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CHAPTER 14

Challenges

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And so it was that the next few weeks passed in quietude. The guests from Dol Amroth and Rohan went their separate ways, leaving Minas Tirith a little less interesting in their wake. Yet the departure of the somewhat contentious friendship between Éomer and Lothíriel did afford one blessing, in that Éowyn did not so often go home from Court with a headache from having laughed so much.

It was late one night when winter was flirting with fall that Faramir came into their chambers to find Éowyn seated upon their bed, dressed in breeches and a tunic. Her golden curls spilled over her shoulders, and she sat with a short sword upon her knees. Faramir watched for a moment as she ran a polishing cloth over the blade, and then replaced it in its sheath. Then she looked up at him and smiled. "My lord," she said, nodding.

"My lady." He crossed the room, and she offered up the sword. After drawing it and inspecting the engravings, he said: "It is too short for you."

"It is not for me," she replied quietly.

Faramir looked down to see a look of quiet earnestness in her eyes. He set the sword aside, and took her hands in his. "You hope for a son."

Éowyn raised a brow. "Why must I have a son in order to bequeath that sword unto my child?"

Faramir laughed and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "You would arm my daughters?"

"And your granddaughters, just as I was armed."

Still laughing, he sat upon the bed and drew her to him. "Yet I believe you hope for a son regardless of this." He kissed the top of her golden head. "Might I ask how you came to be thus attired?"

"The child grows," she replied, "and with him so do I. But I have not yet had new clothing made to accommodate the child, and so I will at whiles take from yours until I do."

He ran his hand down her arm and up again to her shoulder. "I think I rather like it."

"You would," said she, giving him a sly look.

Then she winced, and Faramir tightened his arm around her. "Éowyn?"

She dropped her hand to her stomach. "It never fails." She smiled. "When we are ready to sleep, he is waking."

"This is normal, then?" he asked.

"Very," she replied. "Perhaps you will be able to feel him move soon. "

"Or her," he amended.

Éowyn shifted away from him and lay back upon the bed. "Or her."

She took Faramir's hand in both of hers, closed her eyes, and gently pressed his palm to her abdomen, which was rounding with child. His throat constricted as he thought of the time when he had done this before and felt his child within her womb, but he did not shy away. He knew there was no use in dwelling on the child he could never have back, so he turned his attention entirely to his wife now. And then the miracle occurred.

It could have just been Éowyn's abdominal muscles contracting a little, Faramir told himself, but that thought was fleeting. For it happened again and again, a slight but definite pressure against his open palm. Then Éowyn laced her fingers through his, and for a long time Faramir sat with his eyes closed, feeling their child within the womb. And he began to dream once more, of their house in Emyn Arnen, of laughter, of music, of the love of his family, both giving and receiving.

When he at last opened his eyes and gazed upon his wife's fair face, he saw that tears had escaped from her closed eyes. Suddenly very tired, he lay down beside her, their hands still joined. "Too often have I wiped thy tears, Lady," he said. "I would see thee smile, and weep no more."

"I do not weep in sorrow," she replied, her voice strong.

There were many things Faramir wished to say then, but his heart would not suffer him to choose one above all the others to speak first. And so he propped himself up on his elbow and pressed a swift, hard kiss to her lips. Éowyn opened her eyes in wonder, and the kiss which followed was more lingering, tantalizing. In the midst of it all, she murmured: "What shall we name him?"

"Her," he breathed, his mouth leaving hers for only a moment.

"Him."

They lay still for a moment after Éowyn said that, and Faramir still had her lower lip caught between his teeth. Then at last he drew back and gazed long into her grey eyes, which were at once warm and confident. He touched her cheek. "You do wish for a son."

She met his gaze unwaveringly. "You wish for a daughter."

Faramir sat up. "I do not deny it."

"Nor do I deny my desire for a son." From the bed she rose, and took up the flagon which had been left for them. She poured the red wine into a goblet and carried it back to Faramir. "And so we find ourselves at odds in our desires now, and I make an offer to you." He raised a brow, and his mouth twitched slightly with a smile. "If I carry a daughter, you will name her whatever you choose; and if I bear you a son, I will give him his name."

Faramir stood before her, and she had to look upward to see his face. "Then I will have all the more cause to hope for a daughter," he said, smiling. "For I must prevent you from giving our son a Rohirric name which no man of Gondor can pronounce."

She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it: instead she brought the cup to her lips and took a long draught. "I challenge thee," she said; and offered up the goblet.

Thus Faramir took the cup from Éowyn's hands and drained it dry; and he kissed her once more. Her mouth was sweet with the wine, and he pulled her closer to him. And it was not long before the cup fell to the floor and was forgotten until morning.

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In the morning Faramir awoke and found Éowyn curled up next to him in her sleep, her face pressed against his side. He smiled and brushed his fingers through her hair, then fingered the neck of the tunic she wore. Despite the wild kissing session that had followed her challenge the night before, they had, for the most part, spent the remainder of their waking hours talking of the things that were to come. And it now surprised Faramir that he had spent that time wholly happy, not once thinking of the sorrow in his past.

But now his rested mind was apt to draw comparisons between the previous night and that horrible time the year before. He could not help but think that he had felt his child move only a day before the miscarriage, and he drew Éowyn closer to him. Then she stirred, and seemed to read his thoughts.

She said: "I am well, Faramir. There is nothing to fear."

He was a long time in answering, for there were many things on his mind. "Tell me truthfully, Éowyn: did you feel well in the morning before the child was lost?"

Éowyn closed her eyes and moved closer to him, kissing the scar from an old spear wound on his side. "No, my lord," she whispered. "Something had changed, but I knew not what. I—I should have gone to the Healers that morning."

"And you do not feel this change now?"

"No." She looked away and ran her hand across her abdomen. "He is strong."

"Good." Faramir turned over onto his side and brushed his fingers across Éowyn's cheek. "For I fear she will need all her strength in what we are about to do."

Éowyn raised a brow at his choice of pronoun. "And what is that, my lord?"

"I must go back to Ithilien, but this time I would not have you parted from me," he said.

She looked upon him in amazement, but then smiled broadly. "And for that I thank you. When will we depart?"

"As soon as we can," Faramir replied. "I should like to be in Ithilien before Firstfall."

Éowyn nodded in understanding. The road from Minas Tirith was not one to be joyfully traversed after the first snowfall of the winter, and the change of seasons was likely to be upon them swiftly. "And who shall go with us?"

"I would not have you parted from your handmaiden," he said; "nor would I insist she come on a journey which will have few of the comforts she would find here in the city."

"Yet you would insist it of me?" she teased. "So much for Faramir the Gallant, the Chivalrous, the Kind! For he has been replaced by a man who considers his wife's comforts far less than her maid's!"

Her last words were spoken breathlessly and through much laughter, for Faramir had rolled over atop her and begun to assail her with both kisses and tickling fingers. Éowyn shrieked with laughter and began to tussle with him. In the end, she got him on his back and sat upon his stomach as a lady would be seated sidesaddle on a horse. "Do you yield?" she asked, pushing her hair away from her face.

"To a wild woman of the North? Never!" he cried, and with swift, fluid motions he lifted her off, sat up, and drew her back upon his lap. "I will break thy resistance," he murmured, dragging his lips down her neck, "and have thee at my mercy."

Though she had by then grown very warm indeed, Éowyn breathed: "I am no pony, easily tamed."

Faramir tightened his arms around her and whispered in her ear: "No, love, you are one of the Mearas, and their queen; for you will not be tamed by any man of base or ignoble blood."

Éowyn raised a brow. "None but a King may tame the Mearas."

He regarded her with an enigmatic smile upon his face. "Then it is well that I never intended to tame you."

"Then why do you threaten to break me?"

His lips moved hungrily over hers, and when he finally relinquished her to breathe, she had almost forgotten her question. "Because, my love—"

His words were cut off by a knocking at the door. "Milady, milord, pardon me, but there is a messenger here from the King for Lord Faramir," came Mithlomi's voice.

Faramir growled as Éowyn stood from his lap. Yet he laid a soft kiss upon her lips when he stood as well, and then he knelt before her, pushed up the tunic she wore, and kissed her rounding belly. He glanced up at her, and she rested her hand at the back of his head. "You will have your answer later, Lady."

Éowyn resisted the urge to laugh as he kissed her hand and rose. He departed without another word, and when he returned a little time later, she had bathed and dressed in her own clothing, which was indeed starting to become too tight for her. They spent the day in preparation, for the King had given leave for them to depart the city for Ithilien, and they would leave on the following week.