_{After practicing four more times at tracking, teaching the basics of walking without sound, sharing a favorite game of his youthful training, “The Sleeping Ranger” and identifying multiple plants that made excellent emergency healing remedies, Faramir was too hungry to go on.  They’d spent perhaps three hours in the woods, which was good enough; he remembered his own lessons had been brief stints more than long treks.  A short survey of his students’ feelings confirmed his idea to return to camp, they too were hungry.  Now, he stopped leading the boys and stood hugely amused, once more in the clearing where they had tied the horses.  Thorn was staring back at them just like what he was—caught red-handed and knowing it.  He asked the grey, “What’s this?  What do you think you’re doing?”}

_{The burly gelding’s lead hung loosely on the ground; he’d untied himself and was standing close to one of the lads’ geldings, gnawing on its rope in an attempt to free it, too.  The rope was still clutched in his mouth and Faramir tried not to laugh.  All six mounts goggled guiltily at him, bobbing their heads and flicking their ears, turning to touch each other’s noses and nervously stomp their hooves.  For a moment, Faramir was amazed—they knew; the six horses knew they were in trouble and acted just as naughty children did, fidgeting with wide-eyes as their elders frowned.  He wondered if the horses of Rohan, with their Mearas bloodlines, were more intelligent than others were.  These horses certainly looked like they understood.  As he approached, Thorn stopped chewing the rope, letting the half-frayed thing fall; his ears flattened and his expression was almost petulant—a sullen child interrupted in his mischief.  The boys ran forward to scold their mounts as Faramir adopted a stern tone, addressing one brown eye as he grasped the bridle,  “You quit this and behave like I know you know how to.”  Thorn didn’t move away when he caught the hanging rope, which was good and he considered a step in the right direction.  Giving the lead a jiggle, he murmured, “I mean it.”}

_{Retightening his girth, Faramir swung into the saddle, thinking that he should probably be grateful that his scabbard hadn’t been chewed upon or worse.  A glance behind him showed his students were mounted and he nudged Thorn with his heels, steering the horse through the quiet, cool wood.  But, to his surprise, unlike the journey out, the lads did not stay silent.  Instead, after a few minutes of naught but the thud of hooves, crackle of leaves and twigs and soft breathing of their mounts, Wurth spoke up, “How do you know so much, Láréow?”  He was no longer wary; they’d seemed to accept his explanation with the snake.}

_{What is that word?  “I’ve done a lot of things, served for many years.”}

_{“Hwa, Láréow?”  This was the other lad whose name he still didn’t know.}

_{Faramir turned in the saddle, letting Thorn pick his own way back to the trail,                  “What is that you keep calling me?”  He tried to pronounce it as they did and came close, “Láre…Láréo-ow, Láréow?”}

_{“It means Teacher,” Wurth frowned, nudging his bay gelding closer.  “That is what you are, isn’t it?”  In the background, Scef was once more serving as translator and Faramir hesitated, but his vocabulary in the lads’ native tongue was too small and unreliable.  Silently reminding himself to thank the boy later for all his kind and freely offered help, he answered,}  

_{“No, not quite…only here.”  Gaer had only introduced him as being from Gondor, not named his title.  It was much to suppose these youths would know of his rank in this foreign land.}

_{For a moment, Wurth wavered; then looking to his peers, his questions came as a bold flood, “What do you do, then?  Are you a great, noble warrior in Mundburg?  What is the City like?”  Wurth’s friend, Feohtan, murmured something too low for him to hear to possibly answer and Wurth looked back at him, for the first time shyly, and asked, “What is the Lady Éowyn like?”  The six boys had moved their horses closer and were looking at him in open interest.}

_{Faramir smiled, feeling peculiarly overwhelmed by their curiosity.  Few had ever questioned him so; he stared ahead through the space between Thorn’s ponderous ears, oddly moved.  Most had paid attention to his brother’s exploits, not his own.  Ah, but to them there is no Boromir to outshine me with his perfect glory…  Slightly disturbed by the bitterness of his thought, he quickly cut it off and thought fiercely, a frown on his face, I would rather him be alive and acclaimed the best of all known men and myself the least than what it is now.  He swallowed, saddened and looked down at Thorn’s tangled, hoary mane.  As it was before.  And yet, there was a prickle in the back of his mind as he thought the words, a small, deceiving chill that disturbed him anew because Faramir knew he didn’t want it as it was and…would almost fight to keep his new peace at any expense.  I would not give up Éowyn for my brother’s resurrection…the truth of this pained him.  Once, and not long ago, he would have done anything.  Fleetingly, he remembered the cold water around his legs, soaking his clothes, and the elven boat floating so slowly with the soft lap of the Great River against its sides as it rocked with the current and guided Gondor’s favored son.  Briefly, instead of the forest before him, he saw his brother’s face, still and at peace, felt again the way the Horn that had been so lustrous with loving care was now cold and brittle in his hands, broken into shards and useless…like he’d felt standing before his father.  Faramir swallowed past the lump in his throat, coming back to the present.}

_{Glancing back at the waiting lads and pushing all his dark thoughts away, he guessed what they wanted answered first and deliberately didn’t do it.  “I am the Steward in Gon—Mundburg,” It would be better, he presumed, if he used their terms.  “Second to King Elessar and his vassal as all my fathers were before me.  I was a warrior, I’m not sure how great,” He smiled, “A Ranger and a Captain of many men before the Shadow was overthrown.  I mainly served in the country of Ithilien, which is next to Mundburg, only across the Great River and very close to the mountains that gird the Black Land.  It stretches very far north and south and is my princedom now.  The Lady Éowyn will live there with me when I build my home.”}

_{Scef spoke for a minute while they waited; he stumbled over the foreign words—Ranger and Ithilien.  When he finally silenced, Wurth asked with almost amusing mixture of respect and confusion in his voice.  “Why are you schooling us, then, if you are so wellborn, Láréow?”}

_{“The Lord Éomer requested it of me…as a favor,” Faramir lied through his teeth, facing ahead, “Between friends.  I agreed out of fellowship, as a way of affixing our future tie and my own pleasure in the art of wielding a bow.”  And it hasn’t turned out so badly after all…  So far, there had been a noticeable dearth of insults and mockery…not exactly what he’d been braced to expect.  The corners of his mouth turned up wryly, ah, it is still early yet…}

_{They thought about this and then Wurth asked again, “What is the Lady like?”}

_{This time he didn’t have to lie.  He smiled while thinking rosily and feeling himself grin a silly, pathetically lovestruck grin.  My love, my beloved Éowyn…oh, she is like all things wonderful, beautiful and good.  Turning halfway in the saddle and bracing himself with one gloved hand against the pommel, Faramir asked his students, “What do you want to know?”}

_{The answer was immediate; he felt their curiosity battling and winning over self-consciousness.  “Everything.”}

_{He felt his cheeks trying to stretch in a huge grin and managed to keep his face appropriately sober only with an immense effort.  All the Rohirrim he had met seemed to have an obsession with Éowyn and Faramir found it exceedingly strange.  To his knowledge there was nothing like it in Minas Tirith, despite the awe-inspiring beauty and graceful bearing of the new Queen.  Perhaps the soldiers hadn’t yet had time to develop fixations.  Allowing himself only a tiny upward curve of his lips, he answered slowly and thoughtfully, “That’s a lot.”}

_{The boy replied doggedly, backed by the eager and encouraging looks of his peers, “There’s time, till camp…for some, Láréow.”}

_{He gritted his teeth to keep from laughing when he looked from one to the other—they were intently watching and listening, obviously not going to miss one word.  Thorn plodded cheerfully beneath him and Faramir patted the gelding’s neck, stalling so he wouldn’t break and guffaw at his students’ inquisitiveness.  Curiosity should be encouraged, not reproached, ever, Faramir felt.  He likes this…he glanced at the dangling reins and then the high-pricked ears as the horse weaved through the forest; rays of light burst through the trees, shining prettily and Faramir let his eyes wander for a moment.  He could understand Éowyn’s love of her country—it was beautiful.  Somehow, he had to show her the beauty of his own native land …Ithilien is like this in some places…a frown creased his brow; but would it only make her homesick?} 

_{Thorn blew through his nostrils, shaking his mane, taking Faramir’s wits back to the present once more.  He rubbed the gelding’s shoulder.  Likes being in charge, I suppose.  When he was sure he’d pressed all other thoughts away and that he wouldn’t chuckle and make them ill at ease, he turned again in the saddle, hand propped, and smiled amiably, “All right.  Ask me something.”}

_{The questions weren’t very prying, instead boyishly shy and at the same time, deeply curious.  They asked what she liked, how he’d met her, how he’d captured her and Faramir kept trying not to laugh, good-naturedly amused as they inquired about his beloved.  Some questions he couldn’t answer and they made him want to ask her, such as inquiries about her youth.  But his lack of knowledge didn’t bother him much; there would be plenty of time to learn all about Éowyn.  Faramir couldn’t wait; he was almost bursting with happy anticipation simply thinking of his return to Minas Tirith.  I want to walk with her into my City, to sweep her off her feet and listen to my people applaud when I kiss her.  I want to see her in riches, to shower her with everything she could desire.  He smiled, listening to the birdsong and feeling the easy sway of Thorn’s stride.  I want them to see my love, the one I’ve finally chosen.  I’ve been too long alone.}

_{They arrived at camp at noon; Faramir squinted up at the sun, guessing the time.  To his surprise, it wasn’t deserted, but half full of men.  Standing, Gaer put his hands on his hips, eyeing him as Faramir dismounted, calling to his students, “Pile your rough darts over there,” He pointed towards the lean-to, intending to bundle the sticks and cure them under the shelter.  “Then get something to eat and then I want you practicing for at least an hour.”  He’d used the pieces of deer hide as targets, scraping them free of flesh and mounting them upon poles and marking the soft fur black with a stick from the fire.  Faramir was rather impressed with his ingenuity in this primitive setting; he smiled, inwardly amused at his arrogance.  Wonder who I got that from—a memory of Boromir boasting came into his head, this time filling him with more mirth than sadness.  Gaer scowled and he grinned cheerfully, playfully, in a good mood, “What?”}

            _{Hands still on hips, the Rohir demanded, “Where’s the food?”}

_{He untacked Thorn quickly, laying the sweaty blanket over the saddle to dry.  Patting the gelding’s neck, he released him.  Thorn ambled away and lowered himself to roll blissfully in the dust, coating his sweaty body as Faramir asked, still happy, “What food?”  Rohan shone bright in the noon sun, the valley green, the hills amber, the high peaks radiant ivory and the sky a very deep azure; such a beautiful day, he marveled with pleasure.}

            _{“We’re hungry here.”  Gaer was trying to aim for a scolding tone, but falling short; his amusement was giving him away as Faramir’s face slowly fell.  “It’s your duty.”}

_{“It’s all gone?”  He was hungry, too.  Faramir sighed, “Well I guess I’ll just go back out and shoot something if you want to wait here…”}

_{The Rohir waved his arm sharply, an alarmed expression on his face.  “Shh, shh!”}

_“What?”

_{Gaer raised his voice, glancing at the men seated in various places, talking.  They were apparently waiting for food.  He sang out in exasperation, “Fine!  Fine, I’ll help, you!”  He laughed and shook his head at their upward looks, adding in bothered tone, “Mann æt Mundburg ná déþ ǽghwæt ánum...” He grinned wide, “Ac ǽghwilc beþ cýððu æt se, ná?”  The men laughed as though sharing some old jest and Faramir frowned, irritated and slightly confused by the fact that Gaer was putting on a show—that was what he was doing, inability to read his thoughts aside, his mood and words were undeniably forced.  I’m not sure whether to be pleased knowing he’s faking this mockery or all the more annoyed because he’s doing it at all.  Faramir chose annoyance.}

_{Immediately, though, the redheaded Rohir grinned in a more natural fashion and stepped close, putting his arm around Faramir’s shoulder and guiding him away.  He said quietly and quickly, “Sorry ‘bout that…but they believe that.”  The admission surprised him a great deal, but he didn’t relent, glaring and refusing to budge until Gaer let all his breath out in a sigh.  “What?  Oh, what?  You need to stop being so delicate…really, my little sister makes a face like that, all scrunched like a prune.”  He folded his arms, “We’ll have to work on that later,” then met his gaze, “There’s a village close by…we’ll go and get something there to bring back.”}

_{Faramir didn’t have any money.  He narrowed his eyes, still aggravated, “Like what?”  Delicate?  I am not delicate and I don’t look like a prune.  Glancing at the hills above the valley, he wondered dourly where this village was and then wondered even more so the Rohirric definition of “close by”.}

_{“I said I was sorry.”  Gaer bounced on his toes, “Anyway, don’t worry about it.”}

_{He had to be concerned at the mischievous light in Gaer’s face.  “It’s my duty, I have to worry about it, remember?”} 

_{“I’ll take care of it,” The redheaded man rolled his eyes, “Stop being so responsible, will you?”  He groaned, “You’re so unbelievably responsible, you kill me.”  Suddenly Faramir had a finger in his face, “That’s not how to make friends, when you don’t go out and all you do is work, work, work.”  He grew thoughtful, dropping his hand back to his side, “’Course, you’re not shirking, either…so…”}

_{“I’m here to work, not make friends.”  Gaer’s face broke out in a scowl.  “Well, not so much.”  Faramir amended, adding, “You do understand the agreement, don’t you?”  All I do?  He’d been here, officially in the company, for a day and a half.  Not even that, no, not even a day and a half, more like half, then night, then a morning.  What is he talking about?  Turning back and spotting Thorn making his way down the valley, he sighed, “I’ll just go out now on foot and…”}

_{Then, astonishingly, the Rohir turned serious.  Faramir had been rather under the impression that Gaer didn’t possess a sense of solemnity.  He stepped closer, lowering his voice again, eyes sober, “Listen, you don’t need to…”}

_{“Láréow?”  Scef had come up to them; he appeared nervous at interrupting.} 

_{Ignoring Gaer’s irritated huff and then blinking surprise and then the wave of sheer delight that poured off the Rohir, Faramir turned to ask the lad, “Yes, Scef?”}

_{The boy looked sheepish, “There’s nothing to…”}

_{“Eat.”  Gaer interrupted and they turned to him, “They can come, too, and that way you’ll be working.  Will that make you happy,” He broke out in a huge and overjoyed grin, “Láréow?”}

_{Trying not to glare, it was hard anyway, in the face of such obvious good cheer, Faramir admitted, “I suppose.”}

_{The Rohir rubbed his hands together happily, “Let’s go, then.”  The horses were caught and saddled again, much to Thorn’s displeasure, if one judged by his flatly pinned ears.  He made sure not to release the lead at any point and to keep his tacking up as swift as possible; the horse gave him no trouble.  Gaer led them at a jog up the valley, instead of down it where the camp was.  Faramir noted two trails; both very widely rutted, he guessed, to accommodate the wagons drug by the mammoth draft horses.  They slowed and he could hear distant voices, the half-chanting song of working men.  Get salt, Faramir thought, but he could see nothing except trees and brush.}

_{Wurth spoke up, “Láréow, will you tell us about the City now?”}

_{Gaer fielded the question freely, speaking before Faramir even had a chance—he’d been noting plants to mention on the return trip.  “It’s a horrible place.  That is all you have to know.”}

_{He corrected him irritably, “No, it is not.”}

_{The younger man ignored him, turning in the saddle to speak to the boys, his voice low and deep as his gaze moved from one to another, dramatizing his words, “Soldiers there have to stand in one place all day long…in the sun, in the rain.  They don’t get breaks and if they leave their post, they get punished with death.  They don’t get to go anywhere…they can’t even go into parts of their own city if they don’t know the password.”  He looked satisfied, turning sideways to gloat at Faramir, “It is a horrible place.”}

_{That was partially true, if all bit overblown.  Faramir eyed his friend, “How do you know about the passwords?”}

_{“Me and Halorl were wanting to go up, you know, see the City…” He grinned and leaned over to mouth, “see the Lady,” Then he resumed in a louder voice the lads could all hear, “and they wouldn’t let us.”  Gaer thumped his chest, “We saved that City and they wouldn’t even let us go about as we pleased!  Told us to get out of that level…even…” He eyed the boys, “Even threw us out like ill-bred ruffians!”}

_{Faramir shook his head in disgust, “Oh, they did not.”}

_{“Yes, they did and hurt my arm where they grabbed it, dragging me down the street!  I was bruised for a week!”  The Rohir looked aggrieved and pitiable.} 

_{Undoubtedly because you wouldn’t go when they asked you politely and then warned you.  The more he imagined it the more it seemed to Faramir that the guards probably thought Gaer might have been asking for it; in all probability he and Halorl had been jesting with the guards in the Rohirrim’s raucous, uncurbed fashion.  Who, naturally, are unfamiliar with such flamboyant disrespect of the Gates and no doubt took it far, far too gravely.  He sighed, asking, “What did you do to make them throw you out of that level?”}

_{Gaer looked shiftily away, studying the brush.  “Nothing.”}

_{Using his sternest voice, unconsciously imitated from his father, Faramir said severely, “Tell me, Gaer.”}

_{“Trying to…” The rest was a fast mumble as the Rohir stared up at the sky, “guess the passwords and then listen in when people went through the gate so we could get the words.”}

_{“Guess the passwords and listen in while people...” He sighed again, not really surprised.  It was actually less rash than he’d suspected.  “Where were you trying to go?”}

_{Gaer frowned, “All the way up.”}

_{His voice rose to a high pitch, shocked by the brashness embodied by the man riding adjacent to him, “To the Citadel?  The Citadel?  You were going to the Citadel, to the King’s Court?”}

_{“’Course.  When else am I going to be in Mundburg?  I wanted to see that tree everyone was talking about.”  At his aghast expression, he rolled his eyes, “What, do you think we would have ruined it, spoiled your perfect City?”  Gaer frowned sullenly, “It was plenty spoiled when we got there and saved it if you’ll remember.”  The Rohir perked up, “Oh, wait, you can’t remember, you were sleeping the whole time.”}

_{“I was not sleeping, I was ill with fever.”  He tried to explain, attempting to ignore the blatant, constant disrespect.  “No, it’s just that common folk are not usually allowed to wander…”}

_{“Oh, common folk.  Common folk.”  Flinging his arms out, Gaer turned to the lads, “Did you hear that?  Mr. I Am So Royal riding beside me…”}

_{Faramir groaned in exasperation, “Oh, be quiet.”  Really, the man was impossible.}

_{“…and next thing you know we won’t be able to sit with him because his ass is too noble to share the same bench—”}

_{He slumped in his saddle, irritated.  “Gaer, would you just, I’m trying to explain…”}

_{“Oh, what am I doing, your Lordship?”  Gaer picked up his reins, making his mount slow and walk behind Thorn.  The Rohir did an exaggerated little bow from horseback, squeaking, “Pardon me!”}

_{“What are you—Stop it!  Listen!”  This was ridiculous.}

_{Gaer turned to the boys, who were watching in amazement.  Their faces showed they didn’t know what to make of this behavior.  “…riding beside him, see, that’s disrespect, he’s of high birth and we’re common folk, why, I’m shocked I haven’t been flogged already just for talking to—”}

_{Faramir checked Thorn, half-halting the grey, and then reached over and punched Gaer in the shoulder as hard as he could.  “Quit that!  Stop it!”}

_{“Ow!”  Gaer stopped his mockery, rubbed his shoulder and grinned, “We’ll make you a Rider yet.”  He snickered, “Your Lordship.”}

_{Faramir rolled his eyes to the deep blue sky, pleaded inwardly for patience, and then announced to his students, “I’ll tell you the truth,” Allowing a pause for any remarks by Gaer, he continued, “about my City, but for the moment I’m going to be telling you about trail signs.”  Anything to keep them occupied.}

_{“What kind of signs?”  He was still rubbing his shoulder; it gave Faramir brief and fierce pleasure.}

_{Intuiting that Gaer would include himself, whether he forbade him or not, Faramir answered, “Signs we used when I was learning woodcraft as a Ranger…most peoples use some form of them.”  He took a second to think and decided to begin with what would probably be most useful in Rohan--signs used in a grassy landscape.  As they rode from the valley, the land rose higher and higher, opening as the mountains retreated again.  The trail wandered onwards and for the first time he noticed one of the camp’s hounds had followed them; it led the way, furry tail curved over its back.}

_{“Like what?”}

_{Faramir’s temper overrode his courtesy; “Will you let me do my duty?”  The Rohir was silent, giving him a puppyish look that he ignored and went on, “On trails in the open, ways are marked with rocks, grass and twigs if there is brush.  One rock placed upon another larger one means you’re on the path and to keep going.  If there is a small stone placed to the right, it means turn right and if it’s placed on the left, it means turn left.  Three stones piled upon each other means an important warning.”}

_{Gaer looked bored, but his students looked intent.  Faramir was satisfied and kept on with his instruction.  “It’s the same idea with grass—you twist a lump into a knot.  One large knot with the tuft still upward means you’re still on the trail.  Twist it to the left, and to the right for direction and three knots in a row means danger.  Twigs, too, broken on a bush or small tree, are the same.”  He continued in this vein until they finally crested a small hill, entering another valley and there, in the center, was the little village Gaer had spoken of.} 

_{Hardly a village.  He eyed the thatched-roofed huts; the little pens filled with goats, a cow, multiple horses and the chickens that fluttered around the street.  There was one inn; it was two storied, roughly built of logs and looked to be the only place really alive.  There were few people, mainly out working to make a life in this high-country, he presumed, but there was a smell of food to the air and Faramir’s stomach clenched.  He was ravenous and the prospect of ale and a hot meal made him swallow quickly, trying not to drool.  He nudged Thorn with his legs, trying to get the gelding’s stride to lengthen a little.  His mount stolidly refused.}

_{The Rohir at his side rode straight to the inn and dismounted, giving him a long-suffering look as he said, “Finally.  You’ve quieted.”}  

_{He didn’t dignify that with a response, just a cutting glance.  As his students dismounted, too, Faramir tied Thorn’s lead securely to the post and grasped his bridle to get his attention while whispering softly and sternly to the horse, “Stay here.”  The gelding just bumped his hand, obviously resenting the grip, then sighed and cocked one hind leg, chewing his bit.  A boy materialized from around the building and threw fresh hay on the ground in front of the posts, fodder to busy the horses while another carried water for them; Faramir thought that was considerate.  I probably shouldn’t be surprised…doubtlessly they think of the horses as well as they think of us.  The hound that had come with them was only shooed away, supporting his theory as Faramir and his students followed Gaer into the roughly built inn.}

_***

_{“You haven’t told him yet.”  Aragorn’s voice startled her badly, making her jump and half-reach for the dagger she hadn’t carried in a long while.  He frowned, eyeing her movement and she changed her motion to smooth the unembroidered and plain front her soft green gown.  It was another of Théodwyn’s and the simplest, though Éowyn had left off the boned back of the darker green, lace-up vest; it was uncomfortably tight and restrictive.  She rubbed the dyed wool flatter against her hip, still attempting to pass off her fear as an adjustment; Aragorn didn’t look fooled; his eyes darkened momentarily in apology.  “I’m sorry to have startled you.”} 

_{“No harm was done, I’m fine.”  She kept her voice very, very mild, very soft and as well as she could figure, feminine.  Nervously, her hands wanted to touch the dolphin pendant, now securely around her neck, or play with the jade bracelet she wore today but she clasped them.  As a lady should, remember, a lady does not fidget…  She silently finished the sentence by one of her doomed governesses, “Or else they will think she has fleas” and waited for Aragorn to tell her why he’d spooked her.}

_{Éowyn had been standing half in the great Hall, half in the corridor, watching Arwen rise from the breakfast table and follow the Lord Elrond away—the Queen’s face was tight, a waxen mask bespeaking great upset.  Most folk were readying outside; the elves’ servants were saddling their mounts while Aragorn’s guards did the same for their lord and themselves.  The courtyard was busy, full.  It would soon be empty and she felt a pang of sadness.  She turned to watch him watch Arwen’s retreating back with concerned, disturbed eyes and then look back to her.  He was serious, expression morose, “You aren’t delaying, are you?”}

_{“No.  I’m telling them both at once.”  Crossing her arms, she leaned against the cool wall; she was waiting for her brother and had yet to see him.  Perhaps Elfhelm has come…}

_“Why?”

_{“Because.”}

_{He matched her tone, composed in his riding clothes; she didn’t doubt they were more comfortable than her skirts…though, on second reflection, the fine, heavy cloak and gleaming crown clutched in one hand made her ponder her assumption a bit.  Andúril moved on his side, its gleam sheathed, “Because why?”  And then he took it further, “Why not now, to let Éomer prepare?”}

_{“I’m preparing.”}

_{His eyes searched the hall and he frowned to himself before pursuing their mild argument.  “I think you should discuss it.”}

_{“He’ll tell Faramir,” More like shout it at him or worse, she was afraid, “and I’d rather have him hear it from me…and it will make him, them…sad.”  She sighed, unable to say how deeply upset her brother might or might not be.  I don’t want to see his face.  Time would give her courage.  Éowyn was counting on it.}

_{Aragorn kept at her, intent as a dog with his prey treed; knowing only patience will reward.  “It’s going to make him sad whenever, Éowyn, and you know that.”  His voice had turned stern.  “What is best for Edoras?”}

_{He thought he had her there, but he didn’t.  She straightened, volleying straight back, “Edoras is not Minas Tirith.  My brother is fully capable of running it himself.”  Aragorn opened his mouth and she cut him off, “I plan to finish the pre-harvest labors and appoint aides to do my duties and report to Éomer every week.  There is not so much yet, mainly cutting of the wood…” She closed her eyes, thinking.  They were getting the last of the salt now.  Faramir…  “Putting up the hay, the wool must be made to thread, the mills are grinding grain, the rye, the wheat must be reaped…Éomer’s share must be calculated and then collected by the men.”  Éowyn met his gaze, “I do not do those things, only make sure they are done and on time.  Anyone can do what I do if kept aware of the seasons and how many are in Edoras, man and beast, which we must feed and house for the winter.  My people may not be able to read lettering, but we can count and most can write some mark to show the numbers.”  She felt sympathy to whatever wife Éomer took—her brother knew little detail of the duties that had been hers since she’d become a woman, named Lady of the Golden Hall.  He would be no help to the poor girl.}

_{Aragorn looked at her, eyes obscure, “What else?”}

_{“The else?”  She faced him, defiantly unladylike and direct, as though they were equals, “The storing of acorns and beechnuts and the canning of vegetables and fruits.  The wine made and stored in casks or traded.  Flax separated and spun to create linen later in the year, about the time for slaughtering the stock for salting and curing.”  Éowyn frowned, “Oh, and overseeing the brewing of ale and managing the weaving and dyeing of winter clothing so that my brother doesn’t take chill and looks the part of our Lord.”  That would be the hardest, making him stand for the tailors.  He hated it.  Taking a breath, she said firmly, “Aragorn, I will be gone for half of that, regardless.  The harvest moon is almost two months hence...and my people can only do so much until the frost.”  Éowyn’s eyes narrowed, “Would you let Faramir stay for another two months?”}

_{She felt triumph at his silence and the small smile that curved his mouth, acknowledging her victory.  “No, I would call for him before then.”  The King finally admitted; his eyes wandered to the hall, empty of elves besides Galadriel’s party, then back to her.}

_{Éowyn tried her best to sound as earnest as she’d begun to feel now that she finally had action to take.  He meant nothing by his insistence, only showing his desire to have Faramir at his side in the running of the City.  Again imagining the immensity of Minas Tirith and the surrounding countryside, undoubtedly plus things she had no idea of, she softened, “Then leave me be on this, please.  I have work to do and I will tell them when I’m ready.”}

_{Aragorn’s eyes slipped from her again, searching the corners of the Hall, then back to focus on her face.  “I’m just concerned.”}

_{Éowyn nodded and doubted if he was concerned about her; he was unusually inattentive.  She remembered Arwen’s words and made her tone gentle.  “I understand.”}

_{The King was quieter, too.  “It’s going to be harder without him.”}

_{It is, oh, it is.  She didn’t know exactly whom he spoke about—himself or her.  Éowyn nodded and smiled, “You help me, I’ll help you, again?”}

_{“We’ll have to find out what the Lady Steward does…there hasn’t been one for forty years.”}

_{“Oh?”  Trying to sound pleasantly curious, she panicked a little.  How could she figure out what to do if no one else knew?  Will I go into this fully blind?  A strange woman in a strange city with no knowledge of what I should do other than sit and breathe and make chatter…a dull, living vessel waiting to bear the Steward’s seed?  That would be the death of her.}

_{He must have seen the flash of anxiety on her face.  “Don’t worry,” Aragorn soothed, taking her arm and leading her into the Hall, “You help me, and I’ll help you, remember?”  He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes, which kept betraying him and following the path Arwen had taken minutes before, “Come eat with me?”}

_{Éomer was still nowhere in sight and Aragorn was offering to lead her to the hobbits’ table where the remainder of the Fellowship sat, too.  She smiled as gracefully as she’d ever learned.  Practice, have to practice…in the City she must fit the part of the proper Lady.  Éowyn thought resignedly that she did not want to dishonor her future, cherished husband with her masculine mannerisms, her tendency to do whatever she wanted, when she wanted.  Smiling still, she said, voice purposely docile, “I would love to, Aragorn.”} 

_{His wandering eyes flashed at her, but he said nothing.}

_***

_{Faramir was uncomfortable and Gaer leering at him every time he got the chance wasn’t helping.  The woman put her bosom in his face for a third time, bulging flesh barely held into her undyed wool gown.  Ostentatiously, her nearness was to ask him if he wanted more ale…though it was painfully obvious even to a man who could not read minds or hearts that by ‘ale’, she meant something far more carnal.  He tried to be as politely distant as he’d ever acted, deliberately ignoring the twin mounds of female flesh pointed in his direction.  She was well endowed, to say the least, almost fearsomely so.  “No, thank you.”}

_{“Ná, Ic þancie þe.”  Gaer corrected him, smirking, “Say it.”  He scolded, “You know this.  You’re never going to learn if you keep up with the Common Tongue.”  He smiled, “Besides, it’s rude.”} 

_{“Ná, Ic þancie þe.”  Faramir repeated it with his jaw clenched.  The food had been good at least—meat pie, weak ale and freshly buttered bread, served in a timely fashion.  They’d been waited upon very, very conscientiously …though that, he suspected, had something to do with his removing his outer wear in the warm inn.  Faramir’s cloak, wool doublet and surcoat lay on the bench at his side.  Even in his ivory-colored, near translucent linen shirt he was hot.  He was seated nearer the kitchens than Gaer or his students or any of the other few people in the inn’s common room.}

_{“Hit is Wilflede, mære.”  He couldn’t quite understand the word other than what was obviously her name but Gaer giggled suddenly and delightedly, just like a child.  The pitch of it made Faramir immediately regress to his own youth and kick him under the scarred wooden table.  Hard.  The Rohir let out a muffled yelp and peered at him with betrayed eyes until the woman left them alone.}

_“What?”

_{Faramir gave him a look of disgust, ignoring the puppy eyes.  “What did she say?  What was that word?”}

_{“Gorgeous.”  Gaer went off into laughter again.  “My first dog had fur the color of the stuff on your head; I think she’s blind.”  As Faramir scowled, he waved his hand, taking a drink, “As if I’d let you act unchastely, anyhow.  I doubt Lord Éomer would take that for an instant…and,” They met eyes, smoldering grey and dancing blue, “as for Lady Éowyn, well, she wouldn’t need any of us to wield her sword, I’d guess.”}

_{He stiffened on the hard bench, his honor as both a man of gentle birth and a man betrothed deeply insulted, “I have no intentions of…”}

_{“We’re,” He gestured at the lads seated just slightly down the long bench, “here to see that you don’t…so, drink up, friend.”  Gaer grinned at him.  “Maybe it will make you interesting.”  He laughed again.}

_{I should be, I could be doing…Faramir found he could fill that with quite a few things, so he did drink up and then decided to get some information while he was here.  “Tell me why you lov—like my Éowyn so much.”  He refused to use the word ‘love’; Gaer did not even know Éowyn.  Well, are you sure?  After all, Gaer was native born, likely having seen her for years.  He might have seen her grow up, even though from afar.  Faramir frowned to himself, unreasonably jealous of this trifling intimacy.}

 _{“What?”  The question completely puzzled the man in front of him; he could feel it.}

_{“Why do you like her so much?”}

_{Gaer sighed and traced some spilt ale into one of the deeply carved patterns on the table.  The design matched some of the moldings in Meduseld.  “Hwa is se lyft bláw, Faramir?”}

_{Why is the sky…blue?  Color words were many and difficult to translate.  “What?”}

_{“What do you think about when you ride into battle?”}

_{Where is this going, he thought wearily.  “I don’t know.”  Briefly closing his eyes, Faramir listed, “My oaths to my Lord, my City, my brother, my men and how many shall die if I haven’t thought the attack out right…  My armor, my weapon, the man or thing at the other end of it about to die…if I will die…”}

_{Gaer was slightly open-mouthed, his eyes narrowed.  Suddenly he accused, “You like lads don’t you?”}

_{His mouth twisted with repugnance.  “No, I do not.”}

_{The Rohir’s voice turned whimsical, almost breathy as his eyes focused upon some point in the distance, “I think of our Lady, standing pure and unscathed…”}

_{OH…  Faramir scoffed, “Oh, no you don’t…” Slurping the weak ale, he challenged, “Leave the sweet words for our Lady, Gaer and speak straightly.”  Our?  He blinked a little at himself, wondering at his slip of the tongue.}

_{Faramir’s students listened closely but neither man paid attention.}

_{“Aye, I do, we do.  What else is there?  You think of when you die; well, when I die I go to my forefathers with honor no matter if I win the battle, because,” He thumped his chest, “I fought my hardest and fell fighting.”}

_{Rolling his eyes, Faramir interrupted; his voice was thick with sarcasm.  “Oh, yes, and I was asleep.  Oh, and before that I dropped my sword, pissing myself and crying like a wee little lass because everyone knows we men of Mundburg…” Mundburg?  He blinked again and eyed his mug suspiciously.  Perhaps the ale was not as weak as it tasted…he’d not spoken so crudely in a long time.  Across the rough surface of the table, Gaer’s delicate sensibilities did not seem offended; in fact, he’d hardly paused before replying.}

_{“I think of Lady Éowyn and the Golden Hall standing unsoiled by foul hands.  The rest is meaningless.”  Was it Faramir’s imaginings or was that sentence charged by a darker emotion than he’d felt so far from the redheaded man?  He couldn’t decide, too busy forming his own replies.}

_{“What of your King?  Did you not swear oaths and do you not think of them?”}

_{“I live them and die them by being on the field of battle, by standing, by my spilt blood defending my lands or yours.”  Gaer scoffed this time, “I don’t need to think of them.”  He flapped his hand, drops of ale scattering in the air, “You men of Mundburg think too much, with your lettering and books and your precious City.  You hide behind the walls and never see anything.  You need to live in the land you protect so hard.”  Leaning forward, Gaer asked intently, “Tell me, Lord Faramir, have you ever slept in a barn and woken covered in hay, your horse by your side, to drink milk straight from a cow and steal eggs from the nest of hen, still warm while she pecks at you?  Have you ever stood beneath your horse’s neck in a rainstorm, hoping against hope lightning will not strike you because you are the only things for miles?”}

_{The depth in the man’s voice transfixed him; Gaer was not as simple as he’d appeared.  “No, I haven’t.”}

_{The Rohir grinned; it was bright and quick and mocked the notion he’d ever been serious.  “We’ll fix that, then.  That’s easy.”}

_{Faramir abandoned his ale, determined to stay levelheaded.  There were many hours of instruction left in the day, hours he couldn’t afford to waste if he wished to pass Éomer’s test and quickly.  The Mark was beautiful, but his own land was his home.  Somehow, he had to try and make it Éowyn’s home, too.  “Why?  What could I possibly be missing in all that?  Living rough, without comforts—I’ve done that and it is pleasant enough in its own fashion, but I’d rather sleep in a bed and forgo the sunrise and the hard ground that goes with it.”}

_{“I think you’ve missed a lot if you do not see the comfort in my question.”}

_{“I’ve missed…did you ever think of what you’re missing?  Can you read, Gaer?”  Faramir challenged but carefully, he did not wish to offend the man he was finding himself to be more and more dependent upon.  Gaer turning against him would be disastrous and not just the loss of his aid, the loss of his friendship in a land where he had so little was horrible to contemplate.}

_{Gaer didn’t seem offended.  “No.”  There, he saw it and felt it, the first clearly stirring flickers of curiosity.  “Why?  What’s there to miss?”}

_{“It is like…when you hear a story or a song…you see it in your head, true?”  The redheaded Rohir nodded; he was familiar with that.  “Well, when you read a story or prose it is like you hear the voices and see the action at the same time and yet, you are alone and undisturbed by others.  Distractions are meaningless when it is something interesting—I’ve read for hours and not noticed how hungry or weary I was until my eyes near failed.  You will never miss parts of the story; you can go back at any time.”  Faramir began to talk faster, his passion for the written word deepening and quickening his voice, “It is wonderful, there is never anything that can be like it…poetry, history, all these things are changed…even the words themselves add meaning.”  He held up his hands, looping the fingers up and down in exaggerated letters.  Gaer frowned at him; his students stared, Scef translating as swiftly as he could.  “The way they look, not just the way they sound.  It makes it whole, whatever you’re reading, and it feels more complete than just listening.  You can tell from the way a person writes what they are like, or even,” He thought of the history tomes he’d studied, “Or even the generations that wrote what you’re reading.  You get to know your ancestors like that—their opinions come in the shades of the words and stick, unlike a voice that might be altered over the years no matter how carefully repeated.  It is marvelous and private, entirely owned by yourself.  Only the written word is true, all else is idle talk because once something is written, it exists.”}

_{He’d said too much, apparently, because the curiosity had guttered out, replaced by puzzlement, incomprehension and something else Faramir couldn’t define.  The man before him almost looked wounded, but if he was offended, Gaer still did not show it.  He sounded naught but skeptical, “I still say you’re missing out.”}

_{“Perhaps so.”  He surrendered quickly, anxious not to insult, and took a cautious sip of his ale.  It still tasted weak, sour and watery, but he distrusted it.  Faramir glanced around, eager to move on, to shorten the time he spent here.  “Let’s go back to camp, I don’t want talk getting back to É—just in time he remembered to put Lord in front of it—Lord Éomer that I was shirking.”}

_{“All right.”  Something was different in Gaer’s manner; the man was studying him closely.  “We’ll do that and then you and I,” He jerked his chin at the students, “and them will cut trees for spears today.”}

_{Spears…he’d forgotten he was supposed to learn that, too.  Faramir agreed easily, slightly disturbed by the weight of Gaer’s gaze.  Something had changed, but he wasn’t sure what—there was only a new sense of seriousness in the man’s mind; all else was incomprehensible.  “Aye, we’ll do that, then.”}

_{“Too bad about you and Lady Éowyn…” The Rohir grinned roguishly.  It didn’t touch his usually dancing eyes; they stayed still and direct.  “Or I’d make you pay in services to our lady host and keep my money.”  His gloating manner made no mistake as to what services Faramir could give the woman.  “I’d think she’d like it better than coin.”  Gaer rubbed his red-stubbled chin, eyeing him, “Perhaps we shouldn’t let our womenfolk go to Mundburg…it tends to ruin their judgment.  I’m far handsomer than you are.”  The Rohir moved away then, calling to the woman in a cheerful voice.}

_{Oh, why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?  Worried at the new way Gaer was acting, he grimaced as they stood and muttered darkly while grabbing up his clothes.  “Too bad, indeed.”}

_***

_{The courtyard was still full, horses stomping and men moving around them.  The hobbit’s ponies were saddled now and all was ready but Aragorn did not call to leave; he was waiting, face melancholy and dark.  Lord Elrond and the Queen were still gone, heard to have vanished into the hills.  Armor shined brightly as the High King’s guards stood mounted around him; even their horses were richly outfitted, the tack gleaming, accented with silver and the leather dyed black to match their uniforms of the City.  They did not speak, patiently awaiting his command.  Legolas and Gimli were not yet astride, arguing in low voices.  Gandalf stood alone nearby; Shadowfax was far afield, grazing undisturbed.  He had no need for time spent tacking up and took his leisure in cropping the grass of his native land.  Éomer, at her side, was looking at the Mearas, his expression unreadable.  He’d appeared for breakfast, saying Elfhelm had come but not yet reported to him, the Marshal begging time to recover himself from his long ride.}

_{Éowyn looked at Merry, who was admiring his horn still.  His little hobbit hands spanned it, tracing the horn’s slick, piebald surface; his fingers rubbed the horses and warriors as she watched.  She’d had the metal smiths polish the tarnish away early this morning, revealing the runes that told its tale and then she’d taken it to the leatherworkers to have the dyed green baldric shortened to a length more appropriate to the hobbit’s stature and girth.  The baldric had been long indeed, meant to wrap around even the armor of a well-built man or just a particularly stout one.  Éowyn was pleased to see it now fit him well.  Her brother smiled down at the hobbit, expression almost indulgent.  It was a great gift, enough so to please him.  Their eyes met over Merry’s head and he grinned at her with familiar mischief, looking down again, “Sound it for me, Master Holdwine.  I wish to hear it.”}

 _{“Oh, do it!”  Pippin, resplendent in his silver and sable, lit up.  His pony drowsed behind him, tail barely moving.  Frodo stood nearby and he smiled; Sam was not paying attention, carefully checking the packed papers and making sure any rain would not get to them though the skies were utterly bare of clouds.  Éowyn smiled, too.} 

_{Merry raised the horn, and then hesitated.  “I’d be afraid to rouse the countryside.”  The Brandybuck frowned.  “I do wish to hear it…”}

_{Pippin prodded again, “Oh, do, like Boromir!  Let is sound, Merry, before we go!”}

_{“I, too, wish to hear its ancient voice.”  Her brother urged gently, hopefully.}

_{Gandalf had come close, so close that Éowyn, not seeing him, jumped a little when he spoke.  “Rouse the countryside, indeed.  I guess this is not a toy, Meriadoc, unlike Bilbo’s crackers.  I remember you, lad, were one of the loudest…” Gandalf’s eye fell upon him, “And the most impatient, too, if my memory hasn’t failed.”  The hobbit flushed mysteriously as the wizard stuck out his hand.  “Let me see.”  Merry handed him the horn and he held it.  “Ah, it is an excellent gift, but I’d be slow to wind it, my dear Meriadoc, till the country needs rousing.  A great horn’s cry is not needlessly spent and this one has waited long in idleness.”  Gandalf gathered the baldric, studying the new stitching, “It went not to cry at the battle of Pelennor, nor to voice the defense of Helm...its sounding must be potent indeed and shouldn’t be wasted.”}

_{Beside her, Éomer looked disappointed but he didn’t say anything, unwilling to contradict Gandalf’s desire.  Suddenly the trumpets were blowing a warning from the men waiting at Aragorn’s side—Arwen and Lord Elrond had reappeared and the horn-blowers interpreted this as a sign their departure was near.  The instruments rang out, calling attention to the crowd.  The Queen was calm and placid, standing near her relatives and wishing them a composed farewell.  Éowyn frowned, wondering at the lack of emotion.  Surely, since this was goodbye for all time, they will weep.  Nevertheless, none did and if tears had been shed, they’d been shed already for the elves only spoke calmly, embraced and mounted their horses.  They were dazzling in the sun, all gleaming with expensive silks and jewels, their hair and eyes bright with unearthly radiance as they waited atop their light-boned restless mounts.  Yet, their grief was almost palpable in the air, making the birds swoop and cry mournfully, stray chickens flutter and fly in the courtyard, hounds whine and the mortal bred horses paw and snort with wide nostrils and wide eyes.  Aragorn’s guards moved aside for the Queen, who gave her farewell to him.  He looked sad and weary as they spoke, raising his hand to touch Arwen’s face gently before they embraced.}

_{Éowyn averted her eyes, uncomfortable for seeing what was such an obviously intimate moment and instead watched Pippin swing aboard his pony.  She smiled, observing him stick his big, hairy feet into the stirrups—the stirrups were very, very wide, obviously either scrounged from a large man’s saddle or made just for the hobbits.  Merry took back his horn and wrapped the baldric around himself, mounting his pony.  Frodo and Sam, too, were climbing into the saddle.  All waited upon Aragorn’s signal and Éowyn was suddenly aware she, Éomer, Arwen and Gandalf were the only ones upon the ground.  The wizard met her gaze and smiled, but his words were bordering upon stern, “Care for him well, Lady Éowyn or I will hold you responsible.  He was a favorite of mine.”  It was not a threat, but alarming enough in all its seriousness; Éomer frowned beside her, not liking it.}

_{She nodded quickly as he added, “Dreams will only come to light if you make them.  Do nothing, put forth no effort and they will stagnate, my Lady…but, perhaps you’ve already guessed that and planned after your fashion to prevent it.”  He sounded a half amused, half cross.}

_{Éowyn felt her heart trip in alarm, surely he would not mention her leaving in front of Eomer?  Her brother frowned still, but there was no enlightening sign that came into his expression.  The wizard said seriously, gaze on hers, “Do what you wish, but I council you to do so with blessings.  Unblessed you went before and nearly came to great misfortune.  To test fate once more would be folly, do you not agree?”  His old eyes glinted and his tone was more stern this time as well as being nearly exasperated.}

_{She swallowed, feeling like she was being scolded.  “Yes, I do.”}

_{“Good.”  Gandalf broke out in a smile and all the firmness in his eyes evaporated.  “Then we understand one another and I expect you to hold to it.”}

 _{Her brother’s gaze was wondering now and suspicious, but she didn’t speak this time either, just nodded again in agreement, dry-mouthed as a chill went down her spine.  How could he know of Faramir’s dreams and my plans?  Damn all wizards!  Perhaps Aragorn had told him, perhaps Faramir had spoken or perhaps the wizard simply read her mind.}

_{Gandalf then spoke a simple and respectful farewell to her wary brother, who bowed low in reply, and whistled, high and piercing.  The trumpets sounded again, this time a more urgent note.  Aragorn was astride his horse and Arwen had come away, standing alone.  Across the field, Shadowfax raised his fine head and tossed it before galloping into their midst.  Gandalf mounted him easily, grasping the long silvery mane and swinging aboard with a nimble gracefulness.}

_{All were ready and called their goodbyes, a range of voices from sweet elven, to high hobbit, to rough dwarf.  The trumpets blew a final time, the King’s banner waving in the wind and Aragorn signaled their departure, riding to head the group.  Merry paused and waved back, his voice was high, “Remember!”}

_{“I will!”  Éowyn felt her eyes flood with tears as the company rode away; she would miss the hobbits.  Her brother took her hand and squeezed it, his face melancholy, his touch reminding her he was still there.  Arwen was gone already inside, climbing the steps to Meduseld with her head bowed.  They were alone in the courtyard, watching the dust settle and the common folk that had come to peek resume their work.}   

_{For a moment neither spoke and then he asked, “What are you doing today, sister?”}

_{She took a breath, “Many things.  Visiting the candlemaker,” Picking men to oversee the incoming harvest, the dairy and everything related to the kitchens, she added silently.  “The brewery, the potter and asking the falconers to get pigeons for today’s dinner.”}

_{He perked up, “Are you going to have them stuffed with garlic and sage and stewed?”}

_{It was one of his favorites.  She was allowed to do that, wasn’t she?  Anything to make him happy before I crush him…  Éowyn smiled, forcing it bitterly and replied playfully, “Yes…I suppose I could order that the cooks do so…”}

_{“You’d better.”  Éomer looked hugely pleased, making her both happy and sad, and then he hesitated.  “Can I come with you for a while?”}

_{It would make it harder, his presence would restrict her to only her normal duties.  She smiled again, focusing upon her hands and her fingers, concentrating on keeping them from knotting.  Éowyn straightened her shoulders since she’d been told ladies didn’t ever slouch, and smiled graciously.  “Of course.”} 

_{“Good.”  He walked beside her and murmured as they entered the streets of Edoras.  “I’ve decided to stay another day with you sister,” Éomer glanced at her, “you don’t mind if I accompany you for a while?”}

_{She smiled, in high spirits and yet miserable.  “Not at all, not at all.”  They visited the candlemaker first, Éomer looking rather bored while she examined lines of fat white candles for the Hall, various parts of Meduseld and their rooms.  After making sure all the candles were whole and large enough to service, she ordered them carried to the servants who would know what to do.  At the brewery, he sampled freely, making her try the ales and wines, too and when he dipped into the cider she held her tongue.  It was the batch reserved for vinegar.}

_{His expression, lips coming tight and eyes scrunching as he tried to swallow his sip was worth it.  “Shame on you, brother.”  She laughed, regaining her merriment.  “Greedy as you are, you deserve to get the sour stuff.”}

_{He moved his mouth, grimacing.  “You knew?”}

_{“Come on, I don’t want any of that at my table.”  Éowyn had already ordered the best of the ales into the Hall, along with some wines for her brother.  Not that he will drink them…she might, though.  Moreover, there was Arwen and Imrahil to consider.}

_{“You knew, sister?”  He eyed her speculatively.  Dangerously, as he still held some of the cider vinegar in a tin cup.}

_{She crossed her arms, wary.  “This is mother’s gown.  You’d dare ruin it?”}

_{Éomer looked at the cup, then her.  “I don’t think it would ruin it.”}

_{“Ah, what do you know about cloth?”  Éowyn turned her back, recognizing by his expression his giving up on the idea of getting her wet.  “That reminds me, tonight I’m making you stand for a new wardrobe.”  Fur-lined cloaks, shirts, boots, oh, everything…}

_{“Tonight?”  As they entered the street, her brother sounded as though she was making him stand for execution.  “I already have clothes.”}

_{Éowyn made her voice brisk; it was the best way to deal with him.  “Yes, you do.  Clothes with patches and rips that are not fit at all for a King.  You put it off all summer and now we’re going to do it.  Now, come on if you want those pigeons for supper.  I still have to go and see to a whole new set of clay pots for the cook, many broke in preparing the feast.”  He followed her, grumbling and whining until they passed the bakery and he got some of the fresh honey cake and broke it in half, not seeming to think about it.}

_{Éowyn felt tears prick her eyes as he handed her her half.  The cake stuck in her mouth, hard to swallow.  I love you, she thought.  He grinned at her with crumbs all over his lower face, honey smeared on his chin and she nearly blurted, I’m leaving, holding her tongue at the last second.  Éomer frowned at her half of the bread, only nibbled.  His was long gone, wolfed in two bites.  “You eating that?”}

_{“No.”  He devoured her share, too and they walked on.}

_***

_{Faramir shifted his gloved hands carefully, trying not to lose his grip on the stiff little sapling that desperately wanted to fly back upright and slap him and then Gaer in the head.  The tree swayed dangerously under his palms; Gaer hacked at its base with the hatchet he’d found in the camp.  Woodchips littered the forest floor, sap sticking them to his boots.  The gloves made his skin swelter but at least his hands weren’t being ravaged by the rough bark.  The afternoon had grown incredibly hot and Faramir’s linen shirt was soaked and clinging uncomfortably to his upper body as they cut the last tree.  He fantasized about the cold little stream near camp while blinking sweat out of his eyes.}

_{Not far away were the lads, using their short knifes to skin the bark from the cut saplings and shave away stray branches and bumps as best they could before then piling the crude spears onto the travois.  Made from interwoven branches and two long limbs; it hung from the saddle of the heaviest built mount—an annoyed looking Thorn.  Faramir kept his eye on the gelding, expecting trouble, but there was none.  His mount just shifted his hind legs, drowsing in the heat; sweat darkened his flanks to a leaden color and dripped off his belly.  It was hot, finally feeling like summer again.}

_{Beneath his palm, the tree shuddered and then loosed so that Faramir switched from holding it down to holding it up.  All the tension was gone.  He lowered it to the ground, Gaer chopping the last bits of wood away.  Together, they skinned it, freeing it of bark and limbs and piled it onto the crude travois.  Thorn stood patiently, slate-grey tail tangled in the branches.} 

_{“That’s enough.”  Gaer was breathless, having wielded the axe for hours as they’d searched out suitable saplings.} 

_{“Good.”  He licked dry lips.  His students looked weary, too.  Faramir patted the horse’s neck and mounted him, his foot trying its best to catch on the long poles of the travois as they hung over the gelding’s hindquarters.  Gaer swung up on his chestnut and they rode back down into the valley.  It was even hotter on the flat ground as they left the shade of the trees.  The horses plodded, not even thinking of moving faster.}

_{An odd sight awaited them.  Ten of the Rohirrim were racing back in forth in the heat, stripped to the waist and bare-foot.  Their shouts and bellows echoed in the heat.  Armed with short sticks, the Riders ran and fought, a balled up piece of leather roughly just larger than his fist bouncing on the grass.  Goals had been marked with rocks supporting sticks thrust into the earth, tied with strips of leather to make a giant ‘t’.  The goals were rather high, standing above the men’s heads and just at the level of his.  The field seemed small and only the ball appeared to be confined, often thrown back within invisible boundaries.}

_{Faramir watched the rather physical game with curiosity, steering Thorn to the lean-to.  He slid off, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, and began to deposit the makeshift spears in a pile.  With his student’s help, he’d soon finished and begun dismantle the travois.  Suddenly the game stopped and his name was called over the long grass and hot, shimmering air,}

_{“Aiy!  Farmair, ge gád tó gefêg?”  The Riders had stopped and stood panting, waiting for his answer.  He cast his mind over theirs, searching for animosity and found none; the man he’d fought was not among them.}

_{He looked at the Rohir beside him for explanation, already guessing what they’d wanted, “What—?”}

_{“They want to know if you want to join,” Gaer explained and then finished shortly, brow furrowing, “You don’t.”} 

_{“Why not?”  He glanced sideways at the redheaded man, trying to make a jest, smiling hopefully, “I thought I was here to make friends and that I shouldn’t work, work, work.”}

_{“I thought you weren’t.”  Gaer faced him, eyes narrowed.  Something was wrong and it troubled Faramir greatly—he needed Gaer and his friendship to survive this lonely, ludicrous task.  He hesitated, and then cursed himself for a coward; it was just a game, and shouted back,}

_{“Gea!”  There was a burst of laughter and voices at his reply.  Gaer looked tense and unhappy, shifting from foot to foot.  Around the blackened rocks were the remains of the food they’d brought—sacks of salt pork, bread, and a small barrel of ale.  Faramir unsaddled Thorn; his poor horse had had to haul him, most of the food and then all of the rough spears.  The sweating beast deserved a rest.  He looked at his students, felt a bit of pity and then sighed, banishing it.  “I want you to practice until I call for you to stop.”  They nodded, weary and hot in the afternoon, and began to walk to the target.} 

_{He stood beside his saddle and stripped like the others, leaving only his dark trousers in place.  Faramir laid his shirt out in the sun, hoping it would dry some.  Gaer looked pensive, eyeing the Rohirrim as they stood waiting and then did the same.  Carefully, he asked, “You, too?”}

_{“Someone’s got to watch your back.”  This answer, as well, was short.  Suddenly his mood broke and he grinned like the Sun poking through leaden clouds, looking Faramir up and down, “Cranebayn.  That should be your name.”}

_{He shifted, ill at ease, crossing his arms a little over his bared upper torso; Faramir was conscious of how wiry he appeared next to Gaer’s robustness.  “What’s that mean?”}

_{“Crane-legs.”  Gaer laughed out loud.  “You want the rules?”}

_{They moved toward the waiting, panting Rohirrim.  The Sun beat down furiously.  Faramir answered dryly; “Yes that may help.”}

_{“You can kick, hit or throw the ball with the bat and you can carry it in your hand for up to five paces.  You can cross the lines,” He pointed to the boundaries—ripped out sections of grass in a coarse outline,” But if the ball does, then it’s thrown in the other team to the last person to touch it.  We’ll give you a member of the other team to play against.  The first team to score three times wins.”} 

_{It sounded easy enough.  “Anything else?”}

_{Gaer smiled, stretching his arms; his joints popped audibly.  “No, everything else goes as it will.”}

_{He found out soon enough that it did.  Two of the Rohirrim left the field to make room for them while the remaining men shouted requests of water.  One of the Riders tossed him his bat (it was really a long, thick branch with the limbs chopped off) and Faramir took his position, letting the movements of the other men guide him.  A young, flaxen maned Rider pointed at him and then himself—he would be playing against Faramir.  Faramir nodded, showing he understood and the Rider grinned cheerfully.  The young man was heavy-built and muscular, his blonde hair hanging down as he shifted easily on the balls of his feet.  If push came to shove, Faramir doubted he could hold his own; the man looked heavier than he did, as did most Rohirrim.  Crane-legs indeed; when put in a bunch he stood just over their heads, feeling almost gaunt compared to the beefy, rounded muscle occupying the others’ bones.  He heard snickers and knew they were over him.  Faramir toughened his expression.}

_{The rough ball was placed on the ground in the center of the predetermined field.  Faramir was positioned on the half closest to camp with four others; Gaer was on his team, he noted with relief.  Five men stared back at him; two slapped their bats against their hands and grinned wolfishly, eyes fixed upon his.  He sensed their amusement and curiosity.  Is this a test?  Faramir gripped his bat tighter, feeling his palm press the irregular wood.  He cleared his throat, feeing his heart speed up.} 

_{He felt a twinge of nervousness at all the rising aggression he sensed…and then it was too late.  One of the Riders shouted, once, twice and on the third word, the two men closest to the ball lunged for it.  Faramir moved hesitantly, wary and unsure of what he should be doing.  His opponent weaved, coming right at him, apparently intent upon settling with him swiftly.  Riders tangled while shouting; bodies thudded together and bats flew between them.  He lifted on his feet, watching, intending to dodge.  The Rider swerved with him, and then with the boldness of youth leapt up and used his whole body as a battering ram.  Faramir’s eyes widened and amazed at the audacity, he was unable to move swift enough to wholly escape.} 

_{They contacted with a great clout of flesh and bone.  It was fleeting, not quite square, but with enough weight to send Faramir staggering and the Rider, off balance, to one knee.  Around them was chaos—shouting, the low thwack of wood on leather and pounding feet.  Men slammed against each other, trying to allow their teammates room to strike the ball.  It was a field of wrestling men, a free-for-all with victory only really considered an afterthought.}

_{For a moment, they both wavered, and then his challenger thrust himself forward, elbow and side slamming into Faramir’s stomach.  His breath whooshed out in a surprised gust and he fell backwards onto his rump.}

_{The young man fell back, too, and barely caught himself with one hand, nails scraping the earth.  He opened his mouth and bellowed, adding magnificently to the general commotion around them, “RINNATH AND HIDATH, MAEGDEN-CILDAN!  IC WILLE ÁBROCEN GE!”  The war cry was incredibly loud, vibrating the air at close range.}

_{Faramir pulled himself to his feet, staggering back to gain distance.  Oh, Valar, what…that was as far as he got before he was flattened.  Literally, as the Rider hurled himself at him again and this time contacted fully, sending the lighter-built Faramir back to the hard ground.  He, they, rolled once together than fell apart, sprawling; Faramir was amazed only to just be keeping his grip on his bat.  The Rider thrust himself away, scrabbling up.   Faramir’s mouth was full of dirt; one arm was scratched and bloody though he didn’t feel it until much later.  His opponent yelled again, standing over him, voice full of bravado, “IC WILLE GEWINNATH SE WEALA!”}

_{What?  He was slightly dazed, turning to his belly to rise, the shock of impact still ringing in his body.  What kind of game was this?  Just as his head cleared, then, indignity of all indignities, he felt the young man whap his buttocks smartly with the bat and trot off, laughing gaily.  I’m going to kill that little…}

_{“Are you…are you all right?”  Gaer was red-faced to match his hair, offering him a helping hand.  Faramir ignored it, spitting out grass and dirt, deeply furious.  The Rohir giggled sporadically; he was barely able to stand up in his wild mirth.  His bat dangled loosely in his fingers as Faramir tried not to breathe fire.  He cackled, eyes dancing again.  “I told you you didn’t want to…”}

_{Spitefully, he thought he was glad Gaer had his good spirits back—it had only taken him bruising 1/3 of his body to do it.  Faramir took a deep breath and fixed his eyes upon his opponent.  “Move.”  Pushing Gaer away, he loped down the short field, dodging the heavier, slower men with ease.  His legs were longer, proving an advantage; men passed in a violent blur, an enthusiastic tableau just seen from the corner of his eye.  He soon caught up and then Faramir ran faster, sprinting, using his lighter frame to build speed in substitute for pure force.  He hurled himself against the man, actually jumping up and using his shoulder to strike the Rider’s, making sure he felled him, and they both went to the ground.  The other’s bat struck him by accident, making his shin throb and burn.  One of the cut away limbs left a stub that sliced through his trousers, leaving a thin scratch that stung his calf.  The Rider yowled, thoroughly surprised and thrashed; Faramir twisted away.  Again, he tasted earth and then copper; he spat redly—he’d bitten his tongue and not even felt it.}

_{Muscles still thrumming from impact, soil and bruised grass clinging to his sweaty skin, Faramir rose.  He felt good, felt tough.  Glancing around himself, he saw only two players near the ball; all others struggled.  It was a scene of controlled violence, a display of physical might with boasting cries uttered.  My brother would have loved this.} 

_{His tongue ached and he spat pinkly down near the blinking young man.  Faramir laughed and raised his voice, full of sudden boldness and good cheer, “Á LASTA LALIENYA!”  The younger fair-haired man just blinked again, frowning up from his sprawled position.  Faramir grinned at him and laughed, enjoying his obvious and predicted ignorance.  He’d had no idea of the content of the Rider’s battle cry, either.  Replying in Elvish was only fair.  His grin widened, “Cenuvanyel rato.”  Turning, he spotted the ball and moved towards it.  There were many in between him and the wrapped piece of leather, but that didn’t matter.  Actually, he suspected the ball didn’t matter much, either.  The damn thing was already coming apart and flopping everywhere.}

_{He made it an impressive five strides before he was tackled from behind.} 

_***

_{Éomer gazed down the High Table.  It was much smaller now, only having to accommodate himself, his sister, Arwen and Imrahil.  Well, Elfhelm, too…but he hardly counted, as the one table could hold eight.  The Marshal was seated upon his left, his sister on his right.  Éowyn was smiling, polite and courteous, even verging upon charming—on her best behavior, he recognized it instantly.  Éomer wondered why, there was no reason to impress Elfhelm.  Arwen was toying with her food, making him desire to comfort her but he knew no words so he kept quiet.}

_{The Marshal had spoken with him that afternoon, after he’d left Éowyn to her duties.  Orcs, three, had been found in the Mark, misshapen and starved to near death, but orcs and uruk-hai, no less, probably Saruman’s failures if Elfhelm’s descriptions of their horribly misshaped bodies were to be believed.  One had chased a young boy, driving the poor child into hysterics, crying of “monsters!” and refusing to leave his mother’s side.   Of course, the men in his village had immediately called upon Elfhelm’s soldiers to hunt the foul creature down.  The orcs had been in such a state of starvation the company had killed them easily.} 

_{Now Elfhelm requested permission to rouse some of the released soldiers and hunt the countryside and he’d agreed, suggesting that he, too, go.  Elfhelm had politely but firmly stated that he was too valuable.  Éomer stared at his pigeon, not hungry, feeling angry and trapped in his own Hall.  Too valuable…he could not even go out and slay a few orcs that were too weak to catch a child.  It was ridiculous and necessary, he supposed.  He was their King and he had no heir, nor wife to rule.  There was Éowyn, but she was already betrothed…the Mark would be ill at ease with Faramir as their King.  Éomer smiled a little—he’d like to think they would revolt.} 

_{It irked him, though.  He had to sit here, endure the long hours while others rode off to protect his lands.  More fires, too, had been reported along with better news.  Many of the fields were thought to yield a great harvest and the stock was healthy.  Some King…he sat and the Mark went on with no effort of his spent.} 

_{His sister spoke to Elfhelm, who replied respectfully.  Arwen did not speak at all; Imrahil listened to the conversation between Éowyn and the Marshal.   Outside the Hall, Edoras was quiet.  Well, he thought, quiet in comparison to the last week when it has been glutted with my renowned guests.  In the Hall, his knights ate and spoke in great, booming conversations, obviously gladdened to have the land to them again.  At the end of it, minstrels sang for his entertainment, projecting their fine voices as best they could.  All was well, back to normal, back to what it was during the summer.  He could pretend again that Faramir would not come.  Yet…Éomer felt a brief sense of sadness.  He could not pretend.}

_{It was beautiful in his Golden Hall, the candles shining; new candles thanks to his sister, and the hearth fire roaring.  Also Éowyn had had the rushes upon the floor replaced so the Hall was full of the sweet smell of herbs and straw.  His dogs—usually no one else claimed the lazy beasts—lay in the corners or under tables, gnawing bones or gristle or just sleeping.} 

_{He was intensely aware of the emptiness of his city.  Éomer’s eyes found his sister, her flaxen hair shining in the firelight.  She was listening to Elfhelm’s tale of the boy who’d escaped the orc with angered and deeply sympathetic eyes.  Stirring on his chair, the great chair sat upon by many Kings of the Mark, he thought, and it shall only get emptier.} 

_***

_{The sun had fallen significantly by the time even the first game was finished; now, after the third, it was near dark.  Faramir was aching all over; he walked slowly, trying not to limp—his bare feet had taken a stomping in the last game.  The young fair-haired man, who’d been his adversary for all three of the bouts, clasped his throbbing, skinned shoulder.  He leaned in to ask through split lips, “God, ge art god.  Dæg æfterra?”  His name was Tondhere, information divulged between bruising spells of fighting disguised as playing—the game was more or less a running brawling match.  In fact, as he’d played, Faramir had discovered many men would simply hit or fling the ball away the moment another charged them, not wanting to be squashed and thus keeping the game going for forever.  Jeers had been shouted at those men, but they were only returned in coarser language.}

_{He’d been able to use his superior height to strike the rough leather ball several times, jumping up high over the crowd of slamming bodies.  Of course, he’d immediately paid for it by being crushed beneath them, rolling out of the pile with the breath knocked out of his lungs and the owner of more than a few new bruises and scrapes.  Faramir had, too, learned to use his lesser bulk to maneuver, paying for that advantage with repeatedly trodden feet as various Riders spotted and tried to thwart him by stepping or rather, stomping, upon his toes.  He’d been almost viciously proud to have scored, even if only once.}

_{Now his former adversary looked at him hopefully, “Dæg æfterra, Faramir?”  He simplified the question in an unexpectedly non-patronizing and patient fashion, gesturing back to the field.  The blonde man spoke slower, clearer, “Gea, má?  Dæg æfterra, Faramir?”}

_{It took Faramir several seconds to figure out he was being asked to play again the next day and then a few more to actually comprehend that.  He stumbled his way through, “Ná, ná… tó… ǽr.  Ge eart cáf.”  The young Rider grinned while shaking his head in disappointment.  He slapped Faramir’s back, igniting a fire of bruises and aches and then moved away.} 

_{He was weary and slumped down onto one of the stumps, too tired and sore to think about setting his bedroll yet.  Gaer sat beside him, looking at his dangling hands; he’d been speaking to Faramir’s students.  His friend had taken his share of dives into the earth—a small cut over his cheekbone was still bleeding, smeared with dirt.  Faramir’s Ranger training prodded him to suggest washing it and dabbing it with some healing plant.  He kept quiet, though.  “You liked that?”}

_{There was some lingering and unresolved matter between them.  Faramir probed it delicately, searching with his mind.  He met with nothing but a reserved watchfulness and a lack of Gaer’s natural ease and good cheer.  “Yes.”}

_{The redheaded man stared into the last of the sunset.  It was beautiful, the faintest touches of crimson and streaking gold over the hills, the sky almost immediately deepening to indigo with the first stars winking down.  “Good.  If you keep up like you did today you’ll make more friends.”  The Rohir met his eyes, lowering his voice.  “Until you do you shouldn’t go anywhere alone.  Some men do not know when to give up.”}

_{Gaer’s earlier concern over his plans and future whereabouts and the man’s immediate relief when informed he was taking his students resurfaced in his mind.  Faramir gazed at him, wary.  “What do you mean?  Tell me plainly.”}

_{“Do I have to?”  It was coolly spoken; again, he was looking down at his dangling hands, wrists resting upon his knees.}

_{His care was not helping and he could take no more.  “What’s wrong?  Did I…offend you…in some way?”}

_{There was a short silence in which Faramir anxiously watched his students drag the unformed spears and axe towards them; he’d released them from practice at dusk, commanding only one last duty—that they gather the rough darts into bundles of five and tie them to the lean-to’s rafters.} 

_{“You say only the written word exists and all else is idle talk…” Gaer was angry, that was suddenly obvious.  The redheaded man looked up at him; his face slightly flushed with his temper and then looked away.  His voice brimmed with resentment and, too, a distress that stung.  “You call our history, our life, all we know no more than idle talk.”  The last word was spat.}

_{Faramir cursed himself.  Did he forget they had no writings here?  That was no excuse; he’d known that…it was simply such a foreign idea to him.  Still, no excuse; remember where you are, fool, he thought fiercely.  “I didn’t mean that…I was only speaking of…” He stopped, trying to gauge Gaer’s mood from his profile.  His gaze was stonily fixed on the men trying to start a fire.  The sound of flint and steel striking punctuated the coming night.  Faramir began more composedly, “I’m sorry, Gaer, I did not mean—”}

_{The Rohir cut him off, his tone flat.  “If you’d spoken such to another man, implied that the tale of Eorl was nothing, that we did not know our ancestors… you’d not have your teeth.  You should watch your tongue better, friend Faramir.”  He stood and spoke a little quieter, a little calmer.  “We need to make the spears for practice.  Come, I’ll show you how on the first.”  The fire was started, orange flames licking upwards, eagerly kissing and consuming the dry wood offered; pale smoke was twisting and contorting, seeking the sky.}

_{“Láréow?”} 

_{Faramir hacked at the end of the spear, using the axe to shape it into a point.  Once that was done, he was to harden it over the fire.  Gaer had demonstrated upon the first, as he’d said, and then moved away, joining the other Rohirrim.  He felt painfully unwanted and knew it was his own fault.  Careless, simply careless and foolish, am I…where is my head?  He resolved to speak with more caution.  “Gea?”}

_{Wurth asked him, “What is the City like?”  In the firelight, he could barely make out their features, only sensing their curiosity.  It put him in the idea to teach them another game from his youthful Ranger days.  It was an easy game and one specifically designed to be taught in the dark.  But later if there is time, first the spears…there were many and he thought the game would probably have to wait.} 

_{Moodily, he answered, “It is much bigger than Edoras and differently shaped—there are seven levels with thick walls.  The outer walls are of unbreakable stone; the Great Gate sits in the center, pointing east.  There are seven gates that alternate so as you walk up to the City you go back and forth.  It is built so the City is harder to attack and the Lord is easier to defend.  There are passwords for the Lord’s protection and to keep simple folk from wandering in the Citadel where the nobles are.”  Wurth, being the largest boy, held the spear while he wielded the axe in swift strokes, ignoring his aches.  Woodchips and scraps of bark flew.  He tried to aim them, recognizing the usefulness of such tinder.  Faramir continued, “There are marketplaces, shops, and such like in Edoras but there are many more and larger because there are more people in Mundburg.  There aren’t many horses in the City; they aren’t allowed in some places.”  This time he didn’t notice his slip; too busy carving the trees into points.  “At the height of the City is the Citadel where there is the Hall of Feasts, the King’s House, the White Tower and the Place of the Fountain where the White Tree stands. That is the seventh level and just below it in the sixth is the Houses of Healing.  Behind the City is the Hallows where the Tombs of Kings and Stewards lie against the bones of the White Mountains.”}

_{Scef spoke up this time.  “Yes, but what is it like?”}

_{“What?”  For a moment, he just frowned, tired and sore and dejected.  “It is very…” Faramir gazed about himself.  The dark night, fire-blackened rocks, merry fire and quietly talking and once more docile Rohirrim gave him no aid.  “Very ancient and there are places where floors, roads and steps are polished by the years of people treading on them.  It is just like a rock gets rubbed smooth in a stream…  Many people have lived there, all the houses pass through families, and there are no new ones built.  There is much stone and it makes the City very cold and hard looking and confusing if you don’t know it because it is almost all the same grey color.  Min—Mundburg stands very tall over everything, from the Citadel, if you stand upon the sea wall that comes like a ship’s prow out to the Great Gate you can see very, very far over the land.  When I was a child I thought what I saw was the whole world.”  He paused, saddened and feeling disillusioned, and then added, “Men are as small as ants from that height.”} 

_{They were listening, piling the half-made spears and handing him others to hack into points.  Faramir looked at his bloody knuckles and wondered if the blood was his from his numerous falls or Tondhere, his opponent’s. “Soldiers must do their duty no matter what.  They must have courage and respect for their lords…” His father’s last harsh words tried to come but he pushed them away, “…duty is very important, tradition is very important.  Most peoples do the trades their fathers did and live in the same houses on the same level and stay within the level they work and live…” He could feel their building dismay.}

_{“They don’t…go anywhere?  Do not travel?”}

_{Keeping Gaer in mind, he tried to explain, “Where would they go?  Farmers go to work their fields in the Pelennor; fishermen, hunters and traders go out to see to their duties, too.  Those peoples all go outside the walls, though usually not far, because very few who aren’t nobles own horses.”}

_{Faramir took another spear and then continued, “Inside Mundburg, peasants grind grain in mills, healers grow their herbs within set aside gardens, the high-born attend the to King’s Court and their affairs…all all the people’s need is within the City walls.  There are merchant stands of all the types you can imagine run by common folk that are not so bound to the King—bakers, butchers, leatherworkers, shoemakers, armors, dyers...there is no need to go anywhere to trade.  Traders bring their goods and set up shop in the markets.} 

_{Only peasants of the lowest birth live outside in small, thatched houses.  Most work the lands their fathers held and do no more.  Often, my people leave the shelter of the walls for festivals out in the fields or to watch some sport between the noblemen.  There is no need to go out everyday unless they work or deal with the land somehow.”} 

_{He’d finished cutting the spears and now Faramir held one, carefully turning it over the fire.  He was not to burn the wood, but toughen it.  They felt odd around him, the lads with their minds disquieted.  Their thoughts were still beyond his gift, but emotions were coming clearer and clearer from his young Rohirric brothers.  Faramir asked carefully, “Tell me about Edoras.  What is it like to live there?”}                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

            _{Wurth spoke up after a second, “We aren’t from Edoras.”}

            _{He was mildly surprised.  “No?  None of you?”}

            _{“No, I’m from the Wold.  My father breeds oxen there.”}

            _{“And…the rest of you?”  He glanced up from the wood, and then quickly back down, anxious not to appear too intent.} 

            _{Scef said quietly, “I come from the Westfold; my family has sheep.”}

 _{Feohtan answered for himself and the nameless lad who could not speak the Common Tongue.  “Eastemnet.  Our families farm the land there.”}

            _{The last boy, Leodthain, said, “Near the Entwash, my family guards horses of the King’s herds.”}

            _{“Where your fathers soldiers?”} 

            _{Wurth spoke for them all, “Not before.  Not after they came home.”  He hadn’t thought so, guessing his students were younger sons sent into service.  It was a common practice—the elder sons receiving the lands of the father while the younger sons either worked as lower standing and beholden to the elder or went out into the world to make a living.} 

_{“Hmm.”  He spent the remainder of the time in hushed thought, pondering his apology to Gaer as he turned the spears over the fire, watching tiny curls of wood char, but the thick shaft and point only grew darker.  The many spears took a long time and it was late when they finished.}

            _{“Goodnight, Láréow.”  They chorused it quietly and wearily.}

_{“Goodnight.”  Faramir set down the last spear, having piled them under the shelter of the lean-to.  He stepped closer to the giant wagons, noting they were half-full of cloth bags.  The salt, he guessed.  If they are half-full, then…this was half over and he could return to Éowyn soon.  As he moved away in the darkness, even the almost certain knowledge that this expedition would not be his only ride out with the Riders didn’t dampen his jubilation in the least.}

            _{It took him a minute to find Gaer, casting for his only friend here’s mindset; he was seated with Nier by the dying fire.  Most of the other Rohirrim had gone to their bedrolls, making dark lumps in the darker night.  Faramir moved quietly, approaching the fire.  He seated himself on a stump, too, not speaking but instead examining the rips in the knees of his trousers.  His shirt had dried but he’d not put it back on; it stunk of sweat.  The cooler night air felt good on his scraped and bruised upper body.  His shoulders were slightly sunburned and they felt warm.}

            _{“You’re lucky.”  Nier spoke to him, poking the bright coals with a stick.}

            _{He was glad one of them was talking.  One’s pants were only so interesting for so long.  “How so?”}

            _{“You got to play.”   Faramir grinned at the peevish tone.  He had actively enjoyed playing the Rohirrim’s game, even to his own surprise.  Such physical activities had hardly been his favorite before.}

            _{They sat in silence for a while until suddenly Nier stood.  He yawned widely and moved off, leaving only Faramir and Gaer by the fire.} 

            _{Faramir shifted uncomfortably, beginning, “I’m sorry if you took offense…”}

            _{Gaer looked at him but was silent.  Evidently, he would not help.}

            _{“I’m not…I’m not a soldier.  I…” He laughed uneasily under his breath, “I am royal.  I…I’ve read all my people’s tales, heard most, but read them foremost and that’s the best way I know.  I don’t know what it is like to be or how to be a soldier like you,” Faramir leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, staring into the coals.  “I don’t know how to be irresponsible.  I’m a Captain of Rangers, a Steward of the City, a Lord of a land that will take years to rebuild.”  He laughed again, “I’ve not even started on that.”}

_{Gaer just kept looking at him.}

_{“I’m not a soldier, not really and I’ve never been.  Not one of the men, always above, always the Prince, the Captain, the Steward’s son.”  He hesitated, “I help with the King's accounts and books.  I calculate the revenue from taxes and keep track of the money he spends.  In his absence, I’m the head of the King's Court, responsible for the entirety—setting up taxes and laws, overseeing the day to day business of the City, and making decisions over punishments and other issues the people might see fit to bring before me.”  Faramir sighed, “My brother was supposed to do this, not me, I wasn’t trained as deeply for it.”  He rubbed the side of his face, feeling a small knot on his jaw where a man’s bat had struck him by accident.  Suddenly, he blurted, “I don’t know what Éomer wants.  I know what I want but I don’t know what they want.”}

_{Gaer appeared slightly questioning but was still silent.}

_{“I…I’m courting them both.”  He swallowed, feeling almost ill with the frustration that boiled in his gut.  “I am, truly.  And I can’t court them both, I can’t teach her it is all right when I…and yet not do it at all because he hates it.  I can’t…so which do I choose?  Who’s feelings do I favor?  I’ve gotten myself into this, how do I get out?”}

_{Faramir sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment and then he opened them.  Gaer didn’t deserve his whimpering.  He strengthened his voice.  “I’m sorry if I spoke too rashly and you took offence that was not my intention…”}

_{The Rohir spoke suddenly, cutting off his apology with an impatient gesture.  “Who’s more important right now?”}

_“What?”

_{“Who is more important right now?”  Gaer looked at him, the anger dissipated and replaced with something suspiciously like pity.  “You cannot court both, and if that is true, then you are stuck…so which will you flatter, my Lord or my Lady?”}

_{Faramir watched the coals flare as a gust of wind passed by.  It moved his hair over his unclothed back and shoulders and chilled his bared skin a little.  The breezes felt pleasant on his sunburn and like frost everywhere else.  He hunched further forward and mumbled while putting his hands out to the orange coals.  “I don’t know.”}

_{They sat watching the fire flare and die a little more with each puff of wind.  It wasn’t large and would go out soon, made only for the spears and to heat some of the salt pork they’d brought back.  Finally, Gaer spoke,}

_{“What did you do in the City?”}

_{The past tense was not lost upon Faramir.  He said slowly, thinking, “I was Faramir the Poet, the Lesser Prince, the Unfavored One…”}

_{“I didn’t ask what they called you.”  Gaer was suddenly sharp; vehement impatience fairly sparked from his mind, burning stronger than the little blaze before them.} 

_{“No.”  Faramir frowned at this transition, and then answered, “I led men, I followed orders.  I was Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien.  I fought the enemy the best I could with wits, blade and dart.”}

_{Gaer tossed Nier’s stick into the fire.  The dry wood flared a little, flames running up it.  “Well, you’re not doing any of that now.”}

_{He smiled wryly, “No, I suppose—”}

_{“Suppose?  Bah!”  The Rohir faced him, intent and scornful, “Ge eart min brôðor in here-geatu.”  He made a gesture of disgust, “Ná se Faramir, se gelîffæste ætlêoþ-song æt Mundburg.”}

_{It took him a moment to translate and even then he didn’t get it all.  “But…”}

_{Gaer dismissed him, voice curt.  “If you are not, then go.  You are no use and you wail like a woman.  I would not be a comrade with such a weak one as you, nor think my Lord at fault in not granting my Lady to such as you.”  He frowned, “Act like a man acts, act like you did when we played the game.  Teach, do your duty, do not cry to me about your City and titles and charges that mean nothing here.  I am not your wet nurse.  I don’t care, Larcwide.”} 

_{Faramir smiled a little, actually amused by the speech. It felt oddly cleansing, easing his frustration.  “What does Larcwide mean?”}

_{“One who teaches, councils.”}

_{He glanced over, “I thought it was supposed to terrify.”}

_{“That depends on what you’re teaching, doesn’t it?”  The Rohir paused, “I didn’t say that was your final name, just a choice.  Something to try.”  Gaer rose, then and said quietly, “Goodnight.”}

_{“Goodnight.”  He took a deep breath, feeling like he was about to plunge into a great and unknown depth.  I like teaching, I like the hunting and I liked playing the game…not everything is bad.  This is not a trial, as I thought it would be.  He’d not relaxed his guard and accepted it, as he should.}

_{Suddenly Gaer halted and turned back.  His face was in the shadow; “You already have the Lady, don’t you?”}

_“Yes.”

_{“Then flatter my Lord.”  The Rohir sounded exasperated, “You make things too hard, you know that?”  With that parting remark he turned and left for good.}

_{Faramir looked into the fire and laughed softly.  Rising, he banked the coals and went to his bedroll.  He shook it out; paying no mind to the smell of manure—with so many horses it was barely noticeable anymore.  However, as he lifted the blankets, there were multiple thuds of something hitting the ground and he froze, eyeing it and sniffing.  I don’t believe this idiocy…}

_{Faramir’s bedroll was full of fresh dung—it had been unrolled, generously packed, then rolled back and tied.  He stood very still, feeling red rage storm in his chest at this new and preposterous abuse being foisted upon him.  Who?  Who dared?}

_{The Rohirrim were lumps in the darkness as the fire waned and the stars sparkled.  None moved, some snoring softly while others were quite loud.  The sounds seemed genuine, following a sleeper’s rhythm.  He stared at his bedroll in disgust, but did not make any noise, determined not to give his foe any satisfaction.  Instead, Faramir grabbed up his warm cloak and unbuckled his saddlebags from his saddle, using them to pillow his head as he wrapped himself in the green wool cloak.  If they thought a mere ruined bedroll would hinder him from a night’s sleep, these Rohirrim had no idea of Ranger training.  At most, it was an infuriating nuisance.} 

_{When he awoke early the next morning, it was though his muscles were all against him—they ached as he rose, especially his neck.  Rubbing it, Faramir grimaced.  His bruises felt sore and his scrapes burned under the friction of his clothes.  He also felt oddly cheered despite the minor pains and his filthy bedroll.  Gaer was right, he had to focus upon Éomer now, gain his goodwill and speedily end this test.} 

_{And how would I do that?  What did he know other than the man had a quick temper and was overprotective of his sister?  —For good reason, if held a bit past need.  He can’t resist a challenge, has to rise to meet it.  Could he get his attention that way?  Éomer seemed to avoid him, even try to ignore him if possible.  Faramir doubted it would be much different when the man came.  If he challenged him and then retreated, would Éomer follow?  There would be a fine line between a challenge and insubordination that might inspire Éomer to order punishment upon him.  On the other hand, would he just call me a witch again and scorn and expose me in front of my only friend here and my students?}

             _{He pondered this disturbing riddle as he fetched his dirty shirt and threw it over his shoulder, gathering his bedroll and shaking it out as best he could.  It still smelled; the stuff was caked almost as though it had been stomped into the wool a few times.  Carrying it gingerly, Faramir went to the stream; he was the only man awake that he could tell.  It was very early, anyhow, the sun barely up.  Striding through the dewy grass, his boots unlaced, trouser cuffs dampening, belt hanging loose, just knotted around his waist, he still felt well.  He had a goal, a definite battle to attend and an apparent enemy.  Faramir frowned, not Éomer alone will make this hard, but some fool man…undoubtedly that contemptible bastard that I fought in Edoras…decides to make this harder.  He splashed water on his face, shivering, and then drank some from his clean, cupped hands.  It was cold and good.} 

            _{He needed deeper water than this to properly submerge his bedroll, though.  Unfortunately, the stream was shallow and made shallower and more crowded by large and slippery looking rocks.  Faramir gazed downstream but it was only more of the same, so he began walking upstream.  He could only hope the childish idiot who’d fouled his bedroll was drinking downstream while he washed it, unlikely as that might be.  The banks narrowed and turned to rock and shale and he began to despair of finding deep water until he walked up a tiny hill and around a thick stand of trees.  There was a round pool there, surrounded by rocks stippled with moss, cradled by dry grass.  His view, up and almost overhead, made it oddly reminiscent of Henneth Annûn.  Absently, Faramir wished Frodo well and hoped Pippin was keeping his word.}

_{Watching his steps on the shale, striding delicately on his sore feet, he came to the edge of the pool.  It was perfect, deep and plenty large.  He stripped completely to make the process simpler and eased himself into the chill water, body jerking with shivers until he adjusted.  The pool was deep enough to cover him to his chest and as he splashed and swirled his shirt, leaving his bedroll soaking nearer to the bank, Faramir felt tiny little nibbles on his calves and thighs—fish.}

            _{He looked down but he’d clouded the water with the movements of his feet.  Holding himself perfectly still, he waited for a moment and was able to see to the bottom.  Usual rocks coated with silt and green slime, tiny crawfish, dead, decomposing leaves and, yes, at last he saw fish.  Not only were there fish, but fish large enough and many enough to warrant catching for breakfast.  They flicked around him, scales light and sometimes shining as they coming close to nibble at his pale, wavery ankles.  It tickled and he shifted, making them scatter.  Bemused, he waited motionless.  The fish, stupid things, came back almost instantly.} 

_{Lifting his eyes up and running them along the banks, he looked for suitable brush for improvising a net, but instead he spotted a cluster of juniper trees.  Oh, good—twigs cut from those trees made the best and strongest hooks and the inner bark, stripped and knotted for strength, would make good enough line to handle the size fish he’d seen.  His eyes wandered the banks again, looking to see if there were any other plants kind enough to favor him with good fortune and there were.  I don’t believe it…}

_{Splashing out of the pool, Faramir stood naked and dripping on the banks, staring down at the little cluster of plants.  It was soapwort, which was so utterly perfect he really almost couldn’t believe it.  Soapwort, he remembered from his days as a youth training in Ithilien, was only a substitute for true soap, but handy enough in need.  When the roots were pounded upon something—such as the many rocks by the stream—and mixed with water, they made a soapy foam that would clean his shirt and filthy bedroll quite nicely.  Faramir began to smile.  If nothing else, Rohan’s abundance endeared it to him, seeming to constantly provide just what he sought.  Shivering and dripping, he began to dig the roots out and uncovered a chunk of wood that held a handful of fat grubs—his bait, right there under his feet.  Faramir laughed under his breath and put the white, squirming creatures to the side.  It is a fairyland I’m living in here…}

            _{He’d begun to strip the bark from some of the juniper trees when it occurred to him to fetch his students.  Wiggling back into his trousers for modesty’s sake, he trotted back to camp and did so, waking and shepherding the sleepy-eyed Rohirrim boys back upstream.  There, Faramir demonstrated with his knife, shaving and trimming the twigs into two or three sharp points and then knotting the slick inner bark in regular lengths and shoving the squirming grubs onto the simple hooks.  The lads watched him blearily, and then made their own.  Minutes later they waded into the pool, yawning and casting their crude lines.} 

            _{“Hwa is word?”  Using his best accent, Faramir pointed at the first fish, caught by Leodthain, asking for the word.  He was sure he’d been taught it, but he’d long forgotten.  I’ve forgotten too many things…}

            _{Wurth yawned hugely and then mumbled, “Fisc, Láréow.”  They’d rolled their trousers up and were knee-deep in the pool.  The pile of fish caught, struck on rocks to kill them and prevent their getting away, and then piled upon the bank grew steadily.  Deciding his students needed no help, Faramir went ahead and began to prepare to wash his bedroll and shirt.}

            _{It was when he was pounding the washed soapwort roots that he noticed they were watching him.  Not only that, but there was a light in the five lads’ eyes, a questioning and amazed sheen as the roots yielded the soapy foam that startled him.  They looked at him like…well, like he supposed he’d looked at Mithrandir, so long ago.  Like I know everything, Faramir thought in wonder.  When had he ever been looked at like that?  He couldn’t remember.} 

            _{Wurth, the boldest, asked him hesitantly, “What is that?”}

            _{“Soapwort.”  He did not look up, just struck the rock again and again against the other rock, the roots in between squishing and foaming.} 

            _{“How…?”  There was such an immense depth of questioning beneath the word it startled him again.} 

_{“Why does it do that?  Make like soap?”  Scef, his translator, asked it this time, standing on the bank, a flopping fish in his hand.  He whacked it against one of the rocks, the creature making a loud, fleshy noise.  Faramir blinked, actually feeling a shock run through his body—Gollum, the fish had made the same noise, audible even over the falls.  He had to take a breath before he could answer the memory was so vivid.}

_{In his silence, Wurth asked again, looking from the pool, “How did you know it would do that?”}

_{“I was taught.”  So, as he rubbed his shirt into the mashed roots, using the rough surface of the rock to scrub, Faramir began to tell them.  “When I was a lad the older Rangers taught us that in Ithilien we are cut off and supplies are scarce and uncertain.  We must learn to use the land, to survive by our wits.  We carry as little as possible, to make it harder for us to be tracked by the enemy, so we must learn to hunt and forage with naught but a knife.”} 

_{“You carry no other weapons?”}

_{“Yes, we do but bows are fragile, swords are cumbersome and spears are almost useless when one is crouched in a tree or heavy brush all day.”}

_{“How do you hunt with only a knife?”}

_{Faramir was finished with his shirt; he rolled up his trouser legs and stepped into the cold water well away from the lads.  The rocks were slick beneath his feet.  Swishing the shirt back and forth through the water, he thought for a moment.  Raising his eyes to the branches of the stand of trees, he noted many birds—small birds, the social and bold kind, occupied them.  Survival at all costs…  He smiled, “I’ll show you.”}

_***

            _{Éomer swung into his saddle, feeling rather useless.  His new wardrobe was being made, Elfhelm had departed intent upon gathering an éored, and his sister was taking care of all the pre-harvest duties.  And what am I doing?  Checking up on Faramir…useless.}

            _{Looking down at Éowyn’s face, he decided perhaps it was not as useless a task as he thought.  She appeared serious, arms crossed, hands cupping her elbows.  He smiled, “I’ll see you soon, I’ll be back before you miss me.”}

            _{She nodded quickly.  “All right.”}

            _{He wanted to tell her not to worry, that if Faramir had been injured he would have already been informed.  Éomer wanted to promise his strongest efforts at acceptance and friendship to the Steward, he wanted to tell her he was ready for her to leave, that it would not hurt his heart.} 

_{All he did was nod again and ride out, trailed by four men, his guards and the least he had been able to persuade to go.} 

_{Let us see what Faramir is doing…}

_{Translations:}

_{RINNATH AND HIDATH, MAEGDEN-CILDAN!  IC WILLE ÁBROCEN GE! --Run and hide, little girls!  I will break you to pieces!}

_{IC WILLE GEWINNATH SE WEALA—I will conquer the foreigner!}

_{(Q) Á LASTA LALIENYA*! —Listen to my laughter! *There SO should be the Quenya equivalent of “Be-yotch!” on the end of this.  Unfortunately the good Professor did not make one.  Sad, really.}

_{Cenuvanyel rato—I will see you soon}

_{God, ge art god.  Dæg æfterra?—Good, you are good.  Tomorrow?}

_{Ná, ná, tó ǽr.  Ge eart cáf.—No, no, too soon.  You are strong.}

_{Ge eart min brôðor in here-geatu—You are my brother in arms}

_{Ná se Faramir, se gelîffæste ætlêoþ-song æt Mundburg—Not this Faramir, the maker of poetry in Mundburg}

_{Tondhere—(army) (tough)—probably means something like tough enough to be a soldier, enduring}

_{Larcwide—(councils, teaches)…dunno if it’s my final choice.}