Always, there was a warmth to Rohan that could not be denied or ignored. Nor should one deny or ignore it, Faramir thought, as he walked alone in Meduseld's halls. His wife still slumbered and he left her as such; for now, he would wander in the home Éowyn still longed for in her heart, and breathe in the air that was both foreign and yet familiar to him.
A welcomed comfort, for he was a stranger in the House of Eorl.
Alone with her thoughts was Lothíriel, the new Queen of the Mark. It had been around forty years since Rohan had had a queen, but she found her feet quickly, and the people were so kind and welcoming, it was not a struggle to gain their affections. Their king loved her, so they too loved her.
And yet, as she walked the halls, deep in thought, she questioned whether Lady Éowyn would approve of all that had been done by Lothíriel since she was crowned. The White Lady had been mistress of Meduseld for years, and the young queen could only hope that everything met with her approval. She so dearly wished to be favorable in Éowyn's eyes for her own merit, and not simply because her brother loved her.
Hearing footsteps, Lothíriel looked up, smiling when she saw it was her cousin.
"Faramir! A good morning to you, dear cousin. Did you sleep well?"
"Lothíriel," Faramir said, affection on his eyes and lips - and then, remembering himself, his place and hers, he planted his feet firmly and gave his cousin a low bow. She was, after all, Queen of Rohan, and he was merely a guest in her halls. "My lady." But when he looked at her again, he was smiling, and he began to reach for her hand. "Yes, I did. Any man would not find better or lovelier accommodations anywhere else."
Faramir's response reminded her of herself. She was not simply his younger cousin whom he saw every few years, but his hostess and a queen. She should not have been so familiar either, but Faramir was of a nature that would never hold such against her.
She acknowledged his deference with a slight incline of her head, but smiled widely and gave him her hand.
"I am so pleased to hear so. I confess, I was in a state before your arrival, hoping your accommodations would suit. Not because I believe you or your lady to be the sort to expect something beyond anything else but," here she paused and looked around them before stepping closer. "I wished to do as well a role as the Lady Éowyn would have done. Can you tell me, has she found fault with anything?" She just managed to stop herself from biting her lip in anxiety. It was not a proper image for a queen to project.
He squeezed her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm, then moved forward, intending that she walk with him. Moments like this where he could freely talk with his family were rare, and on days of peace even rarer, and Faramir thought he would soon wake up from a lovely dream, for this could only be one.
And yet he did not wake, and the dream went on.
"The people of Rohan now view me as an unwelcomed guest, for my presence this morning has caused their beauteous queen terrible distress." He turned towards her and smiled. "There is naught to worry, my lady. The White Lady had not found fault with anything. You may take my word for it, if you wish."
And it was true. Faramir could not forget the lovely mood that fell on his wife when she set foot in Meduseld. To him, she had never looked more beautiful than she did with the warmth of Rohan surrounding her.
As he began to speak, Lothíriel began to look worried, until he went on and she saw there was no need to fret. Really, she should have known better. She had three elder brothers who always teased her, and Faramir had his own way of bringing amusement to their conversations, but for some reason she always fell pray to his deceptions, harmful though they were.
"That lightens my heart, cousin. I am here in the home that used to be hers, doing the duties she once executed beautifully. I am glad nothing has gone amiss." Pausing to rethink that, she added, "Yet," with a smirk up at him.
Faramir chuckled. "Surely such sentiments have no place here. Not in the home of the beloved king and queen of the Mark! I fear what the Lord Éomer would say should they reach his ears."
And yet he knew Éowyn's brother was of stout heart and stouter love for his cousin - there was nothing to fear.
"The Lord Éomer well knows my concerns, as he was forced to listen to them again and again prior to your arrival. He too assured me there was no cause for such worry, but I believed that as a Marshal oft far from home, he was not the best judge as to the housekeeping particulars of the Golden Hall."
However, now that two of the very small number of most important men in her life had assured her that she had done well, she was in higher spirits and not longer felt concern over what Éowyn thought.
"I shall lay my worries to rest now. Between you and my husband, I see all is well."
"You seem to think that being far from home makes him blind to the changes done to it," he said lightly, looking around him and at the colorful tapestries decorating the grand hall. "Yet it is my belief that the longer one stays away from home, the more one seeks to surround himself with the familiar, and the more one sees the changes done to them." He glanced at her before continuing, "That he has not said anything against you is a silent testament to your skill, and his great love for you."
Lothíriel looked at her cousin in curiosity. She had never considered things in such a manner before, but she had assumed a man would not care for matters in what was known as the woman's realm.
"Truly? You believe that, even if he were preoccupied with other matters, he would have told me if I was doing anything wrong?" She looked away for a moment, digesting this. "Not all lands can be like Dol Amroth, and I do not wish to impose all that I have learned there here on Ro-- the Mark."
Her face heated up slightly, and she bestowed him with a smile. "Éomer says only outsiders refer to his land as Rohan, and I am an outsider no longer."
"Nor should you consider yourself to be one," he said lightly. "One cannot ask for a more beautiful land to look after, Lothíriel. I trust that you are not finding it difficult to settle here?"
Faramir felt it his right to ask, especially as Rohan was so unlike Dol Amroth in many ways.
"Oh, not at all," she answered immediately. "The people are kind and loyal, and the land is perfectly suited to provide nearly all we need." She took his arm and lowered her voice, eyes sparkling in mischief.
"I will say its only fault is that it can be a great deal colder here than in Dol Amroth. I have had to have new gowns made to combat the chill."
He laughed affectionately. Éowyn had brought most of her gowns from Rohan to their home in Ithilien, and was set against having more made. Yet if she asked, then Faramir would certainly be more than happy to indulge her. He had no doubt this was also how her brother felt toward his own wife.
"Did you?" he asked. "Forgive your cousin, for I have little understanding for the need for more clothes - though certainly I can appreciate them."
"That must be because men may find themselves comfortable in whatever they might wear. Women are meant to be looked upon, and the fabrics may look beautiful, but provide little else. I was used to wearing silks, and now I must wear wool and velvet." But she waved a hand, dismissing the topic.
"I am sure this is of little interest to you, though you do humor me so in giving me leave to speak of it. Of what now shall we speak?"
Faramir became quiet for a moment. There was something plaguing his thoughts, and it pained him to realize that he had no one to speak to about it - until now.
"I would ask you a question that perhaps may strike you as odd - yet I would wish for none but a plain answer," he said, his tone low.
"Do you wish to find yourself back in Dol Amroth, despite how happy you seem away from it?"
His question greatly surprised her, and she wondered at it. Her brothers had questioned her on several occasions preceding her marriage on whether she would truly be happy in Rohan and would she not miss her home by the sea too greatly to bear it, but she had not expected such an inquiry from Faramir. Perhaps he meant it in a different way than her siblings.
"Why, what do you mean? My first home shall always have a place in my heart, and at first I felt the separation keenly, but I would not give up this land for anything. I do, of course, hope to visit Dol Amroth from time to time, if the circumstances in the world allow, but it is no longer my home."
His beloved King was, and always would be, a great and revered man. This Faramir knew, as he walked with his wife to welcome him in Ithilien.
It did not seem so long ago that Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, had been seated in Minas Tirith - the place and throne so loved by Faramir's own father. But the Steward of Gondor was dead - no! Not dead, for the title was now his, and Faramir still thought it difficult to think of it without thinking of his father, for the two had been so intertwined his whole life. He wondered if Denethor loathed that his lesser son had gained it not only through his death, but also through the blessing of Gondor's triumphant king. He wondered if Denethor was proud of him now that he was not only a Steward, but a Prince of Gondor.
He wondered if Denethor--
Éowyn laid a hand on his arm, and Faramir smiled, awakened from his dark thoughts, before stepping forward and bowing low at the waist. "My lord," he said to Aragorn, "I bid thee welcome."
Minas Tirith's rebuilding had been going well. Aragorn loved the city he ruled, but often he felt the need to escape its confines and ride towards Ithilien, where the woods were calming and its lords friendly and known. In Ithilien Aragorn could shed Elessar in his sleep instead of feeling the weight of the crown sink its claws deeper and deeper into his brow, until some mornings he was surprised to wake without blood in his eyes and hair.
But there was one thing he could not run from, in Ithilien. Minas Tirith had built a beautiful statue for the lost Steward's Son, for Boromir the Fallen, Boromir the Fair, beloved by the city he would have ruled if not for the King's return and his death. In Ithilien the statue came alive and took Faramir's guise, but slightly-changed.
Yet in Ithilien as well Aragorn was reminded of the love that Boromir had for his brother, the happiness Faramir had found, and he could not help but smile at the beauty and clarity of the gaze Eowyn turned to him.
It was a bittersweet, but Aragorn would prefer it to the near-suffocating bitterness of Minas Tirith. There was only Arwen, who was like a cooling sea breeze to Aragorn's being, but his duties and her own took him too often away from his Queen. This, too, was duty -- one he gladly with an eagerness that could be judged foolish.
He lidded his eyes, and shook away the thoughts, reaching out to clasp a hand around Faramir's shoulder.
"Thank you, Faramir," his voice was low, but it carried through the halls. "There is no need for such formality between comrades."
Stepping back, Aragorn looked over the halls again, and smiled slightly. "Every time I return to your city I find it has grown more beautiful," he said. "There is no doubt in my heart that I have chosen Ithilien's keeper well."
It took Faramir a moment to realize that Aragorn was not rebuking him, nor finding faults where none was to be found. It took Faramir another moment to realize that he was preparing himself for harsh words and harsher punishment - his fingers were curled into his palm, body tense and rigid, as though expecting an attack, as though the act could strengthen him against the glare from his better's eyes. None came, and Faramir blinked repeatedly.
"--thank you, my lord," he said, though in truth he was prepared to report Ithilien's progress had Aragorn requested it. The past days had been spent not in the comfortable and lovely company of his wife, but in the Prince's study. Should the King request it, he would be able to give a detailed account of all that Ithilien had gained and acquired since Faramir was made Prince of it. "Ithilien had already been flourishing even before its keeper had been appointed. All that it needed was someone with a hand strong and steady to guide its growth."
There was anxiety in Faramir's eyes that Aragorn knew not how to soothe. A King did not lavish praise easily; but not only did Aragorn hold back his words due to his station but also because he was not one to give false praise. Words lightly used were words with little meaning, and Aragorn knew better than most the weight of words coming from men of high status.
It was not merely the healing arts that he had learned from the Lord of Rivendell.
Aragorn's lips curled up slightly, the briefest of smiles. "Indeed it does," he turned away from Faramir to his wife, reaching out to take her hand. He pressed a soft kiss on the fingers. "My Lady."
A breath, "'Tis strange to speak to you in the hallway of your home, Faramir. I would like to see your garden, will you guide me thus?"
"As my lord wishes," Faramir replied easily, stepping aside and indicating the door towards his right. He smiled at Éowyn, noted that despite her loveliness and smiles there was a tinge of sorrow in her eyes and mouth that she could not hide, not from him - yet now was not the time to ask about it, despite his desire to soothe such away. He did nod at her when she asked that she be excused, as she had wanted to oversee the preparations for their royal guest and his entourage's meal. "You have come at an opportune time, my lord. The garden has been under my lady's constant attention and care - I believe you will agree with me that it had blossomed splendidly, even more so than the last you visited us."
Here, Faramir clasped his hands behind him. "It is our utter misfortune that the Queen is not with you. I have hope that she is well?" He had very few encounters with Gondor's beauteous queen, yet in those few moments he had found her to be accommodating and kind. There was little doubt in his heart that Aragorn had chosen well.
Long years of living had not taught Aragorn how to soothe and reassure, to heal the pain that lingered in Eowyn's eyes and the insecurity that still tugged at Faramir's heart. Aragorn's healer hands were for the body alone, but there was not a day that went by that he wished emotional wounds would weep and bleed like physical ones, such that the poultices and bandage knots he knew would be of some use.
But he chased those thoughts away once more. There was little he could do now. As King he could not heal every Man he came across, no matter how much he wished to. More than he ever thought he would when he was a Ranger still, Aragorn trusted in the strength hidden in the hearts of Men.
"I hope your garden live up to your words, Faramir," a teasing tone wove itself into his words. "For now I am filled with anticipation for what I might see."
He paused before he nodding, "Arwen is well, aye. She could not leave Minas Tirith at the moment for the repairs to the White Tower is reaching its heights, and she wishes to oversee it."
Faramir could not help the bittersweet smile that rose to his lips then, at the mention of Minas Tirith and its White Tower - for while Ithilien was now his home the City of Kings would forever hold a place in his heart. "I am glad to hear it," he said lightly, "and I do not doubt that it will flourish well under the Queen's care." How he longed to see it once more, to govern its repairs as his father had, long ago - yet Faramir knew it was no longer his place, for his role as the Steward is naught while the King was on his throne.
He opened the door, then waited for Aragorn to go before him. The garden would live up to Aragorn's expectations, this he knew. Éowyn had given it much of her love and attention, and the garden had responded in kind. He was proud of his wife's work - proud enough to let the greatest of men see it for himself.
The night before Boromir's departure towards Rivendell was a cold one.
It bit through leather and skin of even the strongest of men, and Faramir could see the quiet suffering around him, even as bountiful ale was nursed between numbed fingers. The fire raged, yet it did little to provide the wearied soldiers of Gondor warmth.
Perhaps it was an omen - yet surely his brother would laugh at such a thought. Boromir always did, yet Faramir could not find it in his heart to be angry at him for it. Who could? He had yet to see anyone greater than his older brother, that it was easy to believe none could fell him. Denethor thought and said so, and his words, in Gondor, were truth. Were law.
Faramir filled a cup with ale, and moved towards Boromir. They all could use a drink.
Narnia. A bountiful, fertile land - and Faramir could easily see why Denethor sought to forge an alliance between this kingdom and theirs. Cair Paravel. A whimsical name, yet the strength and sturdiness of the castle belied it, even as its beauty affirmed it. Boromir would have enjoyed coming here, had he been the one sent.
But Denethor had thought it beneath his son to do this task, and so the other was sent in his stead.
Faramir kept his head low as he walked towards the four thrones. He had read all he could about Narnia, and hoped his knowledge was enough.
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sagittariusly2012-11-12 09:24 am
lothiriel
A welcomed comfort, for he was a stranger in the House of Eorl.
Re: lothiriel
And yet, as she walked the halls, deep in thought, she questioned whether Lady Éowyn would approve of all that had been done by Lothíriel since she was crowned. The White Lady had been mistress of Meduseld for years, and the young queen could only hope that everything met with her approval. She so dearly wished to be favorable in Éowyn's eyes for her own merit, and not simply because her brother loved her.
Hearing footsteps, Lothíriel looked up, smiling when she saw it was her cousin.
"Faramir! A good morning to you, dear cousin. Did you sleep well?"
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She acknowledged his deference with a slight incline of her head, but smiled widely and gave him her hand.
"I am so pleased to hear so. I confess, I was in a state before your arrival, hoping your accommodations would suit. Not because I believe you or your lady to be the sort to expect something beyond anything else but," here she paused and looked around them before stepping closer. "I wished to do as well a role as the Lady Éowyn would have done. Can you tell me, has she found fault with anything?" She just managed to stop herself from biting her lip in anxiety. It was not a proper image for a queen to project.
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And yet he did not wake, and the dream went on.
"The people of Rohan now view me as an unwelcomed guest, for my presence this morning has caused their beauteous queen terrible distress." He turned towards her and smiled. "There is naught to worry, my lady. The White Lady had not found fault with anything. You may take my word for it, if you wish."
And it was true. Faramir could not forget the lovely mood that fell on his wife when she set foot in Meduseld. To him, she had never looked more beautiful than she did with the warmth of Rohan surrounding her.
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"That lightens my heart, cousin. I am here in the home that used to be hers, doing the duties she once executed beautifully. I am glad nothing has gone amiss." Pausing to rethink that, she added, "Yet," with a smirk up at him.
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And yet he knew Éowyn's brother was of stout heart and stouter love for his cousin - there was nothing to fear.
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However, now that two of the very small number of most important men in her life had assured her that she had done well, she was in higher spirits and not longer felt concern over what Éowyn thought.
"I shall lay my worries to rest now. Between you and my husband, I see all is well."
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"Truly? You believe that, even if he were preoccupied with other matters, he would have told me if I was doing anything wrong?" She looked away for a moment, digesting this. "Not all lands can be like Dol Amroth, and I do not wish to impose all that I have learned there here on Ro-- the Mark."
Her face heated up slightly, and she bestowed him with a smile. "Éomer says only outsiders refer to his land as Rohan, and I am an outsider no longer."
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Faramir felt it his right to ask, especially as Rohan was so unlike Dol Amroth in many ways.
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"I will say its only fault is that it can be a great deal colder here than in Dol Amroth. I have had to have new gowns made to combat the chill."
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"Did you?" he asked. "Forgive your cousin, for I have little understanding for the need for more clothes - though certainly I can appreciate them."
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"I am sure this is of little interest to you, though you do humor me so in giving me leave to speak of it. Of what now shall we speak?"
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"I would ask you a question that perhaps may strike you as odd - yet I would wish for none but a plain answer," he said, his tone low.
"Do you wish to find yourself back in Dol Amroth, despite how happy you seem away from it?"
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"Why, what do you mean? My first home shall always have a place in my heart, and at first I felt the separation keenly, but I would not give up this land for anything. I do, of course, hope to visit Dol Amroth from time to time, if the circumstances in the world allow, but it is no longer my home."
aragorn
It did not seem so long ago that Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, had been seated in Minas Tirith - the place and throne so loved by Faramir's own father. But the Steward of Gondor was dead - no! Not dead, for the title was now his, and Faramir still thought it difficult to think of it without thinking of his father, for the two had been so intertwined his whole life. He wondered if Denethor loathed that his lesser son had gained it not only through his death, but also through the blessing of Gondor's triumphant king. He wondered if Denethor was proud of him now that he was not only a Steward, but a Prince of Gondor.
He wondered if Denethor--
Éowyn laid a hand on his arm, and Faramir smiled, awakened from his dark thoughts, before stepping forward and bowing low at the waist. "My lord," he said to Aragorn, "I bid thee welcome."
no subject
But there was one thing he could not run from, in Ithilien. Minas Tirith had built a beautiful statue for the lost Steward's Son, for Boromir the Fallen, Boromir the Fair, beloved by the city he would have ruled if not for the King's return and his death. In Ithilien the statue came alive and took Faramir's guise, but slightly-changed.
Yet in Ithilien as well Aragorn was reminded of the love that Boromir had for his brother, the happiness Faramir had found, and he could not help but smile at the beauty and clarity of the gaze Eowyn turned to him.
It was a bittersweet, but Aragorn would prefer it to the near-suffocating bitterness of Minas Tirith. There was only Arwen, who was like a cooling sea breeze to Aragorn's being, but his duties and her own took him too often away from his Queen. This, too, was duty -- one he gladly with an eagerness that could be judged foolish.
He lidded his eyes, and shook away the thoughts, reaching out to clasp a hand around Faramir's shoulder.
"Thank you, Faramir," his voice was low, but it carried through the halls. "There is no need for such formality between comrades."
Stepping back, Aragorn looked over the halls again, and smiled slightly. "Every time I return to your city I find it has grown more beautiful," he said. "There is no doubt in my heart that I have chosen Ithilien's keeper well."
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"--thank you, my lord," he said, though in truth he was prepared to report Ithilien's progress had Aragorn requested it. The past days had been spent not in the comfortable and lovely company of his wife, but in the Prince's study. Should the King request it, he would be able to give a detailed account of all that Ithilien had gained and acquired since Faramir was made Prince of it. "Ithilien had already been flourishing even before its keeper had been appointed. All that it needed was someone with a hand strong and steady to guide its growth."
omg zarah idk how to play aragorn anymore help
It was not merely the healing arts that he had learned from the Lord of Rivendell.
Aragorn's lips curled up slightly, the briefest of smiles. "Indeed it does," he turned away from Faramir to his wife, reaching out to take her hand. He pressed a soft kiss on the fingers. "My Lady."
A breath, "'Tis strange to speak to you in the hallway of your home, Faramir. I would like to see your garden, will you guide me thus?"
shush
Here, Faramir clasped his hands behind him. "It is our utter misfortune that the Queen is not with you. I have hope that she is well?" He had very few encounters with Gondor's beauteous queen, yet in those few moments he had found her to be accommodating and kind. There was little doubt in his heart that Aragorn had chosen well.
I MEAN IT /hides under the table
But he chased those thoughts away once more. There was little he could do now. As King he could not heal every Man he came across, no matter how much he wished to. More than he ever thought he would when he was a Ranger still, Aragorn trusted in the strength hidden in the hearts of Men.
"I hope your garden live up to your words, Faramir," a teasing tone wove itself into his words. "For now I am filled with anticipation for what I might see."
He paused before he nodding, "Arwen is well, aye. She could not leave Minas Tirith at the moment for the repairs to the White Tower is reaching its heights, and she wishes to oversee it."
YOUR ARAGORN IS A *DREAM* THERE I SAID IT
He opened the door, then waited for Aragorn to go before him. The garden would live up to Aragorn's expectations, this he knew. Éowyn had given it much of her love and attention, and the garden had responded in kind. He was proud of his wife's work - proud enough to let the greatest of men see it for himself.
boromir
It bit through leather and skin of even the strongest of men, and Faramir could see the quiet suffering around him, even as bountiful ale was nursed between numbed fingers. The fire raged, yet it did little to provide the wearied soldiers of Gondor warmth.
Perhaps it was an omen - yet surely his brother would laugh at such a thought. Boromir always did, yet Faramir could not find it in his heart to be angry at him for it. Who could? He had yet to see anyone greater than his older brother, that it was easy to believe none could fell him. Denethor thought and said so, and his words, in Gondor, were truth. Were law.
Faramir filled a cup with ale, and moved towards Boromir. They all could use a drink.
edmund
But Denethor had thought it beneath his son to do this task, and so the other was sent in his stead.
Faramir kept his head low as he walked towards the four thrones. He had read all he could about Narnia, and hoped his knowledge was enough.