to the Warden to ask that you be moved to another room. There may not be one available immediately, but I expect there will be in a day or two as patients are released."

"I would greatly appreciate that, my lord," she replied, secretly marveling that he thought there was nothing shocking or unwomanly about wishing for a view of Mordor. But then, she realized, maybe it wasn't so surprising given that in Ithilien he had labored in the very shadow of the Black Land for many years.

"It would be my pleasure," he replied gravely. "I also wonder—have you yet been given leave to walk in the gardens as I have? I know it is not the same as being released to go where and when you please, but at least you could see more of the city than the four walls of your room."

"Oh!" Éowyn exclaimed in surprise, remembering that the woman healer had indeed mentioned something of that sort, but in her anger she had forgotten it. "I…I believe your friend Morloth did say that would be allowed soon."

"Splendid!" he beamed, with a broad smile that reminded Éowyn quite strongly of his brother. Both sons of Denethor were handsome, and apparently also shared the same smile—one that many women found irresistibly attractive, at least judging by what she'd seen when Boromir had used it to great effect on the women of Rohan. "Perhaps I will see you there one day soon, and we can continue our conversation."

"I...I will look forward to that, Lord Faramir," she replied with a warm smile of her own. Suddenly, her confinement to the Houses of Healing seemed much less burdensome than it had just a few hours earlier.

-ooo-

When Faramir returned to his room, book in hand, he found his brother there, slumped disconsolately in a chair.

"And where have you been?" Boromir asked in a surly tone.

"Speaking to Lady Éowyn," he replied, giving his brother an inquiring look.

Boromir's mood lightened a little and he asked, "Ah, how is she?"

Faramir sighed, a small smile crossing his face at his memory of their conversation. He found himself replying, "Lovely." Coloring slightly, he hurriedly added, "And restless. It seems that she finds idleness wearisome."

"Indeed?" Boromir responded, gazing at his brother speculatively.

Hoping to turn the discussion to another topic, Faramir handed the book he was holding to his brother, "Here, maybe this will sweeten your foul mood."

Boromir grunted and glanced at the spine of the book. To Faramir's surprise, his expression darkened immediately and he looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "Have you spoken to Morloth?" he demanded, his eyes hard.

"Yes, earlier today," Faramir answered cautiously, taken aback by the tone of the question.

Anger flared in Boromir's eyes and he sent the book hurtling to the wall across from him, "You would mock me?" he roared, standing and glaring at his brother furiously.

Faramir stared at Boromir, wide-eyed; he had seen his brother angry often enough—his temper was legendary—though very seldom was it directed at him. But he also read his brother well enough to recognize that this time there was deep pain under the fury.

"Brother," he said urgently, "you know I would not. Tell me, what is the matter?"

"You know well enough," Boromir snarled, "you said that you spoke to her!"

"I swear I do not know! Morloth simply asked me to visit Lady Éowyn!"

"Oh." To Faramir's astonishment, Boromir's anger disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He slumped back into the chair, his head in his hands, the very picture of dejection.

He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and said gently, "Please, Boromir, tell me what troubles you."

"I'm sorry, Fara, I shouldn't have lost my temper with you," Boromir said, voice muffled by his hands. "It was stupid, but I thought she told you what had happened."

Faramir just barely restrained his urge to shake his brother until he explained, but after a moment, Boromir glanced up, tears starting in his eyes, "Oh, Fara, I asked Morloth to marry me and she….she refused me."

He was so shocked that he fell gracelessly to a seat on the bed near Boromir and stammered, "She…she said no?" And instantly regretted it, realizing it was an inane thing to say.

His brother gave him a sour look, "That is what 'refused' means, as a rule."

He felt his face heat, "I'm sorry, Brother, it was not my intent to twist the knife. I'm just so surprised… I have known Morloth for many years and she has never shown the least interest in any man since Bregor died, until she met you. Her heart is as true and loyal as any woman I've ever met and I am certain she cares for you deeply."

Evidently, Boromir's moods were alternating between despair and fury, and despair was currently in ascendance. "Apparently not," he muttered despondently.

Faramir shook his head impatiently, "No, I do not believe that." His eyes narrowed, "Did she say why she wouldn't marry you?"

Boromir sighed deeply, "She said she couldn't marry me, and that I shouldn't ask. When I pressed her for a reason, she ran out of the room crying."

His eyebrows rose, "'Could not', rather than 'would not'? And she ran away crying?" Faramir snorted, "Despite my admittedly non-existent experience with such matters, that does not sound to me like a woman spurning an importune suitor. There must be some impediment, either real or imagined, that is preventing her from accepting." He met his brother's eyes, "You need to speak to her again and convince her to tell you why she feels she cannot marry you."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Boromir asked hotly. "I know that! Immediately after we spoke I was required to attend the war council, but since then I've done nothing but look for her! She is avoiding me," he added through gritted teeth.

"Boromir, it can't be that difficult to find her, she spends most of her time here." Faramir chuckled, "You're the Lord Steward, by Eru, if all else fails you can send some guardsmen and force her to attend you."

His brother's eyes widened, "I could at that! I hadn't considered that before."

"By the Valar, I was jesting, Boromir!" Faramir choked. "I am certainly not recommending it as a course of action." He shook his head, "Be patient, no doubt you'll get an opportunity to speak to her eventually, without commanding her presence."

"That is just what I cannot do," Boromir replied, passing a hand over his face wearily. "We leave for Mordor in two days and I must speak to her before then—she doesn't yet know I'm going."

Faramir gazed at his brother, brow furrowed in confusion, "Going to Mordor? Boromir, what you are blathering about? No one is going to Mordor."

Boromir started, a sheepish look on his face, "Sorry, Fara; I forgot you didn't know. Today it was decided that we should march to the Black Gate with all the troops we can spare from the defense of the city."

As Faramir listened in speechless astonishment to his brother's explanation of the decision, he pondered the level of heartache required to render a march to Mordor as a small concern in comparison. But on further thought it made sense; Boromir had faced death in battle countless times, but his was the first time he had given his heart so deeply to a person rather than a country or a cause.

When he finished his tale, Faramir shook his head in wonder, "I won't pretend to like the idea of spending lives in what seems to me a desperate chance, but I suppose there is no better alternative."

"Aye," Boromir agreed gloomily. "We know that Sauron has more than enough troops left to overwhelm us. So unless he suddenly forgets we are here or all his orcs drop dead tomorrow, this appears to be the best hope for a lasting victory, as unlikely as it seems."

There was a moment of silence before Boromir raised an eyebrow inquiringly, "No comment on my decision to personally lead Gondor's troops and leave you here to command our defenses? Quite unlike you, brother!"

Faramir snorted, "Why would I expect this time to be any different than the others where you put yourself at the forefront of battle? And even if I were inclined to remonstrate with you, I know better than to do so when you are in such a mood."

Boromir smiled, his eyes somber, "It means much to me that someone who has all my trust will be here to guard Gondor in my stead." He gathered his brother in his arms, "Thank you, Fara."

He pulled away with a sigh, "I must go. I promised to meet Halbarad, Aragorn's kinsman, for a drink. It seems I must tutor him on the quality of Gondorian ale," he chuckled.

Faramir grinned, his eyes alight, "Go, then, and enjoy yourself. And find Morloth to settle matters with her; Minas Tirith does not need her Lord Steward lumbering around like a bear with a toothache, frightening women and children."

Boromir laughed and clasped arms with his brother before heading out for his rendezvous with Halbarad.

He had arranged to meet the ranger near the training ring on the fifth level where he had last seen him. Boromir strode quickly through the halls, his guards following close behind, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was startled when someone addressed him.

"My Lord Boromir, a word if I may!"

Boromir turned to see the speaker and groaned inwardly when he recognized Lord Raendil, a member of the Steward's Council and one of his father's staunchest supporters. While some members—primarily the lords of major provinces—were assured a spot on the Council because of their position, others, like the Lord in question, had been appointed directly by the Steward. And to Boromir's knowledge, Lord Raendil had never once disagreed with his father's opinion on any issue of import.

"What is it, Lord Raendil?" he asked curtly, in his current mood feeling not at all inclined to speak to the man any longer than necessary. "I have only a moment, I am on my way to an appointment," he added, not bothering to explain the purpose of that meeting.

"Of course, my lord, I shall not keep you," the other man said, bowing slightly. "I simply wished to mention that I am surprised that you have not yet called a meeting of the Steward's Council."

Boromir gave the man a quizzical look, "Why would you expect me do to so? You know that the Council does not routinely gather during times of war; governance of the city is left in the hands of the Steward and the senior commanders."

"But my lord, since the siege has been lifted and the danger from Mordor past…" he began.

The new Lord Steward stared at him in astonishment, eyes wide, "By Eru, you think the danger has passed?" The level of ignorance displayed by Lord Raendil was almost incomprehensible to Boromir and for a moment he found himself at a loss for words. Then he recalled that the man had spent the entire siege safely behind the walls of the city and his face set.

Struggling to restrain his already volatile temper, he glared at the man before replying, "I assure you that the Dark Lord has armies to spare; it is only a matter of time before we are assailed once more. You will be informed when the Council meets again in due course." He turned away, saying, "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Before he could stalk away to find more congenial company, Lord Raendil blurted, "My lord, there was one other matter." Quailing under Boromir's impatient gaze, he explained hurriedly, "There have been rumors that a man—the Captain of the Northern Rangers—has professed to be the heir of Elendil and intends to claim the throne of Gondor…"

The fact that Boromir should have expected this line of questioning did not make it any less unwelcome and aggravating. He regarded the man impassively despite his churning emotions, "No one has made any such claim," Boromir answered evenly. "And I would suggest," he continued, his voice hardening, "that you refrain from repeating rumors that have no basis in truth."

"Of…of course, my lord," he stammered nervously, "it's just that the Lord Steward has also expressed his concerns…"

Boromir chuckled grimly to himself, the man had made a telling error indeed! "On the contrary, I can state most confidently that the Lord Steward has said nothing of the sort," he replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. Boromir stepped closer and gazed down at Lord Raendil, who had realized his mistake and was now staring pale and wide-eyed at the young Steward. "I trust you will remember that in the future."

"Yes, my lord!" he squeaked, clearly petrified. He stepped back hastily and bowed low, muttering, "My pardon for disturbing you!" before all but running in the other direction.

Boromir watched him retreat and gave a mirthless snort, wondering whether he should feel regret for terrorizing the man. He thought of Lord Raendil as well-nigh witless and thoroughly under the thumb of his father, but not, he judged, an evil or ill-intentioned man. But by Eru, he was in no mood to suffer fools!

He sighed deeply before continuing on his way. He really needed a drink, preferably several strong ones.

Next chapter: Boromir has that drink—several to be precise—with Halbarad and unburdens his heart.

As always, reviews are *greatly* appreciated! I'd especially appreciate hearing whether you all liked the F&E 'meet cute!'