The Prince of Ithilien

II

Traveling with the cortege was slow and arduous and the road between Gondor and Rohan long and in some places, difficult. It felt like they had been traveling forever when Edoras finally came into view.

Faramir had lived his whole life surrounded by mountains; indeed, Minas Tirith had been built on the side of such a mountain. But he'd never seen anything like Edoras, perched atop a great mound, the Golden Hall of Meduseld shining like a beacon in the late afternoon sun. It was gold and sun and warmth and earth. How unlike Minas Tirith with its white marble and stone. How cold and barren Gondor must seem to Eowyn, with the golden halls of Rohan as her reference point.

As they rode up the mound that was Edoras, Faramir let his gaze wander across the crowds that had gathered to pay their respects to the cortege. They bowed low, everyone from housewives and serving girls to soldiers and ministers. The people of Rohan had seen much hardship, but they had loved their king.

He looked up as the citadel grew closer, and his heart leapt as he saw, standing on a high terrace, a golden figure dressed in white, her long hair streaming in the wind as she watched the procession. He bit his cheek lest his joyful smile spoil the solemnity of the occasion. Was she seeking him out the same way he searched for her? Or was she too involved in grieving for her uncle to give him any thought?

He mentally chided himself for such petty thoughts. Theoden deserved her grief, her honor. He touched the small packet that lay against his heart. If her words were true, then there would be time enough for them, once the old king was laid in his tomb.

At the foot of the great hall, they dismounted, and a detail of soldiers appeared to bear the bier away. The rest of the party followed Eomer up the steps and into the Golden Hall.

Here, Faramir's initial impressions were confirmed. The hall was bright with torches and laden with intricate carvings. It was warm and welcoming, but regal for all that.

Eowyn met her brother at the front of the hall, greeting him formally, then placing a supportive hand on his arm. Then she moved down the dais, greeting the visiting dignitaries. She bowed to the King, who put a hand beneath her chin and raised her up; she curtseyed to the Queen, who leaned in and whispered something to her. And on, greeting Gandalf, and Galadriel, and Celeborn, and Elrond, and Imrahil. She gave Merry a hug and a bright smile. And then she stopped in front of Faramir.

She curtseyed to him, all the while keeping her gaze upon him. He bowed his head, completely unable to breathe. His hands had gone numb. For one dreadful moment, he was sure she would simply move on to the next person.

Then she unsuccessfully tried to smother a cry and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms, holding on with all her strength. And he was hugging her back, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair, while around him he heard a faint noise that didn't sound like disapproval.

They held each other for what felt like only a moment, but when she finally released him, with a shy smile and a duck of her head, he was sure their embrace had been far longer than was proper, and he reddened at the thought of such a public display of affection. He risked a glance around the hall, relieved to see so many smiles of approval. Queen Arwen he expected. And also the King. But there were smiles and nods from the Elves. And the hobbits. And Mithrandir, and his uncle, Imrahil.

The king of Rohan, however....

It occurred to Faramir that he had never seen Eomer smile. Granted, in the short time he'd known him there had been precious little to smile about. But even after the great battle, when all of Gondor had celebrated, the new King of Rohan had kept his stern visage. But as Faramir looked upon him now, it seemed that his expression wasn't one of dislike or even disapproval, but rather wariness and uncertainty.

The young king turned away and addressed the gathering. "The Lady Eowyn and I welcome you to Edoras. You will be shown where you can rest and recover after our long journey. Tonight we will feast in remembrance of Theoden, King."

He stepped down from the dais, but instead of leaving the hall, walked directly to Faramir, his gaze intense, its expression severe. "Prince Faramir," he began, "will you walk?"

Faramir risked a glance at Eowyn, who was smiling at him hopefully. He swallowed. "My lord," he nodded and followed Rohan's king out of the great hall.

They walked through the halls and outbuildings, past stables and smithies, until they came to a portico, overlooking the valley below. Here Eomer stopped, gazing out across the plain. Faramir stood with him, and for several minutes there was silence.

Faramir risked a glance at Eomer, but the king's face was impassive, revealing nothing. It made him wish he'd taken the time, especially on the journey, to get to know Eomer better. Despite having spent more than two weeks with him on the trip from Gondor, Faramir felt like he hardly knew the man at all.

"So," Eomer finally broke the silence, "what do you think of Rohan?"

"I can see why you love your country," Faramir replied. "It is very fair."

"It is," Eomer agreed.

"Like its princess," Faramir continued.

Eomer shot him a surprised glance. "Indeed."

They were silent another long moment, gazing at the sunset on the valley below.

"And what of you?" Eomer asked.

"My lord?"

"Steward of Gondor? What need does Gondor have for a Steward, now the king has returned?"

"For the answer to that, you must ask the King," Faramir said simply. "I was prepared to surrender my office to him, but he would not hear of it and called me Steward in perpetuity, the title passing to my heirs."

"There are some, like your brother, Boromir, who believe that the Steward should be Gondor's king."

Faramir frowned. "I did not realize you knew Boromir."

"We'd met, some time ago," Eomer dismissed.

"Yes, well I am not my brother," Faramir said. "In fact, there are those who would say that I am different from Boromir in every way. Nor did I ever set out to be a king. Nor even the Steward. The notion never crossed my mind. I am in my position through sad misfortune and circumstance. Much the same as you."

That made Eomer look up and he gazed consideringly at the other man. "Just so," he agreed. "And Prince of Ithilien?"

"A title bestowed upon me by the King. I do not know yet what it entails, except that I am assured a dwelling place in Emyn Arnen in Ithilien. There is a precedent of Gondor having princes of provinces, such as Dol Amroth."

A thought occurred to him. "Are you questioning my prospects, my lord?" he asked.

"I am questioning everything about you," the king answered directly. "My sister says she loves you and says that you love her."

"I do. I wish to make her my wife," Faramir said. "I am the Steward of Gondor, descendant of a long line of men of high esteem. And if I can never make Eowyn a queen, you may find comfort in knowing that she will be the second-highest lady in all of Gondor and will be held in high regard by all Gondorians. I cannot give her a kingdom, but I can give her one small part of it; she will dwell in Ithilien, with its beautiful groves and sacred streams, and become the White Lady of the Hills."

Eomer appeared to consider this. His face revealed nothing as he watched the deepening shadows over Rohan. "And you love her?"

"With all my heart," Faramir confirmed. "More than I ever imagined I would love anybody. We met, as you know, when we were both recovering from our wounds in the Houses of Healing and found solace in each other when our hearts were filled with sorrow. She is the most extraordinary woman I have ever known, and life without her by my side is nigh on unimaginable."

"And should she decide to once again strap on armor and be a soldier?"

"I would hope that I could keep her safe enough that she would never feel the need. But if she did.... Then I would fight at her side. For she is a warrior and a courageous one and has proven her valor in battle.

"But she has said she no longer wishes to be a shieldmaiden, preferring instead to be the consort of a prince."

"Yes, so she has said to me as well," Eomer agreed, "but my sister can be the most stubborn of women." There was very nearly the trace of a smile on the king's face, and Faramir suddenly wished he could see Eomer laugh.

"I would like to be able to tell you, then, that she has met her match in me, but I believe that she is indeed more strong-minded than I am."

"Bloody-minded, you mean," Eomer said, ruefully. "Are you sure you know what you're letting yourself in for?"

"You mean a strong, courageous woman with her own views, her own opinions? Yes. I know. And I welcome it. For her strength makes her as beautiful to me as does her golden hair and her bright eyes. It is as much what makes Eowyn the woman I love as is the sound of her laughter and the gentleness of her touch. It is her strength I first loved and her strength that draws me still."

Eomer regarded him for a moment, and if his expression was not one of pleasure, at least some of the wariness had faded. "She still has...shadows."

"So do I," Faramir said. "We have both known great sorrow. It is my hope that together we can ease each other's pain and bring light to the dark places in our souls."

Eomer was silent for a long time. He looked out across the valley again, as the last of the light faded. The torches flickered in the breeze and cast dancing shadows on his face. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

"I love my sister. She means the world to me. My uncle loved her like a daughter and wanted the best for her. I know he would want her to be happy."

He was silent again and the smallest tendril of hope grew in Faramir's heart. He had been certain that the king of Rohan would not be pleased with the match, but also believed that Eowyn was strong-minded enough that she would have disobeyed him if necessary. But it was important to Faramir that their match have Eomer's approval. Beyond the personal, there were the political repercussions should Rohan's king object to their marriage. The King himself could, in spite of Aragorn's personal feelings in the matter, put a stop to their union if he felt it would jeopardize Gondor's alliance with Rohan. And so he found himself praying, with every fiber of his being, that Eomer would give his consent.

There was a sound behind them. "Eomer?" They turned around; Eowyn was standing at the doorway, resting against one of the pillars as she gazed out at them, an expression of hope on her pretty face.

Eomer moved to her, extending a hand, and Faramir saw the first smile, albeit a small one, he'd ever seen on the face of Rohan's king.

"Come join us, my sister," he said, leading her forward.

"I came to tell you that the banquet is laid and our guests are assembling," she said, stealing a glance in Faramir's direction. He smiled at her and hoped he looked more confident than he felt.

"In a minute," her brother said. He released her hand and took a step back. Faramir moved to her side in support. "Prince Faramir asks for your hand in marriage. What say you?"

Eowyn's eyes opened wide, then she frowned in confusion; Faramir thought they'd already discussed this, why was Eomer asking her again?

"I say yes, with all my heart, for well you know how much I love him," she answered.

"And you desire to leave Rohan, to leave your people?" Eomer asked.

"Leaving my people, especially leaving you, will be difficult," she answered. "But my place is with my husband, and his place is in Gondor." She gazed at Faramir, and the love in her eyes paralyzed him

The king looked from one to the other for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, took his sister's hand and placed it in Faramir's. "Look after her well," he said, gazing at his sister intensely. "I am entrusting to you Rohan's most precious jewel." The look in his eyes was a little resigned, but also accepting.

"With my life, my lord," Faramir replied and his hand tightened on Eowyn's.

She ran to her brother and threw her arms around him in thanks, hugging him tightly. Eomer let go of his sister and stepped forward to clasp Faramir's hand. The grip was strong and sure. "Welcome to Rohan, brother," he said. And then the king smiled, a real, true smile that reached his eyes and transformed his entire face.

Eowyn took Faramir's other hand, smiling up at him, the light in her eyes burning brighter than the torches. And Faramir thought his heart might well burst with joy. Eowyn was truly his.

"Now," the king said, releasing them, "we have guests to attend to. Prince Faramir, you will forgive my sister if she attends to her duties here instead of to you."

"Of course, my lord," Faramir bowed his head, though secretly, he was sorry he wouldn't get to spend time with Eowyn, especially now when his heart was so full.

Eomer turned and left the portico but stopped at the doorway and turned back. "Eowyn?" he called.

"I will be there directly," she said to him, "do not keep our guests waiting." And when he did not immediately leave, she made little shooing motions with her hands. "Go."

Eomer sighed, the long-suffering sigh of the older brother, and did as she commanded, leaving them alone.

For a long moment they simply gazed at each other, too awed and overjoyed to say anything. And then they were in each other's arms, holding tightly, and he kissed her deeply, reveling in her taste, her scent, the feel of her silky hair and the slenderness of her body pressed against his. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears of joy that threatened to overspill. He'd never felt happier in his life.

When they separated, she smiled up at him, then her expression turned to concern. "My love?" she asked, reaching up and wiping away the wetness on his cheek.

He laughed shakily. "Nothing to worry about, my love," he answered, dragging the heel of his hand under his eyes. "Just...overwrought. And now the terrible truth comes out; you have committed yourself to a man who weeps."

She brushed gentle fingers across his cheek. "It is nothing I didn't know before," she said, "remember, I have seen you in the depths of grief and despair. And anyway," she cupped his face in her hands, "I love you more for not being afraid of your feelings."

"Oh, I'm often terrified of my feelings," he confessed, "I just can't help showing them."

"But you confront them and accept them, which makes you the strongest of men," she said and reached up to tenderly kiss his lips.

Then she stepped away, looking down and smiling shyly. "We must go in."

"Yes, of course," he agreed, though joining the banquet tonight was the last thing he wanted.

She smoothed her hair, her gown, then she reached for his hand and he took it, escorting her back into the hall.

"I'm afraid that my duties here will mean we will not have much time together, if any, over the next few days," she said regretfully.

"I know," he nodded. "That thought would be unbearable were it not for the one which follows immediately thereafter, that reminds me that we will have the rest of our lives together. So I'll try not to begrudge a few days."

"I love you," she whispered.

"I mela lle ‘a," he answered and she smiled brightly at him.

"I got it right, then. I wanted to write something private, that few would understand. But you do not speak the tongue of my people, and anyone can read the common tongue. But you are learned, so I knew you would know Elvish."

He chuckled and ducked his head. "Actually, I'm not very proficient in Sindarin," he admitted. "I could read Quenya fairly well once upon a time, when I was a student. But I'm sadly out of practice with both of them. The Queen translated for me."

She laughed lightly. "Oh dear! She was the one who taught me the phrase. And earlier, when I greeted her, she whispered to me, "Your love loves you."

He smiled at the notion of Arwen Undomiel, Elven Queen of Men, playing matchmaker.

Too soon, they arrived in the Golden Hall. Trestles had been laid on each side, and they were piled with food. She let go of his hand. "I must go," she said regretfully.

"I know. We will be together soon." He gave her a wink, delighted at her bright smile in response.

He watched until the crowd swallowed her up, then found his way to an empty spot at a table.

Speeches were made, and songs were sung in Theoden's honor, and the assemblage toasted to the fallen king.

Faramir had barely begun his meal when the King called to him, touching him on the shoulder.

"My Liege?" he stood up.

"Is all well?" Aragorn asked.

"All is well," Faramir nodded, but didn't feel the need to elaborate. There was no need; Aragorn smiled warmly and clapped him on the shoulder. "I am happy for you. And for Eowyn. It will be a good match."

"It will be a blessed one," Arwen said, appearing at her husband's side. She smiled at Faramir.

"Thank you, my Lady," he bowed.

"Come, walk with me," Aragorn said, raising his arm in invitation. "I want you to meet some of the people of Rohan."

Chapter 3
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