The Fields of Pelenor should have been beautiful. White flowers peered over the gentle hills of lush grass, rising to little knolls where barns and cottages stood, wooden sides dripping with golden sunlight. Fat cattle lowed in pastures and men pushed wagons of hay along narrow dirt roads to and from the city. The mountains in the west might have been smiling down at them.

''Did you hang the prisoners form the roof of the Citadel?''

It was comments like that making what should have been a pleasant ride through the farms into a struggle with her temper, Eowyn thought as she drew her horse to a halt and looked down at Storm. He had been given an old, slow pony. It was a placid chestnut, very obedient, and she wished he had been set upon a fiery horse of Rohan. That would teach him a lesson. Unfortunately, his sister shared the beast with him.

Most of his talk had been a stream of insults about men of Minas Tirith easily losing their heads under stress to wondering if there were more crows than pigeons in Gondor these days. Eowyn was no stranger to talk of death, but Storm was tiring company.

''As far as I know, all the enemy who could not run away were killed on the spot.'' She shrugged. ''But I never saw the end of the battle, I was only told what had happened afterwards. I never heard that your people even tried to surrender, though.'' Deciding to get in an insult of her own, she added. ''Your people outnumbered us three to one, and we still sent you running away.''

''You had poisoned mists that formed the shapes of men and could swallow a man whole, dissolving them into puddles of slime.'' He told her. ''Father told me. He was on the ships, which your King attacked. He barely escaped, and had to walk back. ''

Eowyn wished she had Faramir's gift for telling if people were being truthful. Mists that ate people? It was worse than the men of Gondor's hope that an army of Halflings would ride to battle with the men of Rohan. But maybe their father had been telling stories. Escaping a living, flesh eating was more impressive than being scared away by something one could not see.

''Are there ghosts here?'' River glanced around, seeing a muscular farmer unloading his wagon not far behind them, grimacing under the weight of the bales. ''I would not want to live on a battlefield.''

''I heard your king died falling off a horse.'' Said Storm, as they moved on down the road, and he chuckled. ''Maybe you are not such good riders after all, if the best of you cannot stay in the saddle.''

Faramir had done his best to prepare her for the Prince's venom, but Eowyn was stunned by the flash of rage, and her hand shot out before she was fully aware of what she was doing. Slap! Storm's eyes widened in shock as he was struck across the cheek. Eowyn took a deep breath, resisting the urge to shake him. As far as she was concerned, a whipping might do him good, but she decided to trust her husband's judgement and take a more restrained approach- as much as possible.

''I thought your people liked killing.'' He seemed genuinely surprised. ''And they won, so why should they be sad? I would not grieve for my father if he had died achieving something, rather than being killed like a mad dog.''

''What about the horse?'' Muttered River, sadly. ''I do not like Kings...or soldiers...except father...but I like horses.''

''That is Snowmane's grave.'' Eowyn pointed ahead, and they rode to a mound of bright flowers and long reeds that stood near a patch of blackened sand and pebbles. ''And the burned patch is where they destroyed the carcass of the Black Captain' steed. I was the one who slew it.'' She pointed to the charred skull and long bones. ''And I drove a sword through the Captain's skull.''

'' You can ask anyone in this city.'' Her knuckles twitched, but on reflection,she supposed they had no reason to believe her. ''They will tell you what happened.''

''They would.'' He glared at her, his scanning the sunlit hills and flowers with displeasure. ''All we know is that the Captain was slain. Some of our cavalry was scattered, and one or two made it home. After that, everyone just disappeared.'' Now he shrugged, turning his horse. ''We should leave, or my sister might faint.''

So much for a peaceful ride over the Pelenor Fields.

River dismounted long enough to throw some flowers over the tomb of the horse. It was a curiously touching gesture, highlighting the difference between herself and her brother. Eowyn thought vaguely of Boromir. She had not known Faramir's elder brother well, though he had visited Rohan more than once and been liked there, but he had been quite different to Faramir.

There was a time when Eowyn would have delighted in tales of blood and slaughter, but she had been in a dangerously morbid mind then. It had almost killed her.

Eowyn racked her brains thinking for sights that would not stir their bitterness, but the boy in particular seemed to be searching for reasons to hate the West. If the King gave his people gold and jewels, it would not be enough.

Had the East destroyed Minas Tirith and slaughtered all within, including the women and the lads, Storm would probabaly say that was what happened in war. But thankfully the West had proved stronger. So Storm saw his people as the victims.

''Have you not heard that the women of Rohan fight as well as the men at need?'' She asked at length, thinking about comments that she could not have been in the battle. ''You are no prince, but an ignorant, spoiled little boy. What do you think would have happened to any child of Gondor had they been taken to Harad? Do you think they would have been given food? Allowed to ride? Tell me, what would your father have done?''

The children exchanged glances.

''Tell me!''

''The dungeons.'' Storm murmured, at length, unable to meet her gaze. ''Enough food to live, but no more. No light, no blankets, nothing at all. Beatings, whippings. I think that is what would have happened.''

''Why should we not do the same to you?''

''But you will!'' The fire flared in him once more. ''And even if you do not, we will still die! What does it matter how? Will we have our throats cut in our sleep? Poison-?''

Storm flinched slightly as her hand shot out, but this time she merely brushed dust of her saddle, restraining herself. It was as Faramir had said. Fear and mistrust was at the heart of his behaviour, his almost obsessive belief that the King was out to kill him. Until it could be proven otherwise, Storm would be a nuisance. Eowyn hoped he could be cured of it quickly.

''I want a meal.'' Snapped Storm. ''A big one!''

Eowyn decided to take them to her large house outside the city in the hills of the Emyn Arnen, a white gleam to the south, not even bothering to answer the petty demands. Maybe ignoring him was the answer.

They had drawn near the steps curving up to the veranda when they saw two youths of about thirteen struggling to reign in a feisty grey pony, and Eowyn recognized Bergil.

At ten, when Bergil had been the nameless son of a nameless guard, he had been loud and confident, choosing to remain in Minas Tirith and face the perils of a siege. Now that his father was a captain, and he had gained some fame as being a friend of a renowned halfling, he had developed a healthy opinion of himself. Unlike Storm, though, Bergil respected authority.

''What should I do, Bergil?''A high pitched voice from another boy, further back,watching the situation. ''I will lift you onto my pony...or .should I try to grab the reigns...?''

Huor had been named after a legendary figure of forgotten days, and he did not bear this well. Eowyn could not call him a coward-he had stayed in Minas Tirith, too-but from what she had observed, he was the one always worrying about what would happen if something went wrong. And now, he was beside himself.

''You have permission to ride by yourselves, I assume?'' Eowyn rode over to Bergil and dismounted, grabbing the halter, her grey eyes taking in their red faces, and downcast gazes.

''I don't think he would mind, my lady.''

''I see.'' She knew Faramir had wanted to let the visitors play with other children, and the thought occurred that these two might be suitable. Bergil had a strong will, not easily scared, and Huor was reasonably sensible. She would talk to Faramir about it. For now, she decided on a simpler test, inviting the four of them to eat with her at her home.

They went up the steps and into the house. It was decorated like the Steward's quarters, though there were many flowers on the sills of the high windows and the ale caret was softer. The table in the hall had been set, and the servants were carrying in the hot dishes even as she went through the doors. Steam wafted through the high windows and curled around the pillars.

The first part of the plan was met with an unexpected complication. The children of Gondor had seen her often enough, but had not shared a table with her, and were overcome with nerves. They did not seem to hear Storm's complaints, or for that matter, see the food.

''What do you think of the Steward?'' Eowyn asked,interrupting Storm's mutterings.

''You know that he came close to dying in the war.'' Eowyn told them briefly about the hopeless defence of Osgiliath and the arrow that had sent him to the ground. ''Had the cavalry of Gondor not come at that moment, he would have been cut to pieces right there. A lot of brave men died in that battle. Everyone knew Osgiliath could not be held.''

Storm was frowning.

''I am glad he lived.'' Said River, in a small voice, spoon in her hand. The thought occurred that these children had not heard much about the losses of Gondor. It was strange. She would have thought their father would have boasted about it. ''He has been kind to us. I just wish...it is like with the fog...even normal fog...it still scares me...brother makes fun of me all the time...''

''Did your father tell you about your victories?''

''He did, briefly.'' Storm muttered. ''But mostly he thought about how we had lost. He was sure the West would invade our land,and destroy or enslave us. He said he would rather die than pay tribute. Obsidian made him worse.'' Storm's cheeks flushed, and his eyes brightened with sudden sorrow. ''I think he knew he would die in the battle, and he probably thought we would, too.''

''Brother...!''

''You did not see him when he left the camp.'' It was obvious by Storm's slow, almost forced, speech, that he was saying this with difficulty. ''He was more than a little strange. Drunk, too. He said a lot of strange things. Sometimes he thought he would win, and I would become a man, an other times he was just...''

Mad lords. A heavy burden for any city or nation. Eowyn thought of Theoden, controlled by the slimy Wormtongue,and Denethor who had been driven to despair by Sauron himself. It seemed their father''s tale followed these patterns. In his case,it was at least one scheming brother.

''Just like grandfather.'' River shook her head. ''Only he fought the Easterlings... or was it troll men of Far Harad?''

''Both, at different times.'' Muttered Storm. ''Never liked them, either...'' He paused, straightening, the moment of thoughtfulness passed. ''And this meat is horrid.''

''What?'' Bergil, who had been unusually quiet, now sat up in anger, his stupor broken. ''How dare you? My lady, I will go outside and fight him.''

''Why not?'' Her eyes glinted. ''He is not to be harmed, but a black eye might teach him a lesson.'' She glanced at Storm, who was eyeing Bergil with dislike. ''You accept his challenge?''

''I do not brawl with common children.''

''My father is a captain.'' Bergil pointed out, proudly. ''And I will not let this insult go unpunished. Fight me, or you are nothing but a coward.''

''Fine!''

Eowyn followed them outside. Hardly had they reached the bottom of the stairs when they began to wrestle, Storm proving to be far more vicious than Bergil expected. He kicked below the belt, butted with his head, jabbed at the eyes. Bergil was strong and fast,though. Eowyn pulled them apart quickly, and Huor ran to his friend, who shook him off, clearly wishing to resume the match.

''I can win!''

''Bruises and scrapes are one thing, losing an eye another.'' And she did not want him bitten, either, and she thought about what to say. ''But if he has to cheat, he is the loser anyway.''

Bergil smirked, and Storm scowled.

Eowyn decided to take them back to the Citadel. As they headed toward the great gates, she thought that the ride had not been entirely fruitless. The girl had opened up a little. She was young enough that an over active imagination was only to be expected, though most maids her age should be dreaming of...what, exactly? Not ghosts, anyway.

Eowyn realized, almost with surprise, that when she was at River's age, she had probably been trying to fight Eomer with sticks. But at least her head had not been filled with stories of flesh eating mists and who knew what else. The men of Dunland had been told by Saruman that the Rohirrim burned captives alive,before the battle at Helm's Deep.

''You know, even in Rohan we can show mercy.'' She told the children as they dismounted outside the gates. ''The men of Dunland attacked us in Helm's Deep, and many of them gave themselves up. They had to rebuild the wall, but after that they were sent home. And the Easterling's who surrendered outside the Black Gate, they were spared.''

''Lucky them.'' Storm spat, irritably.

Both the children were quiet the rest of the way, and had gone into their home before Faramir came out from the Citadel, his eyes slightly heavy with tiredness.

''How was your day?'' He kissed her on the cheek.

''Interesting, at least.'' She shrugged, and told him what had happened throughout the day. ''You might be right. If they can open up more, even a little, maybe they can be helped. Beating them will not do that. Maybe patience is the answer. I think Bergil might be good company for him.''

''Because they fought?'' Faramir raised an eyebrow. ''Well, he did get young Storm to do what he wanted. That is some achievement. Maybe he can come to the city for a few hours. I am sorry I scare River, though.'' he smiled. ''It is not even as if I am carrying a sword or wearing armour. She was not scared of you?''

''No, but she might not believe that I fought in battles. Storm certainly did not. I would not worry about it too much, though. She knows her fears are not all reasonable.''

''That is important.'' The Steward nodded. ''I will talk to Beregond tomorrow, and see what he can do about his son.''

''I only hope he does not think Bergil is being punished. Bergil might have been willing to stay in a burning city, but being a companion to Storm of Harad goes beyond the call of duty.''

Faramir laughed, and they went into the Citadel.

Will probably have to take a break. Running out of ideas.