faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

What can she say to that? It is true, so she remains silent, taking comfort in the touch of his hands. But then he lifts one to her face and her breath catches a little, softly. Her eyes close for a moment and she tips her head slightly into his hand, almost unconsciously. This time, she meets his gaze when she opens her eyes, solemn but not closed off.

Those words are far from innocuous; even Èowyn knows that, in light of their growing friendship-- though she equally knows it can no longer be defined as simply friendship. She wants to ask him just how does he see her. It surprises her, the urge of wanting to know, but at the same time realizing deep within her that such response -- truthful, coming from him, always truthful -- would reveal too much; more than she's able to handle right now, despite all the strides she's made toward healing already.

"Maybe one day I will," she whispers instead, so quietly it's almost inaudible.

It is abruptly a more intense and intimate moment than he had intended, as she leans against his hand, as their gazes lock. He can feel the tenuousness of it, how easy it would be to say words there would be no going back from, for her to ask, for him to answer. He can almost see her wavering towards those words and then pulling back. For a breath, everything is poised as though on a knife's edge.

When she does speak, he just nods, removing his hand and returning it to rest on hers, looking down. Inwardly, he is chagrined. Blessed Valar, it is but minutes since he was chiding himself for pushing too far, for offering too much. And after such stories as she has been telling!

Instead he holds her hand, squeezes her fingers. That is more comfortable ground for them both now, and much less hazardous. "At the least, I would ask you remember what I said a few days ago, after another such discussion. That the victory is in the rebuilding afterwards. Whatever your own thoughts on your choices and actions, you still have allowed yourself but little time for healing. Grant yourself that small mercy first, before you pronounce judgement on your past self."

He laughs a little, ruefully. "And I shall attempt to do the same, since I clearly have not allowed myself enough time for healing either, as yesterday's misadventure shows."

It is with some relief Èowyn also casts her eyes down once Faramir withdraws his hand-- but not without also some twinge of regret.

"I shall try to heed your advice," she promises at length, softly. That alone is more than she has felt capable of, since first waking from her sickbed. "Though I fear I am at odds with my own impatience, among others."

At his laugh, she glances at him sideways once more, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth slightly upward, for a brief moment. "And well you should, also. Lest the Warden sees fit to confine you to your room." Gently, she squeezes his hand in return, her tone turning more earnest. "There are many who count upon you, my lord, and would see you better." Myself included, she wishes to add, but does not-- yet, there is a look in her eyes that's almost as good as if she had spoken the sentiment aloud.

He turned the conversation back to his own expense as a distraction, and the goal is accomplished when she smiles and the tension between them eases further. Faramir would willingly fall into ever fishpond in the city in truth to have her smile thus. As she speaks of the Warden confining him to his rooms, he snorts agreement, for the Warden threatened exactly that. "Valar, no. Confined to these grounds is hard enough."

He glances at her at that addition, and sees an echo of her unspoken words in her eyes, and that eases him further. He smiles, though again it is rueful. "I know. I have letters from many of them in my room, but the Warden has forbidden me to tend to any such work save for an hour later this afternoon." He rubs his forehead, which still aches, though the dreadful tea is helping. "So perhaps I am safe and he cannot send me back to my room, for fear of my disobeying him in that manner instead!"

Genuine mirth catches Èowyn off guard and a sudden laugh bursts out of her-- it's a rather unladylike sound, a short guffaw rather than anything else. But she finds it hard to be particularly self-conscious about it, a teasing light in her eyes as she grins at Faramir.

"You are an impossible patient, I see! Are you perhaps then banished into these gardens instead? To take your tea? Do not forget your solemn promise to the apprentice," she adds almost slyly. Impossible too it seems that she's so amused now, when only a moment ago she had been speaking of such ill things in sorrowful remembrance. How does he manage to do this, and with such ease?

If a smile is good, a laugh is better, and Faramir's smile turns into a broad grin as he hears it, unladylike or not. He makes a mock-pitiful face at her in return as she reminds him, and releases her hand long enough to refill his mug and drink further.

"I see your own time spent with the healers is bearing fruit, since you do their chiding for them." He cannot help but make a face at the bitter taste. "Ugh. I am not certain that I would not prefer the headache."

"Ah, but I shall only chide you once; I suspect Ioreth and the Warden would be less merciful. Pick your battles, my lord." She chuckles, smiling, but makes a sympathetic noise as well when he speaks of his headache.

"I daresay you may blame the wine for most of it." A beat, before a hint of teasing enters into her voice as she goes on, "There is an old wives tale about a remedy for overindulging in Rohan, made out of mixing raw eggs with warm mare's milk. Perhaps your tea fares slightly better in comparison?"

"Not the wine so much as the foolishness of drinking on an empty stomach and in a weakened state. Which is no better, since the foolishness remains." He sighs, takes another sip.

"We have similar concoctions here. I tried them once or twice when I was younger and decided the pain was preferable to the remedy. Alas that I may not do the same now!" His mouth quirks a little with the hint of a smile as he glances at her. "Even so, your chiding or Ioreth's or the Warden's I might withstand, but not all three together. I applaud your tactics."

"It is you now who judges themselves too harshly," Èowyn points out softly, with a small, gentle smile. Not so much foolishness as despair, she thinks, and she would know all about that.

"Èomer and Théodred also dared one another to try such brew once in their younger days, and it very memorably only made them more sick. Rather violently. I should not have laughed at their misery, but I confess I did."

She chuckles, remembering it. Simpler times, before the shadow and desolation. She remains silent for a while before speaking at length, innocently, "But if the last cup of tea happened to be spilled... into that bush, perhaps? Why, none could be blamed for that, surely. Accidents happen, after all." He has drunk enough that one more cup is unlikely to make any drastic difference, she judges.

He lifts the cup to her in a toast, silent acknowledgement of the point. They both need to learn to be as kind to themselves as they are to each other, perhaps.

But he chuckles also at her description of her brother and cousin. "My brother too tried that remedy, though he said it was not so bad as the rest of us swore." He smiles a little, his eyes seeing fondly back into the past. "There were few chances to try, for he did not care to drink to excess, and I chose to follow his example. Though his remedy of choice too was beyond me. Eggs still, but cooked, and in prodigious amounts." He shakes his head a little, smiling at the memory. "A meal I could happily face after a good workout in the morning, but not while hungover. I think his stomach was made of better steel than his sword."

At her less-than-innocent suggestion he pretends to be shocked. "Is my lady proposing that we practice a deliberate deception?"

"Still that sounds wiser and more pleasant than drinking them raw," Èowyn laughs a little, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose in disgust at the idea.

When he pretends shock at her words, she bites her lip against a laugh; her shoulders still shake a little at the effort. Clearing her throat, she affects some shock of her own that he would think that. "I would never propose such a thing, my lord! I am merely suggesting one learns a few things, growing up as a girl with, essentially, two older brothers who enjoyed making mischief. Such as plausible deniability. Should that tea go so astray, anything could have happened to it, I'm sure. Perhaps you did indeed drink it all. Who can say?"

So yes, deliberate deception is exactly what she is proposing.

He sees her shoulders shake with repressed laughter, and his mouth twitches a little. He appears to consider the matter, stroking his chin, and sighing over-dramatically. "I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience consider such options." His mouth twitches again. "At least, not while my lady is watching. For I would not have her implicated in any such scandalous action."

"I understand." Èowyn nods sagely, affecting just such understanding. She's having a difficult time indeed, keeping her own amusement at bay. "Would it help if I were to look away?"

"I would never propose such a thing." He is solemn, now, and his eyes do not twinkle at all. Truly. "But how is your own tea?"

"It is a good thing, then, that it was I who proposed it instead of you, my lord," she says primly, similarly not at all holding at bay her amusement. At the question, she remembers her own brew, picking up her half-empty cup and glancing down at the contents.

"Less distasteful than yours in flavor at least, I imagine. Chamomile-- the Warden seems more concerned with soothing my mind than my bodily aches, which are thankfully less today."

And if perhaps the Warden has the right of it with his decision, Èowyn says nothing of it out loud.

The instant she looks down at her own cup, Faramir deftly empties the contents of his into the bush she pointed out earlier, conveniently only a foot away from where he sits.

"Ah," he says sagely, replacing his empty cup on the tray. "Well then, as I seem to have finished mine, and I have heard that fresh air is as beneficial for soothing the mind as anything else, shall we walk a little while instead?"

He still isn't laughing, but it's taking some effort.

"Have you, now? Your timing is most convenient." Her glance is knowing and amused as she follows suit and places her cup on the tray, nodding at his suggestion. "We shall! I should be glad for the exercise, even if it is to see the same surroundings we have viewed too many a time to count, by now."

"And as I have not yet had any exercise this day, no doubt it would be good for me." He stands and walks around the table before offering her his arm. "Though speaking of unusual sights, I had noticed your hair. Is this how you would usually wear it, in Rohan?"

"Oh!" She touches her free hand briefly to her hair while the other takes his arm, slightly self-consciously. "No, not usually. I often leave it unbound, less some task or decorum demands it put up and out of the way. I suppose I wanted something different today."

If it had something to do with what she'd told Faramir just a moment ago, the rest of her tale, even she couldn't say. Èowyn hums a little, continuing, "Though the maid who put it up this morning made many an unhappy face and protest. She seemed to think bound hair fit for married women and worried I might be sending the wrong message. I did not know such unwritten rules existed over ladies' hair, of all things."

She chuckles in amusement. Perhaps it was the maid's own idea, for surely not even Gondorian etiquette was quite so fussy.

Amusement flickers across his face, and he nods. "It is a custom in Gondor for women to keep their hair loose while they are maids, and only wear it fully bound up after marriage, or when reaching a certain age." He shrugs. "It is a little impractical, for any woman who of any age who works will tie her hair back at least informally when needed, as you must have noticed from observing the healers and apprentices here. The tradition has more importance among the nobility."

Who do not work with their hands so much as ladies in Rohan, evidently. At least, not in the ordinary run of things. No doubt the maid worried Eowyn would be thought to be already married, or stating an intent not to wed at all--but that aspect he does not mention.

"Oh," Èowyn utters again on the heels of Faramir's explanation, this time mildly chagrined. "I had no idea. Perhaps I ought to apologize to the maid, then. I thought she was simply being silly."

The mild stab of mortification soon transforms into wry amusement, and she huffs a tiny breath of laughter at her own expense. "Now I cannot help but wonder how many Gondorian customs I have unwittingly slighted already."

"Perhaps," he agrees. "But you are not of Gondor, and are in the Houses of Healing besides. This is hardly a place where formal court etiquette is required--and even if it were, your own traditions should be honored as well. So whether your hair is up or loose has no siginificance, beyond practicality or beauty?"

Yes, he is actually interested. Partly because he wishes to know about Rohirric customs--and his motivations there are better left unsaid for now--but also he simply is interested in other cultures and their symbolism in general.

Èowyn shakes her head a little with a small, helpless smile; again, she has to wonder at his forbearance and understanding. "No significance, no. I am trying to remember if Morwen brought any such traditions from the country of her birth with her, but am coming up short. Ours can be a harsh land and my folk pride themselves on practicality and straightforwardness above all else-- in all things."

There are traditions not related to personal grooming she could tell him about, certainly, but mostly they revolve around certain holidays or courtship-- not a subject she's that comfortable broaching with him.

"That is not to say we do not have some customs that, speaking frankly, must seem foolish to outsiders, but those often have to do with horses." Her smile grows a little crooked. "Much to your utter surprise, I am certain."

He laughs outright at that, a sound that rings in the courtyard as they walk outside. "That, I do not doubt! But I imagine there are good reasons for them, given the quality of your horseflesh. And remember I am a soldier, lady; practicality is less a virtue and more a thing unavoidable, in my life."

At least, his life as it was. Now that he is Steward...but that thought is for later, and he resolutely pushes it aside. They have had enough dark talk for a time.

"At any rate, yes, there are a number of Gondorian customs, no doubt many of them too seem foolish to outsiders. Still, in here I doubt you've run afoul of any enough to cause offense. Though as regards any involving hair or fashion, you will be better off seeking tutelage from your maid than from me."

"I do not know about that! I certainly struggle to find sense in some of the old beliefs that hold fast even to this day," Èowyn laughs a little herself, warmed to the core by the sound of Faramir's mirth in the wake of these past day or two and the dour news they have brought.

"For instance I might tell you that no king of Mark or captain of stature and sense would ever ride a gelding, for the horse and the rider are one-- and such would bode ill if the lord is to wish himself success in... that area." She purses her lips against a grin of sly amusement, glancing sideways at him.

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yesss an excuse for my favorite icon

omg perfect

I love it and hardly ever get to use it. Also this.

both are a+ icons

I love them so.

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