Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. I'm not making any
money off this story.
A Little Diversion by Jenni
The hall of Meduseld was filled with a wonderful emptiness, or so thought Éowyn as she cuddled closer to Faramir. They had both been sad to bid farewell to their guests, and yet their departures allowed them to walk and speak with each other in a solitude they had not had since their meeting in the Houses of Healing. Presently, Faramir was snoozing with a book resting over his chest that rose and fell with each breath he took. He was lying on a wide bench in the throne room with his head propped on his folded cloak, and Éowyn sat by him on the floor, which was still covered in the skins that had been laid out for the comfort of their guests.
Faramir was the only one of her brother's guests who had stayed after Elessar had returned from the North for his wife. Imrahil too had departed to his lands just over a week ago, although not before securing a promise from Éomer that he would come to stay in Belfalas for a few short weeks. The two men had struck up a close friendship, and Éowyn guessed it was because her brother attributed to Imrahil the salvation of her life. For if he had not seen that she had still been breathing, she might very well have died. With Faramir he also had been most cordial, but the two did not speak much, for Éowyn kept her betrothed to herself whenever she could. This was no so much out of possessiveness on her part, but of fear for what her brother might say to the young steward. But yesterday had been an exception. After watching the two compete in an archery contest, Éomer had been so impressed by Faramir's skill with the bow that Éowyn judged her brother might be civil and had withdrawn to her room in order to allow them time to bond over it.
She was glad they liked each other, for their first few meetings had been very formal and she had worried when Éomer did not extend to him the hand of friendship that he so naturally gave to everyone else. Neither did he agree to let them set a date for their wedding, which had been a great source of frustration for her. Éowyn had always been able to outsmart her brother in a debate, yet on this subject he had proven impossibly stubborn. Perhaps Éomer was still mystified by her quick change of heart. Indeed, he had confessed to her the night before her troth-plighting that he still found it difficult to believe her happiness was genuine. It was not that he suspected Faramir, he had assured her, or doubted her choice, but merely because he had never in his life seen her so radiant. It was as if a miracle had occurred. Yet Éowyn had only laughed at her brother and told him that miracles were not in such short supply any longer.
Ah, and Faramir was a miracle. Albeit a miracle who snored.
She poked him a little on his shoulder and he flinched, but did not awake. Perhaps he had not really felt it, for the shirt he wore was of a thick velvet. It was sable with silver diamonds embroidered into the sleeves. He looked far too grand for the empty hall, but this she found endearing. She poked him again a little harder to no visible effect. But when she blew in his ear, he bolted upright and reached out as if looking for a weapon. However in the process of doing so, he managed to knock Éowyn in the head.
"Oh!" she cried, placing her hand on her cheek. In truth it didn't really hurt, but she wanted to tease Faramir. "Well, it serves me right for waking you."
At first, Faramir was still too sleepy to process what had happened, but when he saw Éowyn clutching her head he regained his mind enough to laugh at her.
"It is not funny," she pouted. "That hurt."
"I am sorry, love," he said, sitting up. He removed her hand from her head so he could kiss the point of injury. "But I am still very much a ranger and ever ready for battle."
"What were you dreaming of?" she said, playfully. She admired his sleepy grey eyes, which despite his declaration of alertness betrayed his exhaustion. Yesterday Éomer had been very hard on him, though Faramir had been extremely polite and had declined nothing whether it was an archery contest, a horse race or a mock sword duel.
"I don't remember," he replied some moments after she had asked her question, having obviously not processed the question. "But surely I can't have been asleep too long. Maybe I dreamt of nothing at all."
Éowyn accepted this and kissed him quickly. "Are you still tired, Faramir?"
"Oh a little, but I will rise now. The day should not be wasted." And indeed the day should not be wasted, for it was a glorious summer afternoon, and yet there was a gentle breeze that dispelled the heat. The weather had been marvelous ever since the victory at the Black Gate, and Éowyn felt sorry that soon it would be fall. But perhaps when fall came she would be in Gondor where it was warmer.
Faramir began to massage her hand with his fingers, which was a delicious sensation. The motion sent tingles up her arm.
"Did you have something particular you wanted to do?" he asked her.
Éowyn nodded. "Let us go for a ride. I want to race you again."
"You mean you want to beat me again," he corrected her.
She leapt to her feet and began to head in the direction of the stables, making Faramir laugh at her confidence that he would agree. But before she could take one step, her betrothed had caught her hand and pulled her back to him. She was on her knees when their lips met. It had happened sooner than either had intended, and each was surprised by the intensity of feeling. Éowyn's eyes did not close at first, but when they did it was if she had surrendered to the emotion of the moment completely. Her arms went around his neck. His hands entwined in her golden hair, pressing her closer.
"Ahem."
Éowyn jumped at the sound and shoved herself to her feet, frantically wiping her mouth from the shame of being caught. Éomer King stood before them with an impassive expression on his face, but his foot was tapping on the stonework of the floor. For a long time no one spoke. Éowyn was too embarrassed. Knowing Faramir, Éowyn decided he probably felt guilty for disrespecting the King's household, despite the fact that they were betrothed and had every right to express their love for one another.
Éomer, for his part, concealed his thoughts as best he could, but the silence had to be broken. And so he motioned toward his sister. "Could I see you in private for a moment?"
Éowyn gritted her teeth in frustration, knowing exactly what was coming next. Her brother was being absolutely ridiculous about this, and although she did not say so she made her opinion blatant in her angry posturing as he pulled her to the side of the hall and away from Faramir's hearing.
"I did not expect my sister to behave so," he said, more than a little imperious, and yet to Éowyn's ears far less harsh that she had expected. But he did not let her speak, and this angered her above all things. "You will go to your room and not see the Lord Steward for the rest of the day," he informed her.
"Éomer!" she cried, "You can't separate us as if we are miscreant children. When we are wed, will you come to Emyn Arnen and tie us to the pillars of our house?"
Éomer turned a little red, which indicated not embarrassment, but repressed anger. Éowyn had seen it before many times in her Uncle's court: the face of a man thwarted in council.
"I do not decide what will be done with you in Gondor when you are wed, but rather what will be done under my own roof while you are not. And I won't have you compromised in any way. Therefore, sister, go to your room and do not question me."
Éowyn was tempted to hit him, and perhaps if he were not the king she would have done so, for they had knocked each other senseless as children, and it was as a child that he saw her now. But at the very pinnacle of her wrath, she noticed an odd playfulness in her brother's eye. And then he winked. Confused, she remained silent for a while before she decided to let the matter play out. She was curious as to what her brother was planning, for Éomer's pranks were always a delight, even to those upon whom they were played.
"Verily I go," she answered as sternly and formally as she could. And truly, she was still quite irritated. "Yet not because you order it, but because I have nothing further to say to you." Then she stormed out, casting only one tormented glance at Faramir, sitting abashed on the mead bench.
*****
Faramir was astounded as he watched Éowyn dash from the hall, and suddenly realized that there had been some terrible misunderstanding. Some horrible clash of cultures perhaps, and now Éomer was going to challenge him or perhaps deny him the right to marry her. Or perhaps he was just going to thrash him soundly across the face. None of these scenarios were appealing to his honor, yet Faramir was not a rash man and so the first words he spoke were diplomatic.
"Lord Éomer, I assure you that in all matters concerning your sister, I have acted impeccably, and beg that you do not insult my honor by suggesting otherwise."
"Lord Faramir, would you accompany me on a tour of Edoras? I wish to have your opinion on our drinking supplies."
"W.what?" Faramir stuttered, discomfited. "Excuse me, my lord, but I would speak to you concerning Éowyn."
But Éomer pretended not to have heard, and instead clapped him soundly on the back like an affectionate brother. "I have heard much of the efficiency of Gondor's water system, and I should very much like to implement something of that nature here."
Faramir merely gawked at him, but allowed the King to redirect him to the main doors, where he was almost certain that he would be thrown down the steps. But when they stood outside the Golden Hall, overlooking the city, he found that Éomer was still speaking.
"I have already spoken to Gimli, Gloin's son, about the construction of a city wall. After all we have been through during the war, it might behoove us to improve our defenses, and we are a people little skilled in stonework."
Here the Lord Steward found himself unable to resist the lure of a conversation on city planning. The administrator inside him went too deep, and since Éomer was not kicking him or challenging him to any duels, he allowed the incident in the hall to seep from his mind.
Together they walked, side by side as friends, and Faramir pointed out the merits of a sewage system and explained the one in use at Minas Tirith. "It is very difficult to bring water into the city, but we do so by pumping it from the river through underground pipes that are large enough for a man to walk in case there is some need of repair. I am sure this could be done here, but you would need to expend considerable time uprooting the earth before any cement can be laid."
They were half way down the mountain when he finished this piece of advice, and it was then that Faramir realized he might be boring Éomer. But when he glanced over at the king, he appeared to be deeply in thought.
"Think you that the hall too must be unearthed?"
"I do not know. You will need a more skilled opinion than mine."
Éomer accepted this and then clapped him on the back again. But there was a long silence as the King seemed to be appraising him. Ah, at last we come to it, thought Faramir. But perhaps he has forgiven me, for he no longer seems wroth. Yet nonetheless he steeled himself against some blow.
"What do you have to give my sister?"
Faramir was quite surprised at the bluntness of the question, and also more than a little hurt by the implication that Éomer could find nothing worthwhile in him, especially after spending the better part of an hour advising him on the best ways to improve his city. The memory of Denethor came to mind unbidden and unwelcome, especially in a place where he had thought himself an equal in honor with his host and a valued friend. And so if he answered with a touch of weariness, it must be forgiven.
"If you please, my lord, I can offer Éowyn my love, which is all the better since she hath many times shown that the gift will be reciprocal. Yet if you mean to question me about my position in life, then as you well know, I can offer her a title, an estate and an alliance."
"No no," Éomer interrupted with a laugh, which wounded Faramir even more, until the King clarified. "This I already knew, and I do not now doubt your ability to make her happy, although I confess that when your intentions were originally announced I had due cause for misgivings. But I meant to inquire after smaller things. Tokens. What can you give her?"
Faramir was understandably confused. What could he be talking about? Material gifts? He had given Éowyn a cloak, a stack of books, a necklace, a heap of compliments. "I am afraid I have lost you, my lord."
The King looked disappointed, but in the end he simply shrugged. "Do not trouble yourself over it. I am afraid I must leave you now, for I have other matters to which I must attend, but I thank you for your advice, Lord Steward."
Éomer had gone no more than two steps up the hill when he turned around as if to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it and continued up the hill, leaving Faramir to ponder over the exchange.
*****
A Little Diversion by Jenni
The hall of Meduseld was filled with a wonderful emptiness, or so thought Éowyn as she cuddled closer to Faramir. They had both been sad to bid farewell to their guests, and yet their departures allowed them to walk and speak with each other in a solitude they had not had since their meeting in the Houses of Healing. Presently, Faramir was snoozing with a book resting over his chest that rose and fell with each breath he took. He was lying on a wide bench in the throne room with his head propped on his folded cloak, and Éowyn sat by him on the floor, which was still covered in the skins that had been laid out for the comfort of their guests.
Faramir was the only one of her brother's guests who had stayed after Elessar had returned from the North for his wife. Imrahil too had departed to his lands just over a week ago, although not before securing a promise from Éomer that he would come to stay in Belfalas for a few short weeks. The two men had struck up a close friendship, and Éowyn guessed it was because her brother attributed to Imrahil the salvation of her life. For if he had not seen that she had still been breathing, she might very well have died. With Faramir he also had been most cordial, but the two did not speak much, for Éowyn kept her betrothed to herself whenever she could. This was no so much out of possessiveness on her part, but of fear for what her brother might say to the young steward. But yesterday had been an exception. After watching the two compete in an archery contest, Éomer had been so impressed by Faramir's skill with the bow that Éowyn judged her brother might be civil and had withdrawn to her room in order to allow them time to bond over it.
She was glad they liked each other, for their first few meetings had been very formal and she had worried when Éomer did not extend to him the hand of friendship that he so naturally gave to everyone else. Neither did he agree to let them set a date for their wedding, which had been a great source of frustration for her. Éowyn had always been able to outsmart her brother in a debate, yet on this subject he had proven impossibly stubborn. Perhaps Éomer was still mystified by her quick change of heart. Indeed, he had confessed to her the night before her troth-plighting that he still found it difficult to believe her happiness was genuine. It was not that he suspected Faramir, he had assured her, or doubted her choice, but merely because he had never in his life seen her so radiant. It was as if a miracle had occurred. Yet Éowyn had only laughed at her brother and told him that miracles were not in such short supply any longer.
Ah, and Faramir was a miracle. Albeit a miracle who snored.
She poked him a little on his shoulder and he flinched, but did not awake. Perhaps he had not really felt it, for the shirt he wore was of a thick velvet. It was sable with silver diamonds embroidered into the sleeves. He looked far too grand for the empty hall, but this she found endearing. She poked him again a little harder to no visible effect. But when she blew in his ear, he bolted upright and reached out as if looking for a weapon. However in the process of doing so, he managed to knock Éowyn in the head.
"Oh!" she cried, placing her hand on her cheek. In truth it didn't really hurt, but she wanted to tease Faramir. "Well, it serves me right for waking you."
At first, Faramir was still too sleepy to process what had happened, but when he saw Éowyn clutching her head he regained his mind enough to laugh at her.
"It is not funny," she pouted. "That hurt."
"I am sorry, love," he said, sitting up. He removed her hand from her head so he could kiss the point of injury. "But I am still very much a ranger and ever ready for battle."
"What were you dreaming of?" she said, playfully. She admired his sleepy grey eyes, which despite his declaration of alertness betrayed his exhaustion. Yesterday Éomer had been very hard on him, though Faramir had been extremely polite and had declined nothing whether it was an archery contest, a horse race or a mock sword duel.
"I don't remember," he replied some moments after she had asked her question, having obviously not processed the question. "But surely I can't have been asleep too long. Maybe I dreamt of nothing at all."
Éowyn accepted this and kissed him quickly. "Are you still tired, Faramir?"
"Oh a little, but I will rise now. The day should not be wasted." And indeed the day should not be wasted, for it was a glorious summer afternoon, and yet there was a gentle breeze that dispelled the heat. The weather had been marvelous ever since the victory at the Black Gate, and Éowyn felt sorry that soon it would be fall. But perhaps when fall came she would be in Gondor where it was warmer.
Faramir began to massage her hand with his fingers, which was a delicious sensation. The motion sent tingles up her arm.
"Did you have something particular you wanted to do?" he asked her.
Éowyn nodded. "Let us go for a ride. I want to race you again."
"You mean you want to beat me again," he corrected her.
She leapt to her feet and began to head in the direction of the stables, making Faramir laugh at her confidence that he would agree. But before she could take one step, her betrothed had caught her hand and pulled her back to him. She was on her knees when their lips met. It had happened sooner than either had intended, and each was surprised by the intensity of feeling. Éowyn's eyes did not close at first, but when they did it was if she had surrendered to the emotion of the moment completely. Her arms went around his neck. His hands entwined in her golden hair, pressing her closer.
"Ahem."
Éowyn jumped at the sound and shoved herself to her feet, frantically wiping her mouth from the shame of being caught. Éomer King stood before them with an impassive expression on his face, but his foot was tapping on the stonework of the floor. For a long time no one spoke. Éowyn was too embarrassed. Knowing Faramir, Éowyn decided he probably felt guilty for disrespecting the King's household, despite the fact that they were betrothed and had every right to express their love for one another.
Éomer, for his part, concealed his thoughts as best he could, but the silence had to be broken. And so he motioned toward his sister. "Could I see you in private for a moment?"
Éowyn gritted her teeth in frustration, knowing exactly what was coming next. Her brother was being absolutely ridiculous about this, and although she did not say so she made her opinion blatant in her angry posturing as he pulled her to the side of the hall and away from Faramir's hearing.
"I did not expect my sister to behave so," he said, more than a little imperious, and yet to Éowyn's ears far less harsh that she had expected. But he did not let her speak, and this angered her above all things. "You will go to your room and not see the Lord Steward for the rest of the day," he informed her.
"Éomer!" she cried, "You can't separate us as if we are miscreant children. When we are wed, will you come to Emyn Arnen and tie us to the pillars of our house?"
Éomer turned a little red, which indicated not embarrassment, but repressed anger. Éowyn had seen it before many times in her Uncle's court: the face of a man thwarted in council.
"I do not decide what will be done with you in Gondor when you are wed, but rather what will be done under my own roof while you are not. And I won't have you compromised in any way. Therefore, sister, go to your room and do not question me."
Éowyn was tempted to hit him, and perhaps if he were not the king she would have done so, for they had knocked each other senseless as children, and it was as a child that he saw her now. But at the very pinnacle of her wrath, she noticed an odd playfulness in her brother's eye. And then he winked. Confused, she remained silent for a while before she decided to let the matter play out. She was curious as to what her brother was planning, for Éomer's pranks were always a delight, even to those upon whom they were played.
"Verily I go," she answered as sternly and formally as she could. And truly, she was still quite irritated. "Yet not because you order it, but because I have nothing further to say to you." Then she stormed out, casting only one tormented glance at Faramir, sitting abashed on the mead bench.
*****
Faramir was astounded as he watched Éowyn dash from the hall, and suddenly realized that there had been some terrible misunderstanding. Some horrible clash of cultures perhaps, and now Éomer was going to challenge him or perhaps deny him the right to marry her. Or perhaps he was just going to thrash him soundly across the face. None of these scenarios were appealing to his honor, yet Faramir was not a rash man and so the first words he spoke were diplomatic.
"Lord Éomer, I assure you that in all matters concerning your sister, I have acted impeccably, and beg that you do not insult my honor by suggesting otherwise."
"Lord Faramir, would you accompany me on a tour of Edoras? I wish to have your opinion on our drinking supplies."
"W.what?" Faramir stuttered, discomfited. "Excuse me, my lord, but I would speak to you concerning Éowyn."
But Éomer pretended not to have heard, and instead clapped him soundly on the back like an affectionate brother. "I have heard much of the efficiency of Gondor's water system, and I should very much like to implement something of that nature here."
Faramir merely gawked at him, but allowed the King to redirect him to the main doors, where he was almost certain that he would be thrown down the steps. But when they stood outside the Golden Hall, overlooking the city, he found that Éomer was still speaking.
"I have already spoken to Gimli, Gloin's son, about the construction of a city wall. After all we have been through during the war, it might behoove us to improve our defenses, and we are a people little skilled in stonework."
Here the Lord Steward found himself unable to resist the lure of a conversation on city planning. The administrator inside him went too deep, and since Éomer was not kicking him or challenging him to any duels, he allowed the incident in the hall to seep from his mind.
Together they walked, side by side as friends, and Faramir pointed out the merits of a sewage system and explained the one in use at Minas Tirith. "It is very difficult to bring water into the city, but we do so by pumping it from the river through underground pipes that are large enough for a man to walk in case there is some need of repair. I am sure this could be done here, but you would need to expend considerable time uprooting the earth before any cement can be laid."
They were half way down the mountain when he finished this piece of advice, and it was then that Faramir realized he might be boring Éomer. But when he glanced over at the king, he appeared to be deeply in thought.
"Think you that the hall too must be unearthed?"
"I do not know. You will need a more skilled opinion than mine."
Éomer accepted this and then clapped him on the back again. But there was a long silence as the King seemed to be appraising him. Ah, at last we come to it, thought Faramir. But perhaps he has forgiven me, for he no longer seems wroth. Yet nonetheless he steeled himself against some blow.
"What do you have to give my sister?"
Faramir was quite surprised at the bluntness of the question, and also more than a little hurt by the implication that Éomer could find nothing worthwhile in him, especially after spending the better part of an hour advising him on the best ways to improve his city. The memory of Denethor came to mind unbidden and unwelcome, especially in a place where he had thought himself an equal in honor with his host and a valued friend. And so if he answered with a touch of weariness, it must be forgiven.
"If you please, my lord, I can offer Éowyn my love, which is all the better since she hath many times shown that the gift will be reciprocal. Yet if you mean to question me about my position in life, then as you well know, I can offer her a title, an estate and an alliance."
"No no," Éomer interrupted with a laugh, which wounded Faramir even more, until the King clarified. "This I already knew, and I do not now doubt your ability to make her happy, although I confess that when your intentions were originally announced I had due cause for misgivings. But I meant to inquire after smaller things. Tokens. What can you give her?"
Faramir was understandably confused. What could he be talking about? Material gifts? He had given Éowyn a cloak, a stack of books, a necklace, a heap of compliments. "I am afraid I have lost you, my lord."
The King looked disappointed, but in the end he simply shrugged. "Do not trouble yourself over it. I am afraid I must leave you now, for I have other matters to which I must attend, but I thank you for your advice, Lord Steward."
Éomer had gone no more than two steps up the hill when he turned around as if to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it and continued up the hill, leaving Faramir to ponder over the exchange.
*****