Chapter Text
“It is just as beautiful as you described, cousin,” Lothíriel said as she slowed her mare to a stop and allowed her gaze to take in the vast landscape of Ithilien from the top of the overlook. In the opposite direction was a wooded area with a dirt road that led to a large manor built from grayish-white stone that was somewhat hidden in the shadows of the woods; two black pointed towers on either end of the front side of the manor peaked above the trees and were the first things that greeted them as they approached. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm reddish glow over the rock formations and the lush green leaves.
“Did you doubt my word, cousin?” Lothíriel sent a sardonic smile in Faramir’s direction but did not comment. “By the time we leave for Minas Tirith, the number of wildflowers will have doubled in number.”
“From first impressions, I can see why you are so fond of this place. And I am sure that it will look even more lovely once you have made it into your home.”
“I wish for that, as well,” Faramir said quietly. He turned his head to where Éowyn was talking to her brother. “And I hope that I will not be alone in that endeavor.”
“In no time, Lady Éowyn will love it here just as much as you do, I am sure. Already, she seems to have fallen instantly in love with the view, though I must say that it hardly compares to the view we have in Dol Amroth.”
“Are you certain that you are not exhibiting a little bias, cousin?” Lothíriel giggled.
“Hardly. Now, tell me more about our lodgings. I am finding myself feeling quite in need of a reprieve after riding all morning and all afternoon, and though I have read much on the old families of Gondor, I have to admit that I know very little about the home of Húrin of Emyn Arnen.”
“Yes, I, too, am curious to know more,” said Éomer, having seemed to have overheard Lothíriel’s query. The two siblings brought their horses closer before stopping a couple of paces away from the cousins. “Who owns it now, and were they sent word that we would be coming?” Éowyn shot him a pointed look.
“This is the ancestral home of Húrin, the first of the Stewards of Gondor and the founder of the House of Húrin. It was occupied by his descendants for generations, until Ithilien was overrun by Orcs from Mordor and most of the inhabitants fled about a hundred years ago. There are a few families who remained in the area, but the manor has remained empty ever since. The Rangers of Ithilien have been guarding it and seeing to general upkeep when they had time to spare. Unfortunately, there has been little of that in the last few years due to an increase in attacks from Mordor and Easterlings and eventually the war, so the manor may not be in the most pristine condition at the present time.”
“I am sure that it will be suitable,” said Éowyn. “I do not mind a few cobwebs.”
Faramir gazed upon her with admiration. He was relieved that she was being so flexible and understanding, especially because she was the one he was hoping to impress. After all, it would be her home, too, if she accepted his proposal. He was also hoping to gain her brother’s approval, since he was her only living relative and therefore the only person who could decide whether to accept a marriage or to reject it.
“Then let us venture inside and see what state the place is in,” he said and urged his horse along the road and into the trees, with Éowyn, Lothíriel, Éomer, and the two Swan Knights that had accompanied them at Prince Imrahil’s insistence filing in behind him in a single line. They came to a stone wall that surrounded the manor, with a pair of solid iron gates, similar in likeness to the Great Gates of Minas Tirith, though much smaller in size and not quite as grand. Faramir climbed down from his horse and reached into his shirt before withdrawing a chain that hung around his neck that held a pair of keys. Once they had been unlocked, he pressed his weight against one of the gates and opened it wide enough for their horses to enter. “It would appear that no one has been here for many months. If they had, we would have been greeted by the scouts. But worry not; it is unlikely that any who were once hostile toward Gondor will come here now. Despite its close proximity to Minas Tirith, tt is far too remote and not a strategic target.”
“You know the area well. I will trust your judgment and hope that it is sound,” Éomer said before earning an elbow to the ribs from his sister.
“You have nothing to fear, Éomer-King. I can promise you that.”
“Then lead on.”
They left their horses in a covered shelter on the western side of the manor. Once the horses had been unburdened of their saddles and settled into their stalls with hay and water to keep them satisfied, Faramir led them through a courtyard that appeared to have once contained a vast garden long ago, but was now bare except for a few shrubs that had become dry and brittle like ancient bones.
“Was this a garden at one time?” Éowyn asked.
“It was, though it has been like this for as long as I can remember,” Faramir answered. “I am ashamed to admit that the Rangers of Ithilien are not proficient in tending gardens.”
“I would find it surprising if that were the case. After all, I would assume that the Rangers have greater need for stealth and mastery of long-range weapons than for gardening.”
“This is true. And yet gardeners do have their place in matters of war, as well, as I learned not too long ago.”
“Well, cousin, I think that with a woman’s touch, this garden will be flourishing in no time,” said Lothíriel before meeting Éowyn’s gaze and raising her eyebrows suggestively. The shieldmaiden glanced away and swallowed. Faramir looked at his cousin with an arched brow, sending her a nonverbal warning not to push so much. Lothíriel shrugged a shoulder daintily and walked past him toward the front doors. Faramir didn’t even want to know what Éomer thought about the matter, if anything.
Faramir unlocked the doors and gestured for the others to enter first. Almost as soon as she went inside, Lothíriel’s body stiffened and she let out a tiny squeak. A few seconds later, she jerked and squeaked again. It took Faramir a moment to realize that she was sneezing.
“It must be dustier in here than I thought. My apologies, cousin.” Lothíriel shook her head and waved a hand dismissively before turning to the Swan Knight who was carrying her belongings and digging around in search of something.
“Father makes sure that the palace is always pristine and spotless. Even a minimal amount of dust would affect me.” She furrowed her brow and chewed on her bottom lip. “Where did my handkerchief end up? I know I brought it with me.”
“Here, use mine,” Éomer said as he reached into his pack and held out what appeared at first glance to be a rag.
Éowyn stared at her brother with wide eyes, recognizing it right away as the handkerchief their mother had made and embroidered for him when they were children, not long before their father was slain and their mother soon followed. Faramir glanced at her and wondered if her reaction was because he owned a handkerchief—though the new King of Rohan would probably never refer to it as such—or because he was offering it to a lady. Lothíriel slowly turned around and lowered her gaze to the cloth. It didn’t appear to be dirty, but it was not as clean as the one the princess probably had, judging by the slightly frayed edges and the clear discoloration. She swallowed and flicked her gray eyes up to meet Éomer’s green ones, her attention instantly drawn to the hints of warm gold she found in them, just like the colors of his homeland and the banners that she imagined waved above the walls of Edoras. Her lips parted slightly and she looked at the cloth again before reaching out hesitantly and taking it.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said with practiced politeness before she had to smother yet another sneeze. She lifted the handkerchief to her nose and lightly dabbed at it and then just below her eyes.
“You are welcome, Princess,” Éomer replied before clearing his throat when his voice cracked a bit. Éowyn’s mouth fell open as she watched the exchange, until Faramir’s quiet chuckle brought her out of her stupor and she pressed her lips together.
“I can show you to your rooms and then I will see about doing something for the dust,” Faramir said and gestured his arm toward the grand staircase that took up much of the foyer. “If you would like, cousin, I can try to give you the room that appears to be the cleanest.”
“There is no need, I will manage,” she said and waved him off, though she kept the handkerchief pressed to her nose.
“Very well.” The stairs led to a long hall that was lined with many doors on the right side, while the left wall consisted of large windows that provided a view of the valley below. There was a thin layer of dust and dirt on the glass, but not enough to prevent one from being able to look out. “As you can see, there are more than enough rooms for each of you, so choose which one you would like to use. I will have a look to see if any of the linens that are in storage are clean and void of dust.”
“I shall accompany you,” Éowyn offered. “It will give me a chance to see more of the manor, now. If you do not mind, that is.”
“Of course not. And you can also accompany me to the kitchens while I take a look to see if there is anything that is safe to eat, though I am sure we will have to hunt for our supper.”
“Then I am going to step outside for a moment,” Lothíriel said before turning to the Swan Knight again and nodding her head at one of the closed doors. “I will take this room. You can put my belongings in there.”
“Yes, my lady,” the Knight replied with a bow, and he entered the room she had pointed to for a moment before reemerging and joining his companion once more.
Éomer’s gaze followed Lothíriel as she departed from them and headed back toward the stairs, the Knight who had carried her bag following at a close distance, but not so close that he was imposing upon her. Faramir watched the Lord of the Riddermark for a moment before glancing at Éowyn, who only shrugged.
“Is all well, my lord?” Faramir asked, drawing the Horselord from his stupor.
“Er, yes…” He cleared his throat and busied himself with carefully examining each of the doors. “I suppose I will… get settled.”
“I wonder what that was about,” Éowyn murmured after her brother disappeared into one of the rooms. She smiled up at him when Faramir offered her his arm, which she gladly took.
“I am not sure, but it would appear that my cousin has taken an interest in your brother,” he answered as he led her to the stairs that would take them to the kitchen. She stiffened and gaped up at him.
“She has?!” Faramir watched the shifting emotions on Éowyn’s face, and she seemed to be remembering something that had been said previously to her, because a look of recognition flashed in her eyes. “I wonder if that was what she meant before…”
“About what?”
“Your cousin offered to teach me the customs and etiquette of Gondor, and in exchange she wished to hear about those of my country. I agreed to do so, but I had found it rather strange at the time that she would have any interest in the social etiquette and cultural differences of Rohan. But now that you have brought this to my attention, is it possible that her desire to know them was motivated by something having to do with Éomer?”
“I cannot speak for anything that my cousin thinks or does. And I could be wrong, but it would appear that the feeling is mutual.” Faramir watched as Éowyn’s frown deepened. “Would that bother you?”
“I am not sure how I feel about it. I barely know Princess Lothíriel, and she and my brother know each other even less. I… I do not wish to make assumptions… but I sincerely hope that her interest is genuine. If it is indeed true that Éomer is attracted to her, I would rather that she let him be than break his heart.”
“I don’t think she would. My cousin is masterful at courtly and political intrigue, so she knows the consequences that could arise should a diplomatic incident come about as a result of her relations with a citizen of a foreign nation. She would not risk creating a scandal of any sort by humiliating your brother and jeopardizing the relationship between our two countries, now that our alliance is improving after many years of it fraying.”
“I hope you are right.” Faramir laid a hand over hers and she looked up at him with a sense of relief.
“If it will put your mind at ease, I could speak to her and find out what her intentions are in regards to your brother.” Éowyn shook her head.
“I should speak to her, myself. After all, he is my brother.”
“Very well. Then I will stay out of it.”
“I just hope that she will be forthcoming with me when I speak to her and won’t try to mislead me.”
“I have no doubt that she will be forthcoming, especially if she wishes to have your approval.” Éowyn hummed in acknowledgment. “Now, let us have a look at what there is as far as sustenance.”
After locating a candlestick and lighting it, they went to a dining hall that was about the same size as the one in Meduseld, though it was not as decorated and the only furniture was a single long table and chairs. The room itself was dim because of the dark wood, dark curtains, and dark rug that encompassed much of the floor, but the dust and grime that had built up on the windows made it seem even darker. Éowyn released Faramir’s arm so that he could open a door that led to the kitchen. It was just as dusty as the rest of the manor. Faramir sniffed the stale air but did not detect the scent of anything that might be rotten. Whatever perishable foods had been there had likely already been consumed—either by the Rangers or by rodents—or disposed of before they could leave a foul odor. After all, if no one was living in the manor, and the only people who had come by were Rangers who usually brought their own food with them when they were away from Henneth Annûn, then there was really no reason to keep food stored there just for it to go bad.
“It looks like I will have to do some hunting while we are here. We can eat some of the food that we brought with us, but that will not be the case come morning,” Faramir said. He crossed the room to another door with Éowyn close on his heels. Dust rained down on them when he opened it, making them both cough. “And it looks like I will be doing some cleaning, too. I am hosting you, after all.”
“I can help, if you would like,” Éowyn said, fanning the air in front of her face. “And I am sure that Éomer will join you on your hunt. He is quite good at it.”
“Then I will ask him. But I cannot accept your offer of help. You are a guest. It would be wrong to make you work.”
“I do not mind. Besides, I would like to see how this place looks underneath all of the dust whilst I am here. And I think that it will also give Princess Lothíriel some relief. It really seemed to be giving her trouble earlier.”
“I suppose you are right.” He entered what appeared to be a large storage room, but what was being stored there, Éowyn couldn’t tell. “I wonder if this is still any good.”
“What is this room?”
“It is the wine cellar.”
“Surely nothing here would still be suitable for drinking. Not unless it was just brought here before the manor’s last occupants abandoned it.”
“Ah, but most of this wine was made in Dorwinion.”
“Dorwinion?”
Faramir hummed and searched for a clean cup before filling it at one of the barrels. He then came out of the cellar and held the cup out to her. Éowyn frowned and stared at it apprehensively.
“Dorwinion is a small city in western Rhûn, located near the Sea of Rhûn. It is famous for its wines, which are made by Elves. Elvish wine is not only more potent than wines made in the realms of Men, but it lasts much longer without spoiling.”
“Oh.” Éowyn took the cup and sniffed it, letting out a tiny hum of surprise before bringing it to her lips and tasting it. “I can see why it is so renowned. I have never tasted wine like this. But it is delicious!”
“I hear the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm favors Dorwinion wine. If the coronation wasn’t approaching so quickly, I would have suggested to Lord Aragorn that it be served for the occasion.”
“Perhaps it can be when he weds the future Queen,” Éowyn said before taking another sip.
“That’s not a bad idea. I will be sure to ask him about it when we return.” He waited another minute for Éowyn to finish the wine and set the empty cup on the counter beside him. “Now, shall we go have a look at the linen closet?”
“You make it sound as if we are about to do something scandalous,” Éowyn said with a giggle.
“Ah, it would appear that there is some truth about the potency of Elvish wine.” Éowyn scowled and lightly smacked him on the arm, which drew a chuckle from him. If she accepted his proposal when the time came and no one else had any objections to it, then Faramir would consider himself the luckiest man to have her in his life. “I jest, my lady.”
“Of course you do, my lord.”
Faramir swallowed. By the Valar, he wished for nothing more than to ask for her hand there and now. But he would have to wait. Now was neither the time nor the place. He had always thought of himself as a patient man, especially compared to his brother, but he was quickly realizing that it was different when the lady Éowyn was involved.
Unable to stop himself, he tilted his chin and pressed a kiss to her brow. He felt her stiffen, and her fingers curled in the material of his shirtsleeve. But her surprise did not last long before she leaned against him, remaining still when he encircled his arm around her waist. Though he knew it to be true, it was still difficult for him to believe that their first meeting had been a month ago; and what a strange and uncertain time that had been.
He took a step back from her and released a shuddering breath. Éowyn blinked and gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes. Faramir cleared his throat.
“We should see about those linens. It will be getting dark soon.”
Éowyn nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, and they walked side-by-side through the dark and empty corridors. Faramir spared a few glances in her direction, and it took all of his willpower to resist the urge to reach for her hand. Unbeknownst to him, Éowyn was struggling with the same issue.
~*~
After the rooms had been prepared and everyone had gotten settled, they all gathered in the dining hall for a small meal. Faramir and Lothíriel sat together on one side with Éomer and Éowyn sitting across from them; the Swan Knights consumed their modest serving quickly before taking up positions over Lothíriel’s shoulders, yet keeping a respectable distance so as not to be breathing down her neck. Éowyn thought this rather odd, and she could tell that her brother was a little unsettled by the Knights surveilling the hall as if they expected one or both of the siblings to cause the princess harm. Across the table, Faramir was filling their cups with some of the Dorwinion wine with a blank expression and Lothíriel looked just as unaffected, if not more so. Once she had her first taste of the wine, Lothíriel’s mood changed instantly.
In between sniffles, she prattled on about the excellent quality of the wine, and she stated that she expected nothing less from a product of Elvish make. Faramir agreed and was pleased that his cousin approved. Éowyn also offered her own compliments, saying that she liked it even more than the small sample she’d had earlier. Éomer said it was decent but not his drink of choice. Needless to say, it was a tense meal, though short it was, and when they had finished, each of them went to their separate rooms with clipped farewells. The manor was dark and quiet, the only pause in the silent stillness being the second Swan Knight relieving his comrade and taking position outside Princess Lothíriel’s room.
~*~
Éowyn glanced to her right at the princess as she dabbed at her nose again. Although the guestrooms had been made up with fresh linens and the beds patted down to get rid of some of the dust, what remained still seemed to be giving Lothíriel problems. Éowyn noticed that she had found her handkerchief and was no longer using the one her brother had leant her, but she didn’t ask what the princess had done with it. Éomer, Faramir, and one of the Swan Knights had left before sunrise to hunt, leaving her, Lothíriel, and the other Knight in the manor. Éowyn suggested that they break their fast in the garden, since it was such a warm morning and to give the princess some relief from the dust. However, the approach of the gradually-darkening clouds indicated that rain would soon interrupt their leisure.
“I'm sorry that this has not been an enjoyable visit for you, my lady,” Éowyn said quietly. Lothíriel somehow managed to make a snort sound ladylike, though Éowyn shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Why do you think I am not enjoying myself?”
“The dust is troubling you so.” Lothíriel shrugged a shoulder.
“I have been in worse settings. Once, when I was a child and visited my aunt Ivriniel, the dust was so thick that it made my eyes burn. This is only a minor inconvenience in comparison.”
“Did your aunt not have maids to clean?” Éowyn didn’t know anything about Prince Imrahil’s other sister. She only knew of the one who had died, and even then all she knew was that she had given birth to Faramir and Boromir.
“My aunt was…” Lothíriel trailed off, and a peculiar look that Éowyn couldn’t quite identify flashed in her cool gray eyes. “Let’s just say that she was in a bad way for a time.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Is she well, now?” Come to think of it, Éowyn didn’t even know if Lothíriel’s other aunt was still alive. She wished she could take back her question, but it was too late.
“She is better. I have not seen her in quite some time, but my father has people living with her who correspond with him about her current state. Or anything else that might be of interest.”
Éowyn swallowed. It was none of her business, but she couldn’t help but be curious about this mysterious relative. Was she in poor health and in need of constant care? But Lothíriel had said her “current state” and not her condition, indicating that whatever was going on with her aunt was not related to illness. And, of course, Éowyn couldn’t base the princess’s tone on how she regarded her aunt, since Lothíriel could alter her voice in any way she wished. Perhaps she loved her aunt and perhaps she didn’t.
“So, what do you think you will grow here, my lady?” Lothíriel asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Lothíriel swept her arm out, indicating the barren garden. “Oh. Of course. I… well...”
Éowyn looked around. She tried to imagine flowers growing here, but while she knew many by appearance, she did not know their names. Of course she knew roses, but a garden of only roses was… well, it was beautiful, but not what she would have wanted for her home. Then again, she had to remind herself that this was Gondor. Perhaps rose gardens were common in this country. In Rohan, however, most people who grew roses had no more than a few bushes. And she also knew Simbelmynë, but that was not suitable for a garden.
“What color would you like to have?” Lothíriel pressed.
“Must I only choose one?”
“Not necessarily. Everyone has different tastes.”
“Even if I had an idea of what I would want, is it really my place to make such a decision? There is no guarantee that I will one day reside here.” Lothíriel hummed.
“I suppose that is true, but I doubt that will be a problem. The only people who could object to a marriage between you and my cousin are your brother and the future King. Would either of them be against such a union?”
“Not Lord Aragorn. But Éomer…” Would her brother forbid her from marrying Faramir? It was true that they did not know each other well, but as far as she knew, Faramir had not given her brother reason to reject his proposal. “I am not certain.”
“Is there anyone in your country who is equal in status to Faramir?” Éowyn rounded on her with a furrowed brow. “I do not mean to cause offense. I was only curious as to whether or not there would be any man in Rohan who was comparable to my cousin.”
“Our views on status differ from yours. It is not as elaborate and… complicated, that is for sure. And there seems to be an understanding of our differences, but we do not concern ourselves with what divides us. Yes, there is the King and his family, there are nobles, there are those who ride in éoreds, and there are the common people, but we have a more companionable relationship than what you seem to have here in the South. I do not look down on people simply because they do not have titles or wealth or because they serve others.”
“You sound like my cousin.”
“Faramir said that?” Lothíriel shook her head slightly.
“No, Boromir. Not in those exact words, of course, but he sees more value in a man’s character and his actions than in what possessions he has or who is in his family tree. He usually surrounds himself with soldiers, who come from all sorts of backgrounds, and he sees all of them as his brothers… something I’m sure you are familiar with.” Éowyn nodded once before Lothíriel continued. “Boromir has never liked attending social gatherings among the nobility and would only attend if his father commanded it of him. Faramir has always been much more comfortable in those types of settings.”
“I do not know how I shall ever navigate the court of Gondor. It is so different and incredibly… complicated.” Éowyn felt like she was repeating herself, but it was true. Everything in Gondor was so complicated.
“Complicated, yes. But not impossible to learn. And fear not, for I made a promise to teach you the social etiquette of the South, and I intend to keep that promise. Ah!” She reached over and patted Éowyn’s hand. “That is something we can do should we find ourselves with no way to pass the time whilst we are here. And what better time to start than now, while the men are out hunting and the Sun is still shining.”
“Now?” Éowyn stammered.
“Of course! We can begin with something easy. Your curtsy needs work, so we shall start there.”
“Curtsying is easy? In Rohan, perhaps, but here…” Éowyn mumbled as she got to her feet.
“Believe me, Lady Éowyn, I can think of plenty of things that are far more difficult than a simple curtsy.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Éowyn expectantly. “Turn sideways so I can see your back.”
Éowyn pressed her lips into a thin line and did as she was told, glaring ahead of her while her cheeks warmed from embarrassment. At least while facing this direction she wouldn’t be able to see if the Swan Knight was watching her pitiful attempts at courtly etiquette. She just hoped that her brother wouldn’t see her doing this. Or Faramir.
“Straighten your posture, Lady Éowyn.”
Éowyn bit back a sigh. She hadn’t even moved yet and already she was doing something wrong! After setting her shoulders back and forcing her back to be straight, she held up her skirt and bent her knees while tilting her chin towards her chest. When she raised herself and straightened, she turned her head to Lothíriel and tried to ignore the Knight who stood just beyond the princess’s right shoulder.
“How was it?” Éowyn asked tentatively when the other woman didn’t give her input right away.
“The posture was mostly correct. However, the execution leaves much to be desired. You are much too tense and your movements too rigid. It needs to look more natural and relaxed. You don’t want to give people the impression that you are nervous because that will only make them more likely to want to seize upon your weakness and take advantage of you.”
“If I am being honest, I am a bit nervous.”
“Whatever for? I am the only one here.” When Éowyn’s gaze flickered over to the Knight, Lothíriel released a breath but did not move otherwise. “You are not permitted to look at the lady Éowyn unless I allow it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lady,” the Swan Knight answered immediately. His wandering gaze resumed its sweeping across the gardens, but Éowyn noticed that it never once landed on her.
“Sooner or later, you are going to have to get used to others watching your every move if you are going to live in Gondor permanently.”
“I know,” Éowyn murmured. Permanently. That was a thrilling thought and yet terrifying at the same time. Would she really be able to leave Rohan and her people behind? Would she be able to leave Éomer? They only had each other, now, and after ascending the throne, her brother was going to need all the love and support from people he trusted that he could get. “I’m just not ready for that, yet.”
“Try it again. This time, focus on the movement of your knees. Keep your form but think of silk. Smooth and graceful, not rigid and forceful. Relax your body… including your brow. You are greeting the King, so you don’t want to look like you are angry with him if you have no cause to be.” Éowyn groaned and forced the muscles in her forehead to relax and her frown to vanish from her face. She let a few breaths in and out and allowed her eyes to close as she released the tension in different parts of her body. When she attempted another curtsy, Lothíriel released a sound of approval, though it was not enthusiastic enough to indicate that Éowyn had performed the curtsy flawlessly. Improved, perhaps, but not perfect. “Might I ask you a question about the lady Anael?”
“I suppose so,” Éowyn answered uncertainly. Why was she suddenly asking about Lady Anael? And what sort of question would she ask?
“Keep practicing.” Éowyn repressed a groan and adjusted her posture before attempting another curtsy. “Do you know her well?”
“We have spent some time together, but I would not say that I know her very well.” Éowyn didn’t know what Lothíriel was going to say next, but a part of her was ready to defend her new friend if the princess spoke ill of her.
“I was merely curious, because though I have not met one of the Eldar before, the House of Dol Amroth is descended from the elleth Mithrellas, and my brother and I were thoroughly educated in the history of the Eldar. However, in the moments I was with the lady Anael, I happened to observe…” Lothíriel tilted her head slightly in thought, as if trying to think of how to convey her words without causing offense.
“I think I know what you mean,” Éowyn said as she allowed her skirt to slip from her fingers. “I, too, had not met an Elf before, until Legolas came to Edoras with Lord Aragorn and Gandalf and Gimli. Lady Anael arrived with Lord Boromir a few days later, and while I spent time with her, I found myself thinking that she was not at all how I expected Elves to be.”
“Which is what I thought, as well. I believed I had simply imagined it, yet I could not quite put my finger on what it was that seemed so strange to me.”
“When I proposed having a maid draw her a bath, Lady Anael seemed opposed to having someone else assist her. Merry told me that she was unaccustomed to having people wait upon her, and I found that odd because I was under the impression that she was of noble birth. And the following day, I showed her and Merry a tapestry in the throne room depicting the Oath of Eorl, and I spoke of the Mearas and Béma. When I mentioned his Elvish name, it seemed as if she had never heard it before. Lord Boromir said that something happened to her when she was young, resulting in her being left alone without a guardian, and she was never taught the history and customs of her kin. Both he and Merry were reluctant to tell me much because it was not their place, yet I dared not ask Lady Anael about it. I do not believe the two of us to know each other well enough to speak of such private matters.”
“I see. That does make things a bit clearer.”
“I worry for her. If the Gondorian nobility will look down on me for being a foreigner and not as refined as they are, then they will treat her even more cruelly.”
“You are not wrong. I know my cousin Boromir will try to protect her from the worst of it—he has always been protective of others—but he cannot possibly hope to control their thoughts and the words they speak aloud in the privacy of their own homes.”
“The worst part of it is that none of this is Lady Anael’s fault. Whatever happened to her, she was a child and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. I like to think my people would be more forgiving and understanding, but here…”
“Having drifted amongst the courts of Gondor, I am accustomed to the shifting tides of political talk. For the most part, topics of gossip are not based on truth and are only spread by someone with a grudge in order to lower the reputation of the individual at the center of it. It is a vile and nasty business, really, but alas it is the way of things here in the South and thus it is inescapable. The only way to defend oneself against such slander is to start another rumor and shift the focus onto someone else. Though, I will say that one favorable thing about court life in Gondor is that rumors do not last long. Simply wait a month or two and the whole thing will be forgotten by everyone, having moved onto a different scandal which will also inevitably fade into obscurity with time.”
“It sounds exhausting.” Lothíriel turned to her with a humorless smile.
“I can assure you that it is indeed as tiresome as it sounds, but with time and practice, it will eventually become second nature to you.”
“I am not sure if I like the sound of that.” Éowyn looked up at the sky when she heard the first rumble of thunder. She could have sworn that the clouds had been much further away when they had first come outside, but it seemed as if they would reach them the next time she blinked; it reminded her of that morning when the Eorlingas departed from Dunharrow for Minas Tirith, and dark clouds covered the entire sky and the dawn did not come. At least these were just normal rainclouds and nothing conjured by a powerful enemy. “Nor of that.”
“Well, it was a pleasant morning while it lasted.” Lothíriel sighed and rose gracefully. “I do hope that this will not last long so that I can seek refuge from the dust.”
“In the meantime, I will try to lessen your suffering by doing some cleaning around the manor,” Éowyn offered.
“I already told you, Lady Éowyn, there is no need for all that. I will manage, so do not trouble yourself.”
The Swan Knight opened the door for them, remaining still at attention and keeping his gaze lifted so that he would not violate his orders by looking at Éowyn. The shieldmaiden was impressed, she had to admit, but she wondered if this would continue for the duration of their stay in Ithilien or if the Southern princess would retract the command in the near future.
“And I shall tell you, Lady Lothíriel, that it is no trouble. I am offering to do this, and it will give me a way to preoccupy myself whilst we are forced to remain indoors.”
“Do as you wish,” the princess replied with a shrug of one shoulder. As Éowyn followed her inside, she couldn’t help but smile to herself at the exchange of words. She and Faramir really were related.
~*~
It rained off and on for the rest of the afternoon, finally clearing late morning the following day. Having been forced to remain inside the manor, Éowyn took the time to do some cleaning. Lothíriel spent much of her time in her room or in the estate’s library, the other Swan Knight accompanying her or standing guard outside the door. It was upon observing this that Éowyn realized the Knights were there to not only protect Lothíriel but to keep an eye on her. Even in the dining hall earlier that morning, the Knight stood vigilant over Lothíriel’s shoulder while she and Éowyn broke their fast, despite there being little chance of any danger befalling the princess beyond choking on her food, but given how daintily she ate, it was unlikely that such a thing would occur. Just thinking about it made Éowyn feel stifled on Lothíriel’s behalf. Right now, as she cleaned dust and grime from windows and other surfaces, she had the dining hall completely to herself. No one was watching her every move or hovering like an inconvenient shadow that she could not be rid of. It made her think of Wormtongue, though the Swan Knights’ motives were not malicious like his had been. They were only following Prince Imrahil’s orders. That being said…
Éowyn flinched and turned towards the doors to the hall as the low hum of voices reached her ears. Her brother and Lord Faramir had returned from their hunt. As the voices grew louder, Éowyn wiped her hands on the wash rag and touched up her hair in the reflection of the window. She reasoned that this was about as presentable as she was going to get, for not two seconds later, the door on the right swung open and Faramir entered the hall, grasping a pair of hares by their feet. His gaze fell upon her instantly and his face brightened.
“Welcome home—! I mean… back. Welcome back, my lord…” Faramir’s eyes widened slightly. Éowyn tried to convince herself that the redness on the tips of his ears were due to being out in the rain. “I hope there was no trouble.”
“Nothing beyond the weather.” At that moment, Éomer and the Swan Knight walked through the door with their trophy—a stag that looked like it would keep them fed for the remainder of the week. “My goodness! It appears you had a very successful hunt!”
“We had better results than expected,” said Éomer. He met Faramir’s gaze and nodded to the deer. “Where shall I take this to be skinned?”
“The kitchen is through that door. I will join you shortly.”
“Would you like my assistance?” Éowyn asked.
“No,” said Faramir.
“No!” said Éomer. Éowyn scowled at her brother. Éomer seemed to be trying to come up with a reply, but when he failed, he moved as quickly to the kitchen door as the dead deer would allow.
“Here.” Faramir untied a pouch from his waist and held it out to her. “I was able to forage a few wild herbs and mushrooms and berries. Not many, since it is still fairly early in the season, but if you would like to wash them…”
“I can do that,” she said and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before taking the pouch from him.
“This room looks so much brighter.”
“Well, I was able to clean some of the windows to let the sunlight in.”
“I wasn’t talking about the windows.”
Éowyn lifted her gaze. Before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips to his cheek. Faramir cleared his throat and mumbled something that may have had something to do with helping her brother in the kitchen. As she watched him go, Éowyn drew her bottom lip between her teeth and pressed a hand to her chest as her heart seemed to sprout wings.
~*~
Faramir rolled his sleeves to his elbows before he dipped his hands into a wash basin and splashed water on his face. It had been a long couple of days, and the near-constant downpour had made them seem even longer. After returning to the manor, the stag and hares had been skinned and divided into portions that would last the six of them for the next few days. The meal was by no means high quality, but it served them well and was made somewhat decent by the herbs he had gathered and some salt that he found being stored in the kitchen. Now, he was the only one still awake, except for the Swan Knight posted outside his cousin’s door. The halls were dark and silent, and only the faint rush of wind outside could be heard, making it sound as if the manor itself were slumbering peacefully, as well.
Despite spending the last three days traveling, sleeping under the open sky upon the hard ground and being subjected to the elements, Faramir was alert and had no desire to rest his tired eyes or lay his head upon a feather pillow. He did not want a roof over his head or a soft mattress to cushion his body. He was restless, his mind whirling with thoughts of the future of Gondor and the preparations for the upcoming coronation, as well as thoughts of his own future and the place of a certain shieldmaiden that he loved in that future. A shieldmaiden who was resting peacefully in one of the guestrooms and blissfully unaware of his ruminations.
Or so he had believed… until he stepped into the barren garden and came upon the seated figure. Though her golden hair shone brightly in the moonlight, it was not what drew his immediate gaze but instead the garment that enveloped her frame—the starry mantle that had once belonged to his mother and he had laid upon her shoulders a month ago in the garden of the Houses of Healing. It was a fairly warm night, too warm to wear it. Perhaps, rather than to keep warm, it served as a source of comfort in a different way.
After pausing briefly, Faramir took a breath. He clasped his hands behind his back and resumed his pace, making his footfalls louder so that she would not be startled by his approach.
“Is all well, my lady?”
Éowyn whipped her head in his direction and she followed his movement with her eyes until he came to a stop just beside the bench upon which she was seated. Faramir watched as some of her hair spilled over her shoulder like liquid gold, and he clasped his hands tighter to prevent himself from reaching out and brushing some of the silken strands from her brow.
“My lord,” she stammered. A few seconds passed before she gathered herself. “Yes, all is well. I simply could not sleep.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course, my lord. This is your home… or at least it will be soon.”
‘It could be your home, too,’ he thought to himself but could not say aloud.
Éowyn shifted on the bench to give Faramir more room to sit. Several minutes passed in companionable silence, though they were both aware of the other’s traveling gaze.
“I hope your stay has been at least somewhat pleasant, my lady,” Faramir said after a while.
“You needn’t worry, my lord. I have no complaints.”
“I am glad.”
“I hope my brother hasn’t given you any trouble.” Faramir chuckled.
“There is still some uncomfortable tension between us, but Éomer-King has been civil. And you were right about his hunting skills. He felled the stag in one clean strike. It was rather impressive, especially because he used his sword to do it.”
“I was never allowed to go with him on hunting trips, but I would overhear others talk about his skill.”
“Do you wish to go on hunts?” Éowyn stared ahead of her, and her brow was furrowed in contemplation.
“I thought I did. Not because I was eager to pursue and slay an animal, but because I did not wish to be left behind at home while the others could leave the capital for days at a time and ride across the open plains. But now… the idea of instilling fear and causing suffering and violent death holds no appeal to me anymore.”
“That is because preserving life holds more value to you than taking it.”
“I suppose that is true..."
“I believe that it takes more strength to show mercy than to take revenge, especially when we are wronged. And the ones who say that mercy is a sign of weakness are too weak to resist the path of violence.” Éowyn looked at him and furrowed her brow.
“But you are a Ranger of Ithilien. You have taken many lives, have you not?”
“I have,” Faramir said with a thin smile. “But it was only for the purpose of protecting my home, not to exact revenge or out of any desire to do so. Every man I killed was a father, a son, a brother, a friend that I took from a loved one, the same as all the men I have lost. That is the true nature of war. There is no glory in it, even if you manage to be the last one standing at the end.” Faramir blinked and cleared his throat before glancing away. “Forgive me, I should not be speaking of such things while we are here for a leisurely visit.”
Éowyn reached across the space between them and grasped Faramir’s hand. He met her eyes, immediately thinking that he may not be able to look away. At least, that was true until he felt how cold her fingers were. He turned towards her and reached for her other hand before clasping them between his own. She did not try to pull free from his grasp.
Faramir was looking intently down at their joined hands while gently rubbing warmth into hers. He was so focused on his task that he did not see how this affected Éowyn, who had her lips pressed tightly together and was holding her breath. Her intention had been to reassure Faramir that he did not need to apologize for speaking his mind, but that had completely backfired because of her poor circulation.
It was only when Éowyn let out a sharp gasp that Faramir lifted his gaze. Her lips were slightly parted and she was turning her head and gazing at their surroundings. Despite the darkness, the faint coloring of her cheeks was visible in what moonlight there was. Faramir tried to swallow, but his mouth seemed to have gone dry and his throat tightened at the sight of her. He shook his head, casting aside such thoughts, before looking around to see what had drawn her attention. It did not take long before he saw the occasional blink of a tiny green light.
“Ah, the fireflies are out. They usually do not appear for another few weeks,” he said calmly. He then turned to Éowyn again, but she was still transfixed by the blinking insects. “Do you have them in Rohan?”
“It has been long since I was outdoors after nightfall. These last few years, I have been caring for my uncle, and before that, I was not allowed outside of Meduseld due to several thwarted attempts by the Dunlendings to infiltrate our city and take us by surprise.” She was quiet for a few moments, and when she spoke again, her voice held a hint of wistfulness. “Perhaps when I lived in Aldburg when my parents were still alive I saw them, but I do not recall. Éomer might remember better than I.”
Faramir’s gaze was drawn to a blinking light that was hovering near Éowyn’s head before it landed in her golden hair. She was still speaking, but he wasn’t paying attention to her words. He reached out tentatively to brush the firefly from her hair, but he froze with his hand mere inches from her face when she suddenly turned to look at him.
They stared into each other’s eyes for several seconds, neither blinking nor breathing. Faramir was the first to break free of the enchantment when the firefly started to crawl towards the crown of Éowyn’s head. The shieldmaiden’s brow furrowed, having felt the slight tickle. Her head jerked and her eyes shifted in search of the source.
“There is a,” Faramir began before clearing his throat, “there is one in your hair.”
He lifted his hand the rest of the way and carefully grasped the insect in his fingers. Once it flew away, he smoothed the disturbed strands of her hair without thinking. A few more seconds passed before he realized what he was doing, but he did not get a chance to retract his hand and put a respectable distance between them, because in that moment Éowyn leaned forward and silenced his apology with her lips. His arm went around her, keeping the starry mantle in place as it began to slip from her shoulders. He drew her to him, causing her head to tilt back. Éowyn gasped, allowing Faramir to slip his tongue past her parted lips. Faramir held back a groan as Éowyn grasped at his shirt, her hold almost strong enough to tear the material.
Faramir had known, from the moment he took her in his arms atop the walls of the Houses of Healing, that he was a goner, that he could not deny her anything and that he would only be able to find happiness with her, but in that moment Éowyn, too, came to the same conclusion about him. But unlike that day, when the war and the losses they had suffered were still fresh on their minds and they made a spectacle of themselves in view of the people gathered in the city below, they could now seek comfort in each other unburdened by grief and fear of embarrassment. The fireflies around them and the stars above bore witness as the yoke of uncertainty and despair was lifted from their shoulders, and the small bud that symbolized their love for each other began to unfurl its petals just a bit more.
