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From:

withoutswords

She gives him a look, not at all fooled by the excuse of 'inspecting the further fields'. Though going by the smile at the edge of her mouth, she is amused rather than disapproving. "You wish a holiday."

The idea has some appeal. Things are about to change, unalterably, and she is still a little shaken when she thinks of it. The way her stomach roils a little at the smell off food only drive the point home, though she still is quick to prepare some toast and begin to eat it.

From:

withoutswords

Eowyn's heart lightens considerably when they leave for Alburg. It is not merely the fewer responsibilities pressing on her, or the fewer eyes watching them (and interrupting), or even the fact that Eomer has clearly given up on any attempt to guard her virtue.

("Don't be foolish, and in Bema's name don't tell me, I don't want to know," was about the run of it, and she'd merely laughed and pointed out the hypocrisy of it all given his own experience, and he'd covered his ears. A most satisfactory discussion between brother and sister.)

No, it is more being away from the Meduseld. It grieves her to acknowledge the fact, but there is no question that she has felt a certain constraint from being there...less present duties, and more dark memories. Already they fade, are rewritten by new and more joyous days, but still they linger. Still she feels herself torn between the past life that has not quite let her go, and the new life she has not quite begun.

There are fewer shadows to chase her heels in Alburg, and what griefs happened here were long ago, and easier to accept. She tells Faramir more of her father on the journey there: how angry she was at him for being so foolish as to get himself killed with his tendency to run headlong into battle (a tendency she does at least admit she and Eomer both share, though they at least try to keep it in check; their father never did).

She does not speak much of her mother.

But for all that lack, she is more at ease on the ride across the plains, and that remains once they reach the house. The staff there all knew her as a child, and have more than a few stories to tell. If most of them are at her expense, they are at least all told with affection. A few of the staff, most notably the cook, are at first inclined to treat this lord of Gondor coldly, but gradually they begin to thaw as they watch how he treats Eowyn. As they see how much she smiles when she is near him.

They have been here but two days, much of which has been spent in putting things to rights and ensuring that all in the area have what they need in supplies. But today, wonder of wonders! She and Faramir ride out so she may show him the lands around the house. Unaccompanied. They should not go too far, for all that it is unlikely any bands of orcs remain in this area, and they are armed (Eowyn with a bow, rather than a sword). But unaccompanied.

Small wonder that Eowyn is radiant.

From:

theywhowait

Faramir has been enjoying himself throughout - he was always an able diplomat at need, but he flourishes, now, able to work without the fear of Mordor on his doorstep. But he cannot deny that the best time he's had in this whole trip has been the journey to Alburg, if only because he can see how Eowyn breathes easier.

(The unsupervised free time is a very big bonus)

"You smile brighter, out here."

From:

theywhowait

"I do." He agrees shamelessly. "I think we both deserve one! And in fairness, we have not been to inspect the further fields since we got here."

From:

withoutswords

"No, for they have not needed our inspection, and likely do not now," she points out, smiling. "But I am willing to let it be our excuse, for your plan does sound delightful. And I know of a copse where the bluebells should already be out."

It is nearly springtime, after all. Not quite, but near it.

From:

withoutswords

"Do I?" She turns that smile on him. "I wonder why that could be. Might it possibly have something to do with your interrupted company? Or could it simply be the weather?"

For it is unseasonably warm today, or at least not so cold as it has been of late, and the winds are still. If they find something to delay them on this journey, at least they will hopefully not need to rush because of being too cold.

From:

freo

Envy her? The unexpected words draw a startled look from Èowyn at first, before she fully registers what it was Faramir actually said. A small frown knits at her brows, then. "Why?" she asks softly after a moment, a hint of compassion in her gaze. "Did he not see the value in learning lore and history in times of war and strife?"

That's the only reason she can immediately think of-- she'd always thought Gondor prided itself in the wealth of knowledge hidden inside the city's walls, in the grand libraries and the minds of its scholars both. Rohan could not claim such, the people of the Mark wise but unlearned, their history passed down orally rather than written on the pages of great tomes.

From:

rednightfall

Eomer looks stricken, and shakes his head. "I do not think you would ever be a burden, whatever situation you found--or put--yourself in. But I cannot. You do not understand what you are asking."

From:

whattheydefend

Faramir is silent for a long moment, looking out at the horizon. "No, not that," he says finally. "It was...a complicated tangle of things, I believe. We were never easy with each other. We were too much alike in some ways, and too different in others. He too knew much of lore and history, but his use of them he limited to Gondor's need, whereas I wished to learn all for its own sake. Mithrandir taught me much on his visits, which did not help, for my father has ever disliked and distrusted him. So worse than distraction, my love of lore made my loyalty suspect in his eyes."

Now he looks sad. "While he lived, Boromir was a bridge between us, for we both loved him dearly. Though there too was a part of it, for much as I respected my brother I was not his copy, and could not be. And my father would have been happier with another Boromir, rather than myself."

There is no blame in his voice as he says any of this, no shade of reproach; only quiet grief, and a look in his eyes that hints at deeper pain still.

From:

freo

"I see." Èowyn murmurs, the frown still furrowing her brows-- despite her words, she doesn't really see. Not truly. Though she can understand the former Steward's dislike toward the wizard, she cannot fathom him extending such mistrust to his own son as well. When Faramir's expression turns so palpably sad, she wants little more then than to reach out and grasp his hand in hers in comfort. Her fingers twitch as if rebelling against her better sense.

But then he goes on, and Èowyn inhales sharply in shock and affront. Yes, affront, she realizes; it takes her aback just how upset the thought of Denethor thinking so little of his second-born makes her. One is not supposed to think ill of the dead, but Èowyn can't help her indignation, though she does her best to tamp down on it. This is still Faramir's father they are speaking of, and she ought to rein in her temper.

"But... how could anyone possibly be unhappy with a son such as yourself?" she finally says, aghast. She finds that incomprehensible; Faramir is kind and wise, noble and brave-- surely no less than Boromir was, though she knew the elder brother not. Èowyn finds it difficult to picture a trait lacking in the man she's befriended in these Houses that would cause such censure from his father. "Your pardon, for I mean not to disrespect your father, but that is nothing less than a great injustice."

From:

whattheydefend

He has been leaning against the wall, his arms folded on top of it; at her protest he turns to look at her, surprised by her vehemence. "I am glad to know you think well of me," he says finally. "But I wonder if he was right after all. His belief was that I was disloyal to him, valuing Mithrandir's counsel above my lord's orders and sacrificing Gondor's need to my own vanity. Although I ever strove to do his will, long past the time I gave up any hope of earning his approval, yet he always suspected my judgement. And in the end perhaps he was right. For I made one decision that proved to be much against his wishes, one to outweigh all the others. And yet..."

He sighs and looks back over the city. "I could not have chosen otherwise," he murmurs. "I could not. Nor can I think mine was the wrong course, for all that it seems folly. But oh, my father!" Faramir bows his head, and his next words are near a whisper. "I would have given all the wealth I will ever possess for one sign of favor from him."

Edited Date: 2018-09-03 09:02 pm (UTC)

From:

leftbehindthesea

"Then explain." She lifts her chin to him imperiously.

"Because I'd work hard, Eomer! I promise. I'm not some princess who doesn't know how to do anything but sew. I can figure very well, father says, and Amrothos says my knifework is quite good, even if he won't let me do more than throw them. I can almost beat Elphir at staves, and he says my bow-work is very fine! I wouldn't be a burden."

From:

theywhowait

"Very much so." He smiles back, delighted to see her joy.

"And perhaps a combination of all three? The sun suits you very well."

From:

theywhowait

"We do not know that for certain." He says with impish seriousness.

"But a copse of bluebells, a nice rug, a light meal. These things do sound very attractive!"

From:

withoutswords

"They do," she agrees. "And some time with you, with nothing to distract us, sounds more attractive yet." They spend much time together, as much as they can contrive, but for much of it they are busy. There is never a shortage of things to do in Eryn Arnen, and often Faramir is called away to Minas Tirith; sometimes she goes with him and sometimes not, depending on where she is needed.

Faramir is right: they have more than earned a small holiday. And have they not something to celebrate?

She glances over the papers he's handed to her, taking note of the numbers therein and what they imply. "Mm. I have things I should attend to here first, but they should only take an hour or so, and then I may be at your disposal." She matches his impish seriousness. "So think well on how you wish to dispose of me."

From:

withoutswords

She laughs, well pleased by the look of gladness on his face, which suits him at least as well. She leans over and takes a quick kiss; their mounts are all too used to this by now, and barely flicker an ear at the shifting weight of their riders. "Do not distract me with compliments, my lord, or we shall never reach our destination. And it is a place I particularly wish to show thee."

From:

rednightfall

"Lothiriel." He interrupts this run of needless self-promotion, standing and walking over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You do not understand the present state of the Riddermark. It will take years before I can make it a place fit to welcome a queen. I could not in good conscience make any woman an offer, least of all you."

This close he cannot resist the urge to stroke her cheek, very lightly, with the back of one hand. "Do not think I am ignorant of your virtues, my lady. I am not. But you are too quick to decide your future." Bema, they have never even spoken of it before now, he's never so much as touched her. How did they reach this point so abruptly?

From:

theywhowait

If the horses were inclined to spook, they are now well used to this behaviour from their riders, and Faramir is able to prolong the kiss just a little.

"Ah, well far be it from me to deny you such an opportunity!" He smiles at her. "Thank you for sharing your home with me."

From:

theywhowait

"I will have to consider this most seriously." He agrees and nods. "I have a few things that need doing also - nothing that cannot wait, but the soonest started the soonest completed!"

He kisses her on the cheek as he rises.

"If you wish for more tea, I left the kettle warming near the fire. Otherwise, my love, I will see you in a few hours."

From:

leftbehindthesea

She blinks up at him through eyes that are clearly a little too bright, although she's too proud to cry in front of him.

"Then I'll wait for you." She says stubbornly. "I'll learn Rohirric and how to ride. And Father says I've always been impetous. But I like you, Eomer. I've always known I would have to marry someone as much for politics as for love, although Father promised me I would have a final say. I think we would do very well together, and I already know I like you."

From:

freo

Èowyn's confusion gives way to something akin to horror as she listens, lips parting in silent astonishment. Disloyal? Vanity? These are not descriptive of the man she's come to know during these days of shared convalescence! No, not in the least bit. To claim so is... is not only incorrect but malicious, to boot. She cannot fathom Denethor would think so little of his own son, one that by the sound of it only sought to do right by himself and his father both. Suddenly she begins to get a clearer picture of the relationship between father and son -- if only one side of the story, but it's enough for her -- and it frankly stuns and shocks her.

When Faramir bows his head and laments the loss of his father's love and approval, Èowyn's slumbering heart breaks. That someone this good and kind should be suffering so, gone neglected and disdained in such a manner by his own father? It's completely unbearable. He looks like a lost child, then, pale russet hair falling forth at the movement in a way that causes a fleeting urge in her to brush it aside with her fingers.

Her feet move before she realizes it, coming to stand close; closer probably than they have ever before. The pale hand of her broken arm comes up to settle on his shoulder in consolation, fingers tightening as much as they dare around the slope of muscle hidden beneath fabric, mindful of both his injury and hers. "If you say your choice was just, then it was. Your judgment is sound and your heart is in the right place. I needn't have known you long to perceive this-- even if I did not think so, all folk here have but kind things to say about you, Faramir of Gondor. Your people love and respect you."

Expression softening with sympathy and sadness, she pauses. "I know not what madness possessed and overwhelmed your father, for surely he must have loved you as well. I'm sorry he could not find it in himself to tell you that which any child deserves to hear."

From:

withoutswords

Faramir might attempt to extend the contact; but Windfola, while now used to these antics, bucks just a little to jolt his rider back into sitting in a more comfortable position. Eowyn chuckles and strokes his neck.

"My childhood home," she corrects. "It is many years since I lived here, after all; the Meduseld has been home since I was seven. Or did you mean the Mark in general? For that it truly is a pleasure to show you. But what I will show you know is something more personal. See, there--"

She points, and ahead can be seen a small hill, with the White Mountains looming behind it. There is something of a ruin on top--it is small and overgrown, and all that remains are a few pillars and walls and one lone archway, but unusually for Rohan those are of stone rather than wood, which is likely how they still stand at all.

Eowyn leads their horses around to the side of the hill where it is less steep, and dismounts at the top, throwing Windfola's bridle over his neck. She has no fear of him running off, not with her here and plenty of grass around for him to graze on. "This was my favorite place to play, when I was a girl. Many times Eomer and I came here."

From:

withoutswords

She reaches up and caresses his cheek when he bends to her, closing her eyes briefly at the contact and smiling. Even on a day off, neither of them is able to ignore duty completely. And in truth she would not have it otherwise. Neither of them truly likes being idle, not for long. He is too used to responsibility, and she is too fond of a challenge.

Dealing with the papers occupies her enough for the other cup of tea he mentioned, and she idly consumes it (and the eggs, success!) as she makes notes and begins to draft a letter to one of their factors in Dol Amroth, regarding certain seeds that she wishes to purchase which are late arriving. She will need to plant them soon, if they are to be ready to grow when spring truly arrives...

All in all the time passes more quickly than she would have guessed, and it does not seem long before she has changed into a riding dress with split skirts and is saddling Windfola. She could have ordered it done, but it still pleases her--and her horse--to tend him herself, and she makes small whickering noises at him as he bats his muzzle playfully against her shoulder.

From:

whattheydefend

They have walked arm in arm, but this is something else again, and he starts a little when she touches him. But only for the briefest moment. When she finishes speaking he reaches up and covers his hand with hers, meeting her gaze steadily, his eyes dark and intent. He stares at her for some time before making any answer, and when he does speak his voice is low with some deep emotion.

"You honor me with your compassion as much as with your faith in me, my lady." His fingers are calloused where they rest on the back of her hand, his skin darker, tanned by sun and weather. But his touch is gentle. "And I thank you for both."

It seems to Faramir that a long time passes while they look at each other thus, though it cannot be more than a few seconds. For him, the world has narrowed to encompass only Èowyn and that point of connection between them. It is a moment fraught with...not possibility, perhaps, but awareness. Something within him changes in those few seconds, a fundamental, unalterable change, and he knows it.

So be it.

It is he who breaks their locked gazes first, though it is a wrench to do it, and he takes a quick, sharp intake of breath once it is done. Almost awkwardly, he adds, "He did love me, I think, for all the difficulties between us in recent times. But our last parting was a poor one. I am told he regretted it in the end, and was by my side for many hours while my fever raged. I wish I could remember it."

From:

rednightfall

"Lothíriel..."

It was a mistake to touch her. It was a mistake to come closer, tomorrow just throw her from his room at once, but it was especially a mistake to touch her. It's so easy to turn his fingers, so that instead of a brush of knuckles on the cheek he's cupping her chin in his hand.

It's just as easy to bend and kiss her eyelids where those unshed tears are lurking, and once that's done it's impossible not to kiss her mouth. Feather-light, just a brief drag of lips, chaste enough that even the formidable Hilde might not object, were it not for the context.