faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

She laughs, rapidly brushing out the tangles in her hair and twisting it into a crown on her head, something that will look more formal than it is once it is pinned properly. Yesterday was for pagentry; today she dresses to show she means business.

It does not take long, though Faramir still finishes first. "Shall we face them?" she says, smiling and offering her arm to him to take.

He twinkles back at her and accepts her arm with solemn grace.

"Indeed! Before they get impatient and break down the door!"

She laughs ruefully, leaning up to kiss him one last time, briefly, before they leave.

Breakfast is much as Eowyn expects it. The Great Hall has been mostly cleared of over-boisterous feasters who fell asleep on their benches next to half-empty or overturned tankards, and the cleaners have definitely been at work, which pleases her to see. From her own personal purse she had arranged gifts for all the servants, every last one, in thanks for their tremendous extra efforts towards the day; it seems her generosity is rewarded.

There is the inevitable teasing, of course, from the Riders who know her well, and certainly from their wives, and the same for Faramir from his own Rangers. Rude comments (though not too explicit) abound. Her brother attempts to silence these (more out of his own mortification than his sister's, for Eowyn gives as good as she gets, no matter who speaks), but to no avail.

After breakfast Eomer steals her away for some talk, and she tells him of her plans, and they talk of present and future for a while. At the end he kisses her on the forehead, his expression a trifle wistful at all the signs of the distance that must grow between them, and for a moment she too is a little wistful.

But not for long, for it is only a few hours later, just after the noontide meal, when she and Faramir are loading up their horses and a few packhorses with supplies, and she is radiant once more, impatient to set out. "We go to Thengel's hunting lodge," she informs her husband, as she checks Windfola's saddle. "It is a few hours' ride, but borders a forest and a small lake, so there will be game aplenty. Or fishing, if you are minded to try it."

It is arranged that their guards will follow them at a distance and keep a scouting perimeter, so that the honeymooners will be able to keep their privacy.

Faramir, meanwhile, goes to Aragorn, who laughs at his steward but doesn't need much to agree to let them go for a while. Being married himself probably helps.

"I don't think you took me there last time." He smiles at her. "Although normally I don't mind fishing, I am thinking we might not have time for such leisurely endeavours!"

She glances over at him, one brow raised over eyes filled with mirth. "You think we will be too busy for such pursuits? Whatever could occupy us so thoroughly?"

"Well, we might be hunting..." he muses with a grin.

She gives him an amused book, clearly not fooled. "We might. Or perhaps I will use the time to practice my reading, and you your singing, and we shall be too busy with those for aught else!"

She speaks Sindarin well enough, but does not read it as well; and singing is a highly valued skill in the Riddermark.

"Or we could swap, and you could sing for me instead?" He offer merrily - he quite likes her voice!

"Perhaps." Her grin grows a trifle wicked, and there is more than a hint of innuendo in her words. "If I am sufficiently inspired."

He nods, mock solem as he swings himself up.

"Well, I am sure I can provide sufficient inspiration, but perhaps further experimentation will be required."

"Vocal experimentation?" she asks innocently as she pulls herself into her own saddle. "I suppose since I will not be otherwise occupied, we might have time for some practice."

"Experimentation does occasionally require the use of one's tongue, yes." He grins back at her. "And after all, practice makes perfect, or so I have been informed."

"By all means let us strive for perfection," she says, her expression serious but her eyes dancing with mirth. Windfola whickers, and she leans forward to stroke the side of his neck, but still watches Faramir. "Unless, of course, we decide it would be better to master our skills at fishing instead."

He nods, mock solemn.

"Of course, fishing is a noble pastime that provides for the table, and depending on our resources might be a useful skill to practice also!"

She laughs and moves Windfola into position, and they proceed at a sedate pace from the stable.

A slow pace is necessary through Edoras, partly for safety--the people of the Mark know better than to block the main roads idly, but even so accidents can happen--and partly because they are again, for a few minutes, on display. There are cheers and shouts as they ride by, the White Lady and her new husband the Prince of Ithilien. Eowyn beams at her people, waving, and if she is impatient it only shows once they are free of the city streets when she lets out a relieved sigh, turning to Faramir. "So! Shall we make a long, leisurely trip of it, or hurry?"

Through Edoras they must ride with dignity, accepting the well-wishes (and teasing) of the populace, Faramir blushing shyly at the teasing of the older matrons, reminding him to look after their Lady well.

But once clear of the walls...

He laughs at her, nudging his horse to pick up speed. "Oh? Were you not in a hurry?"

More often it is she who gallops ahead all at once; his sudden speed surprises her. But it also delights her, evidenced by her ring of laughter as she urges Windfola to follow.

They ride thus unhindered for a time, their poor guards left to fan out and keep pace at the agreed distance. They do not keep to full speed long, of course; neither would tire their horses so unduly or foolishly, even in their exuberance. But the horses are glad to run for a while also, and by the time they slow to a more sedate pace suitable for a longer ride they are all of them glad of the respite. At this speed Eowyn and Faramir are free to talk as they travel.

It is truly a beautiful day, warm and breezy. The plains are a rolling sea of greenery and flowers. "Vana smiles on us," Eowyn says, smiling at all of it. She is radiant as only a new bride in the spring can be, holding Faramir's hand. "At this time of year the children weave crowns from the flowers--Vana's crowns--and give them to those they love best. I did so myself, when I was a child." She smiles at him. "Perhaps I will weave one for you, later."

The air is crisp and clean and his wife (his wife!) rides with him, and Faramir laughs aloud as she chases after him. Windfola is well named, and they are overtaken swiftly, the race one of joy rather than need.

Still, he almost prefers the slower walk, for they can, at least, speak, this way!

"Then I will weave one for you, as well." He smiles back at her. "Do you know, I was told once that flowers can be used to convey messages all their own? I wish now I had learnt their secret meanings, that I might do so for you."

At least half of Eowyn's joy is in seeing Faramir as obviously happy as he is, untroubled by any cares or burdens. They are both of them quick to laugh, free and careless for a time, and she means to enjoy every moment of it--and to see that he does as well. If ever a man has earned respite from his duties, it is Faramir.

"It would not avail you much, were I unable to decode them. So perhaps it is as well." The idea is bemusing, and she beams back at him. "Perhaps we might invent our own such language with flowers, solely for our use. What would you say with them?"

He smiles at her and reaches across to brush her cheek.

"That I love you, and that you make me very happy."

She catches his hand and brings it to her mouth, kissing his fingertips. "I think you need no hidden flower language for that."

He cups her cheek briefly with a bright smile.

"True. But it might have been our secret message passed back and forth with none the wiser!"

Faramir's horse whickers and moves away, forcing them to separate a little. Eowyn's smile remains as bright as his. "If you look at me then as you do now, it will be no secret. But by all means choose a flower--or several--and grant them such a meaning, and I will know. Though speaking of flowers--"

She looks around, considering, then points. "Shall we break for a small time, to water our horses and ourselves? There is a small hillock by a creek over there that would make a pleasant stop." She looks back at him, eyes twinkling, and adds, "It is one that I spoke to you of once, months ago when you first came to Edoras. Do you remember?"

"We could both decide on a favourite flower each?" He suggests with a laugh, calming his gelding and encouraging him to walk closer again.

"Aye, I remember - yes, I think it will make for a very nice stop!"

"We could," she agress. "Though I must see what flowers grow in Ithilien first. I would wish to choose one difficult to find, lest I be told of your love only rarely!"

His horse moves close enough again for her to capture Faramir's hand and kiss the fingers, and her lips linger a little on the knuckles. "A rest would do us all good, I am sure. We would not want to tire our horses."

An absurd idea, that a ride of a mere hour or two at gentle pace would tire either of their mounts, both trained for much harder riding than this. Clearly, that is but an excuse.

Faramir has a long hair kink and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

do you see me denying this XD

Of course not. It would be futile. ;)

XD

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I first wrote "strive for protection." Freud...

LOOOOOOOOOOOL

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