Eomer grimaces a little and turns back to the loom. "Were I a coward, I could claim practical reasons. There are many. Eowyn has had the ordering of the king's house for years, and knows it as no other; she has much knowledge to impart. But the truth is simply that I am not yet ready to be parted from her."
Again he reaches for the loom, carefully threading his hand between the taut strings so that he might touch the growing work being made upon it. The corner is dark green and grey, grass and rock, and there is the start of a horse's hoof there. Even in Gondor the skill of the Mark's tapestry weavers is admired, as is the superiority of their wool. One of the many, many things being discussed and traded between the two countries, and being negotiated before the wedding. "Eowyn and I have ever been each others' most trusted friends and counsellors, in all matters. I saw long ago that she was not happy in the Mark, but I had thought at the time that it was because of Wormtongue, or our uncle's sinking state. Mithrandir showed me how wrong I was. Her happiness lies elsewhere, and when the time for our parting comes I will accept it with good grace.
"But...do not let that day come just yet. For I will miss her more than I have words to speak of it, and there is no one more dear to me." He retracts his fingers, rests his hand on the loom, and for a moment looks not like the king he is but merely a young man, overburdened and wistful.
The moment passes, and he turns back to Faramir. "Aragorn and I have made compromise, and agreed that if you wish it you shall remain here for a time, that neither you nor my sister should suffer being parted." A wry grin glints across his face, startlingly like Eowyn's, the kinship between them suddenly marked. "We could give practical reasons for that as well, but the truth is he said you worked too hard and could use the rest. And I would as lief not be made to endure more months of Eowyn making mooncalf-eyes towards the south whenever she thinks she is unobserved."
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Again he reaches for the loom, carefully threading his hand between the taut strings so that he might touch the growing work being made upon it. The corner is dark green and grey, grass and rock, and there is the start of a horse's hoof there. Even in Gondor the skill of the Mark's tapestry weavers is admired, as is the superiority of their wool. One of the many, many things being discussed and traded between the two countries, and being negotiated before the wedding. "Eowyn and I have ever been each others' most trusted friends and counsellors, in all matters. I saw long ago that she was not happy in the Mark, but I had thought at the time that it was because of Wormtongue, or our uncle's sinking state. Mithrandir showed me how wrong I was. Her happiness lies elsewhere, and when the time for our parting comes I will accept it with good grace.
"But...do not let that day come just yet. For I will miss her more than I have words to speak of it, and there is no one more dear to me." He retracts his fingers, rests his hand on the loom, and for a moment looks not like the king he is but merely a young man, overburdened and wistful.
The moment passes, and he turns back to Faramir. "Aragorn and I have made compromise, and agreed that if you wish it you shall remain here for a time, that neither you nor my sister should suffer being parted." A wry grin glints across his face, startlingly like Eowyn's, the kinship between them suddenly marked. "We could give practical reasons for that as well, but the truth is he said you worked too hard and could use the rest. And I would as lief not be made to endure more months of Eowyn making mooncalf-eyes towards the south whenever she thinks she is unobserved."