faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

Sssh he thinks he's hid it Real Well.

He flushes and ducks shyly.

"We will do out best to ... hold out. And I will certainly remind her that I have no wish to scandalise anyone! Too much."

Eomer's eye raises slightly, for in fact he meant something a bit more...crude. But if his lawbrother-to-be is willing to be more restrained yet, he will not argue. Though he rather suspects that, as Faramir himself intimated, it is his sister's wishes that will carry the day. It is as well that he had Hilde speak to Eowyn earlier, for that redoubtable lady will have had no qualms about speaking exactly as needed, in a way a brother cannot.

"Mind you, there will be work for you here as well; it would be no bad thing to have more in Minas Tirith who are familiar with the ways and needs of the Riddermark as we negotiate trade and military aid between our countries, the better to heal both from the scars of war. Aragorn says he will spare you for a month. It is not what she asked for, but I hope it is a compromise she will accept."

"That, I do not mind." Faramir smiles. "In truth, even if not for Eowyn's wishes in this regard, I would have suggseted we leave an ambassador here for that very purpose. Our lands suffered from the lack of closer ties, I think, little though that could be helped. It would do us good on both sides to learn about each other more. That it will be me is a happy chance indeed, and I thank you for this gift."

Eomer snorts, and leads the way back towards the door. "Aye, because you do not have enough jobs or titles already, Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, Lord of Emyn Arnen...by all means let us add Ambassador to the Riddermark to the list, and add yet another for your status as He Who Is Betrothed To My Sister, May Bema Have Mercy On Him For She Will Not...I wonder that you ever find time to sleep with so many responsibilities to juggle, much less time to chase after Eowyn's skirts."

He looks amused, at least, as he holds the door open so they both may depart.

"The nicest thing about an ambassadorship is that it may be easily passed on." Faramir points out with a laugh. "In a few months, once the details have been arranged to everyone's satisfaction, we can consider if the position is to be more permanent, and then consider who might be more suited."

"True enough." Eomer claps his lawbrother-to-be on the back as they leave. "But come, we should return. I know not what our womenfolk were discussing as we left, but I do not doubt it will involve some sort of upheaval. Which is no slight to your cousin!" he adds hastily. "Merely that I know that look on my sister's face too well of old."

Faramir laughs wryly.

"I assure you, anyone who knows Lothiriel will agree with you on that assessment - just ask Amrothos, and he is her favourite brother."

Eomer chuckles. "Perhaps such is the province of all sisters. Is she, ah, known for causing disturbances? From what little I know of her I assume they were all benevolent, or intended to be."

His question sounds casual, lightly spoken, but his eyes watch Faramir closely for the answer.

"Perhaps! And likely you would need to ask her brothers for the best stories. But when we were younger, she and I would often sneak out to go down to the beach - those disturbances, I believe, are common enough! As for other things... well, 'sneaking out' is rather her stock in trade, as I understand it."

He eyes Eomer and wonders privately if Lothiriel has, in fact, already encounter him on one of her escapades.

"But yes, she always means well - I do not think she has a malicious bone in her body."

Eomer manages not to react to this information about Lothiriel, aside from the very slight raising of one eyebrow and the fact that he looks back up the hill where Meduseld waits for them.

"Of that, I am certain. We of the Mark are a inclined to be straightforward, but even here, I do not think I have ever met anyone so artless." He cannot keep the faint admiration from his voice as he says it.

Faramir notes the eyebrow and the admiration, and wonders if his little baby cousin has an admirer.

"She is rather." He agrees. "It comes from being the youngest, I am sure! You will find her quick-witted and rather talkative when excited."

"I already have," Eomer says dryly. "We have...conversed, once or twice. She is most enthusiastic, whatever the subject. And surprisingly keen to learn the customs of other lands. Though perhaps that can be credited to her interest in my sister's union with you."

"Oh?" Oh ho.

"Lothiriel has not mentioned that, but it does not surprise me that she is curious, for she has ever been so. How did you find her otherwise?"

Eomer gives his lawbrother-to-be a look, for though the hint of suggestion is very faint, yet it is there. He looks as though he would like to refuse to answer the question.

But men of the Mark are not easily decieved even by themselves, and neither is the Steward of Gondor. "She is--" he begins quietly, then breaks off, not finding the words he wants. "She seems--"

Eomer walks a few more steps in silence, his brow furrowed, then finally recites, his voice soft and low.

"Where walks the lady limned in gold?
Gowned in petals, o'er the wold?
Sprays of buds alight her hair
E'en as her laughter lights the air
Vána, Vána, Ever-young!
To you be sweetest measures sung
Of silver flowers and meadows bright
Where nimble feet dance through the light."

A scholar such as Faramir will know that as the Rohirrim revere Béma above all others, so too do they have high regard for his wife, Vána, the embodiment of spring and delight, whose blessing is called on all marriages and births in the Mark.

Faramir's eyebrows shoot up.

"Ah." He says, suddently gentle. "I did not think you had fallen for her. Have you told her this yet?"

"No." And in truth he does not know that he has, only that he finds her...oddly breathtaking. But the answer remains the same. "No. Nor do I intend to do so."

Faramir's other eyebrow goes up to meet the first.

"My lord, you mean to tell me that you think my cousin is the Lady Vana's very image, and you are not going to tell her?"

Eomer stops, standing just a few feet shy of the steps that lead up to the Meduseld, and turns, looking over his realm and the starswept sky above it. "We fought the war on two fronts. Saruman burned the Westfold and salted its fields; even now refugees still stagger in from the far reaches." He juts his chin eastwards. "To the East we still vie with the Wildmen of Dunland, some of whom seek peace, others of whom still want only vengeance--and the Eastfold too suffered. It will be years, decades, before the Riddermark is fruitful once more, able to survive without the charity and trade of its allies."

Gondor not least of those, though Gimli and Legolas have spoken to their own kin and sent much aid as well. Eomer accepts all with gratitude and without pride, for his pride--great as it is--is as nothing before the needs of his realm and its people.

Almost as nothing. Some remains, and he shakes his head. "The Lady of Dol Amroth deserves better than anything I can offer. I would not ask her to bear these burdens."

Ah.

Gently, Faramir says, "I think, my lord, you might want to ask if my cousin thinks that those burdens might be worth bearing. Lothiriel has ever known her own mind, my lord. "

"She is young." He resumes his slow walk up the hill, towards the steps. "Very young. Too many of us lost our youth to the war, to despair or fury or weights beyond carrying." His face darkens a little, thinking of Eowyn and how her smile had gradually faded, worn away into nothing by years of thankless, humiliating effort. "Let her enjoy hers."

"She is." Faramir walks beside him slowly.

"And she does, believe you me! But her youth does not make her naive. She is of age, my lord, to make her own decisions. Tell her."

"I will consider it." His tone is one of finality, belying his words. The matter is unquestionably closed.

Faramir sighs.

"I hope my lord will do so with clarity. For I have seen the way my cousin looks at you - you will break her heart, if you say nothing."

A pause.

"Or, she might try and take things into her own hands."

A brief, doubtful expression clouds his eyes, before being replaced by the same finality. He does not believe it. Even if Faramir is correct in this, Lothiriel is but a girl, and girlish hearts break easily and heal as easily. She would recover.

And he has other duties, which rank far above his own inclinations. His own heart's promptings can be ignored, and shall be, until the Riddermark is stable once more.

"I will," Eomer says, now almost through gritted teeth as he makes himself remember that this man is nearly his kinsman, and that Eowyn would not thank her brother for doing him an injury. "Consider it."

Faramir shrugs. He's given his law-brother fair warning.

"As you say."

Now he won't have any guilt in watching the ensuing chaos.

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he hasn't though, has he ;)

sadly, no XD

by the end of the engagement everyone will be desperate to ship them off to Ithilien.

"dear bema please just go and cuddle and get it out of your systems properly"

Won't work. They'll just keep at it. A month's honeymoon won't be enough.

lol so very true

uh oh now we need to figure out what her brothers are like...!

.......point XD uh LETS GLOSS OVER THEM

THAT WORKS

\o/

pssssst ask what he thinks of her

XD XD XD

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of course there need to be hijinks

so many hijinks