Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[whattheydefend]

"It does not," Faramir admits. "Which is perhaps a failing on our part. There are exceptions; my uncle Imrahil has, I believe, allowed my cousin to learn some of the basics of self-defense, though that may simply be so she can defend herself against three older brothers. But it is not so commonly done as in Rohan, from what you tell me of it.

"Still, you have more than proven your own point, by your own demonstration. No one can deny you that! And even without your example, I cannot think women less capable. Less strong, perhaps, but that could be amended with proper tactics. As for whether they should or should not..."

He sighs and looks back down towards the city. "I am conflicted on that point. The scholar in me can name other examples of women like yourself, and honors them. But the Captain is all too aware of the difficulties a mixed company would present on the field. Not during a battle itself, no, but during the times of waiting in between battles--and those times are many and prolonged. So I fear the answer is not so simple as we would wish it to be. Perhaps that is why shieldmaidens were solitary wanderers, rather than part of the military in an official capacity."

[freo]

"Three? Goodness," she murmurs with mild amusement, feeling a little sorry for Faramir's cousin then. She only has one older brother and sometimes that seems one too many! Pleased as though she is that Faramir mostly agrees with her, old, familiar frustration pricks at her bitterly when he brings up the troubles of a mixed company. Why was it that men were so greedy and lustful they allowed it to cloud their sense? Why were women punished for the weakness of men?

She knows it's uncharitable, in the back of her mind, but Wormtongue's memory is still too fresh in her mind.

But what did it matter? Èowyn is under no illusions that anything would change soon, when it came to this issue. It disheartens her a little, sighing a breath through her nose.

"I shall then have to make peace with the fact that I am to be the last of my kind." She's silent for a moment, before adding wistfully, "Perhaps one day, the children of the bloodline Èomer begets when he marries shall sing songs of Èowyn of Rohan, and the shieldmaidens will live again in the minds of future Eorlingas."

It's uncommonly sentimental of her, normally not given into such daydreams.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir could have pointed out other difficulties; but he is just as relieved to let the topic step sideways from that point

"Are you so certain you will be the last? I doubt that very much." He looks at her sideways, a smile glinting back on his face. "On the contrary, I predict others will be inspired to follow your example, and not merely in the Riddermark. Though they will need to content themselves with lesser foes."

[freo]

Èowyn's smile is a mere tiny upward curve of the corner of her mouth as she returns his glance, slightly dry; as if to gauge first whether he's teasing. Soon, a fuller albeit lopsided smile stretches across her lips.

"Then I wish them well on their chosen path, and live in good conscience knowing they needn't face such foe as I did." Perhaps it's just words, appropriate for the sentiment she expresses, but for someone with such a deathwish to talk about living is... promising.

[whattheydefend]

It is promising, and Faramir is much heartened by it, and more by her smiles. "As do I. And I shall hope for them to be encouraged in those wishes by their kin, as you were. I envy you that."

The words slip out unintended, and he looks faintly surprised, as though he would recall them if he could. Surprise fades into wistfulness, and he adds, in explanation, "My father was...less than pleased with my own chosen hobbies, little time though I gave to them as I grew older. It was a point of some contention."

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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."

i was so antsy to get home and tag this ;;;

[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."

back at you ahhhhh this thread <3

[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."

ugh, right? ;;

[freo]

Something flips in Èowyn's stomach at the touch, like a tumbling wave of butterflies taking flight. A faint quiver, too, lances through her when their eyes meet and hold. What is this, she can't help but wonder, caught unawares by the sensations and unable to look away. Neither can she withdraw her hand from beneath his; but the urge to do so does not even occur, oddly. Like hers, his fingers have calluses-- he's a bowman, Èowyn remembers distantly, the best in the land if stories are to be believed. But his touch is careful and gentle all the same; a warrior with such genteel nature.

She draws in a soft, shuddering breath as well when he breaks their eye contact after what seems like eternity, tingles running down her skin from head to toe. Shaken by the intensity of the moment, she reasons (not so convincingly) it must be the wind that has begun to buffet them up on these ramparts. And yet, she does not move away like she possibly ought to, her fingers squeezing his shoulder anew gently when he speaks.

"Then, that is what you must hold onto, even with no memory of your own of it. That though troubled, your father did love you and that he well remembered it in the end. Try not to recall him as he was during those evil times, though I know such things are hard to forget."

Here, she thinks of Théoden, decrepit, dimmed and nigh insensate on his throne for so long, caught up in Saruman's thrall. No! She will not remember her uncle as such, but leading the Rohirrim into battle against overwhelming forces on the Pelennor, glorious in his defiance and might one final time. She at least has that, a better memory to replace the foul; Faramir does not, and that only serves to prick at her heart anew.

"It may be of little consolation now, but it will get easier in time. Your wound is still recent and causing you too much pain." Now she does shiver properly, this time from the hearty gust that rises up and blows over them, tugging at her hair, the simple dress provided by the Houses to replace her own gear no match for the chill winds licking up the high circles of the stone city.

ugh yes, also thank you for this useful set-up =)

[whattheydefend]

This time his glance is a sideways one, accompanied by half a smile, and not nearly so intense. "Words of wisdom from one who knows, and I will heed you. But, Èowyn--"

He frowns suddenly, standing up and looking at her in earnest, for he can see that she is cold. "Has no one thought to give you a cloak? Forgive our carelessness there!" He unbuckles his own at once, and holds it out to her. "Here; if you will, borrow mine until I can find you one more suitable." His mouth twitches a little, and he adds, "I promise it is clean."

it may have been intentional :3

[freo]

"Oh, no-- I am not cold," she hurries to insist stubbornly, immediately foiled by another visible shiver. She bites her teeth to suppress an oath. Béma take it, her body betrays her at a critical moment; for she's bursting with curiosity to know what Faramir was about to tell her before noting her chills. If only she had one of her warm woolen dresses for home, and not this flimsy, borrowed rail... Faramir offers her his own cloak without question, and she can hardly turn down such a considerate gesture. Nor does she want to, truly.

"Thank you," she murmurs with a hint of a smile at his quip, her cold fingers brushing his as she accepts the cloak and begins to settle it on her shoulders-- though the process is somewhat awkward due to her healing arm and slightly numb fingers.

Figured it was, and thanks very much!

[whattheydefend]

He merely raises an eyebrow at her protest about not being cold, which is so immediately put to the lie by the way she shivers. But she accepts the offer, and when she has difficulty he reaches out silently to help fit the cloak in place over her shoulders. Her arm is free of its sling, but still limited in its range of movements.

But settle it does, and while he is reluctant to cease even this small amount of contact, he pulls his hand away once more as he examines her. "It is as well that you are tall," he says, still wearing that half-smile. "Merry, I think, would be completely engulfed."

[freo]

Èowyn murmurs her thanks anew when Faramir takes up aiding her with the cloak, looking down as a hint of color tints her cheeks at their closeness-- except this causes Faramir's hand to accidentally glance across her jawline just as he pulls it away, and Èowyn battles a befuddling wave of some emotion that crashes over her at the fleeting, unintended touch.

But she breathes a laugh at his assessment, helpless against her amusement. It serves to banish her momentary confusion, though she has to intentionally ignore the scent that clings to the cloak, something distinctly masculine.

"Being taller than a hobbit does not seem like much of a feat, does it?" She arches a brow as if in challenge, but soon goes on more conversationally, a small smile lingering on her lips, "Most Eorlingas are tall, but the descendants of Thengel and Morwen Steelsheen especially so. I remember her distantly, my grandmother-- and tall she was, indeed."

[whattheydefend]

A touch of fingers, and then another brush of his hand to her face. The color rises in both their cheeks at that, at this further evidence of how near they stand to one another. Which is one reason why he turns the conversation back to something harmless, lest he do or say something more foolish than merely speaking of halflings.

It succeeds, at least, and he chuckles at her reposte. "I know. She was a kinswoman of mine as well, though a more distant one, and there is a portrait of her in the Citadel. I have often admired it."

[freo]

Of course. Morwen descended from the House of Dol Amroth and was thus kin to Faramir's mother's side of the family-- a detail that did not occur to Èowyn before now. The mention of a portrait, however, draws her more immediate attention over pondering the lines of relation.

"Is there?" She hesitates for a beat, biting her lip. "I would like to see it one day, if possible. My memory of grandmother is that of a child's."

again, I am stealing an idea from Tea, who does a *damn* good Faramir.

[whattheydefend]

"I would be most glad to show it to you, once the Warden frees us for such an excursion." With only the barest moment of hesitation, he offers her his arm again, to lead them gradually back towards the House. "About which I intend to speak to him later today, by the by; I have not forgotten your request of two days ago, and we have both recovered enough in strength that I hope he may give us a more favorable answer than he did before."

excellent!

[freo]

Èowyn offers no such hesitation as she takes his proffered arm, falling easily into step beside him. Hope surges within her breast at Faramir's revelation and straightens her posture slightly, catching her breath; anything to escape the confinement of the Houses, if only for a while! And to see her request fulfilled! She tries not to get her hopes up too much should the Warden dash them once more with his refusal, but she cannot stave off a slight twinge of anticipation.

"I dearly hope he'll be amenable this time. I feel as if I already know each plant, stone and bench in these gardens here too well!" She was impatient on best of days, and being penned in like a wild horse was grating-- though the care she received in the Houses was exemplary (maybe even too much so) and Faramir's company had much soothed her anxiousness to be elsewhere.

[whattheydefend]

That light in her eyes almost stops his breath for a moment, and he looks back at the path they walk, though he laughs a little. "I, too. I have been to these Houses before, many times, but never had cause to stay so long myself. I think I could now walk every path blindfolded without ever setting foot on the grass."

Again, that sidelong, jesting smile. "Shall we try it, do you think, to pass the time? Perhaps with some paint on the soles of my boots, the better to judge my success."

[freo]

She finds her curiosity so easily roused by these little tidbits of information he grants her in passing, and wonders whether it truly is more because she thinks Faramir himself interesting, or because her mind seeks anything to preoccupy itself with? Though she believes the answer to be the first option, she reminds herself she also fancied herself in love with Aragorn not so long ago. Glancing over, Èowyn returns his smile with a smirk of her own.

"Hm! And risk the Warden's -- to say naught of Dame Ioreth's -- displeasure, should you take a tumble and injure yourself anew?" she teases, rather unrepentant, making a small tsking sound as if to chide. "I think not. They might brand me a trouble-making Northerner for encouraging such lark, and then we should neither of us be rid of these Houses anytime soon."

Shall we do another timeskip soon? He'd avoid more serious talk, they have a lot to think about.

[whattheydefend]

He welcomes the teasing, even if it is at his expense, and laughs aloud. "Oh, I think they would know where to correctly place the blame. Though you are right that we had better not risk the Warden's ire, lest he forbid us the outing we hope for, or Dame Ioreth's, lest we be at risk of never hearing the end of it." It is not a truly unkind gibe, for Ioreth herself acknowledges her tendency to go on at length.

yes, we can timeskip like... now? and move on, if you're good with that!

[freo]

It is a good look on him, that sort of earnest laugh. Èowyn finds herself smiling just because of the sound of it.

"Indeed. I am doubly disinclined to upset the Goodwife for my part, as I believe Ioreth is coming to inspect my injury at midday." A time which was rapidly sneaking up on them, even as their trail brings them back to the Houses proper with each step. "I should be in poor position to escape her scolding, with her holding my arm hostage."

Perhaps she ought to ask the madame if there was any hope of acquiring a raiment made of sterner stuff than the gown she is wearing now, in preparation of this possible outing of theirs; or even so as not to catch a chill up on the walls where Faramir and her seem to end up so often on their walks.

Yup. I actually have A Plan, if that's okay by you? To start the next day. ;)

[whattheydefend]

"Then by all means let us maintain their good opinion." The Houses have come back into view, and Faramir is both glad and sorry to see them. This has been a most unexpected morning, and will require much thought--and yet he is reluctant to let it end.

But time passes all the same. He refuses to let her return his cloak, instead asking her to keep it until he can find her a better--and he already has an idea along that line. They share their midday meal with Merry, as seems to becoming habitual, for the hobbit too misses his friends and is in need of distraction. Thus they all comfort each other and are comforted themselves, in the guise of good natured company.

Afterwards Faramir excuses himself, for he has work that cannot be delayed even for his own recovery; Hurin of the Keys has charge of the city for the moment, but there are many matters requiring greater attention or approval, and they meet every day. This time, when Hurin leaves, he has an additional charge, and if it causes him no small amount of speculation...well, Faramir trusts he will keep it to himself.

Afterwards he meets with the Warden, who declares that he is healing well but should not take on too many of his burdens yet, to which Faramir smiles ruefully and shrugs, for in truth such responsibility is unavoidable. Who else may bear it, and how can he in honor turn his back on the needs of the city, or of Gondor? They are his, however unexpectedly they have come into his hands, and until the king reclaims them he will do his duty as best he may.

So he works, his quick mind going through figures and cargo movements and evacuation routes, and all the while in the back of his head is the thought of Eowyn's hand on his shoulder, the warmth of her fingers, the color of her eyes.