AUTHOR'S NOTE

"Avoidance" began its life as movie verse with much respect paid to book canon. As it nears its conclusion, the story has grown into a personal merge of both book and film. The chapter has not had a Beta review so my apologies for any typos and mispellings.

This chapter partially gives reason for Eowyn and Faramir's behavior in the previous episode, for those who have been wondering about my decision to portray their romance in a particular, possibly AU fashion. However, you will have to wait for the final chapter of "Avoidance" to learn why Eowyn acted on her desire for Faramir. The good news is, what will probably be the final chapter is already 70 percent complete.

"Betrothed" includes romantic encounters and sexual discussions but no sex scenes or explicit discussion of any type. I've tried to keep it PG-13 to the best of my ability.

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CHAPTER 22: BETROTHED

Eowyn was knee deep in presents. A crowd of ooing and awing females surrounded her when the heralds' horns blared. The criers sang:

"Our great king Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, Lord of the United Kingdoms of the West, and Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of our beloved land."

The crowd surrounding Eowyn split, making way for the top men in Gondor. Faramir and Aragorn led an entourage of notable males who had become Eowyn's friends: Uncle Imrahil, Hurin, the Keeper of the Keys, Legolas Greenleaf, in the process of building an elven enclave in Ithilien, Eowyn's dear friend Gimli, Faramir's assistant Beregond, and Warden Narmar, her mentor.

Eowyn's eyes first lit on her husband, splendid in his Steward's robes, prince's circlet slightly askew. Beside him, Aragorn beamed beneath a light silver crown. His dress and demeanor emphasized Aragorn's royalty, in a way that hadn't been as obvious earlier today, when she and Faramir first came to this facility. Nevertheless, Eowyn still got a sense of the independent Ranger beneath all the regal trappings. Aragorn was as handsome and charismatic as that first day in Edoras more than two years ago.

To her surprise, as Faramir came to her side, grabbed her hand, and kissed it, Eowyn finally clarified her feelings about the man who was her husband and he was their king.

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The mid-day sun bathed the bedroom with an amber glow. Distant bells from the Citadel proclaimed the noon hour. Eowyn's skin glowed, too. She lay on top of the well-padded quilt, near to the edge of the immense, family-size bed. Bird song floated in from the open window. Eowyn's heart longed to soar with the bird's song. She could not recall a time in her life when she felt such joy.

She stretched her legs, pointing and then flexing her toes. Her left ankle rested on the cotton hem of her discarded chemise. Beside her, Faramir was still. His breath came evenly; his pale eyelashes did not flutter. I guess what so many women have told me is true, she thought. Men get so spent after love making that they must fall asleep. By contrast, Eowyn was alive and fairly quivering with boundless energy and curiosity, delighted and not in the least exhausted by their recent activities. She was afraid to cause too much of a stir, lest she trouble Faramir. Indeed, she had much to learn of him.

What might he think of her now? Would he rue the formal and traditional pledges they had made? Would the more circumspect attitudes of the Gondorians deem her the most wayward virgin in all Minas Tirith? Most importantly, would Faramir remember their discussions about the legal significance of sex between unmarried people in the Mark? When she had spoken to him of these matters, he seemed to find them shockingly liberal. When they spoke of these matters, Eowyn hadn't imagined herself in her current circumstances.

Eowyn did not regret her decision for a minute. She lifted herself to a sitting position and studied the man she had chosen to wed. My oh my, here was a fiance with a face so fair it made her dizzy. He slept on his back, limbs at angles to his body, naked and oblivious as any battlefield casualty newly come to the Houses of Healing. The blissful difference was that Faramir had come to this bed as her lover, not her patient.

His body was lean, with powerful shoulders and wiry frame, at 36 the epitome of a fearsome warrior in his prime. Like the injured Eowyn had treated in the men's ward, Faramir's proud body bore a sad and telltale network of wounds and scars. Unlike her patients, this man had promised to lie beside her for the remainder of their days. Now, at the beginning of their life together, her avid novice healer's eye took stock of him. She'd best make a mental inventory of his scars before new ones mounted up.

She started at the top, with Faramir's head. No evidence of wounds there, though it would be easier to determine this if she could part the wavy, red gold hair and inspect his scalp. However, that would surely wake him up and end her study.

Next, the face. Sometimes she forgot how handsome Faramir was. He certainly was not vain of his appearance. As Prince Imrahil had impressed upon her, Faramir typically went about oblivious of the impact the very sight of him had on people, especially women. Yet when Eowyn studied his face at close hand, she noted its slight imperfections. A faint line parted his pale right eyebrow. His prominent nose was slightly bent near the bridge, rendering his good looks less formidable. She leaned over him, trying to be quiet so as not to wake him. Not even the faintest sign of a scar ran across the top of his nose. Maybe this break was but a childhood accident, a fall from a horse or a boy's trip on a crack in uneven city cobblestones?

Then there was a scar on his chin, partially obscured by the well-tended red beard. And further down, near the base of his neck, was the recent puncture wound from the Southron's poisoned dart, nearly a quarter inch in diameter. It was red and jagged, but healing nicely. Several lengths of bandages wound from beneath his left armpit and across to his right shoulder. His left arm was nearer to her. It bore a vivid scar about three inches long across the muscular biceps. That was from a sword. From what she could tell, an old arrow piercing marred his right forearm. Another arrow puncture was located on his rib cage, just below the bandaging. Why, the poor man is a pin cushion, Eowyn thought. What might his backside look like?

Her eyes lowered and slid right across his ribs. There a long red scar traveled across Faramir's rib cage and descended to his groin. Eowyn gasped. Was this a battle scar or was his appendix removed? She moved her fingers to touch the scar.

Like lightning, Faramir's hand grabbed hers and made her gasp in shock again. "Battle wound," he said, "and my appendix was pierced. So they took it out. That was six or seven years ago."

"Oh," Eowyn murmured as he pulled her down against his body. Faramir regarded her with a fierce grin, barring his teeth like a wary beast. Eowyn was both embarrassed and thrilled to sprawl on top of his body, her eyes aimed directly at his mouth. "I don't understand," she muttered, at a loss for the proper words for the occasion.

"You forgot these!" Faramir spoke through his grimace and then unclenched his teeth. "You've been assessing me like a prize horse you just bought at a market. So I thought you should evaluate my teeth as well. As you can see I am lucky that as yet none are broken in battle or decayed by time. The waters of Mount Mindolluin contain strange chemicals that make the teeth of those who drink it strong and free of disease. On the other hand, I have broken one ankle, several toes, my nose as a child, dislocated my left shoulder a number of times, and amassed more bruises, arrow piercings, and torn muscles than I can remember. And yet, even after my last wounds almost killed me, I could still make love to you. So indeed, I am healing nicely."

Eowyn lifted her good arm and rested it on Faramir's head, "Good job! I must guard my thoughts more completely when I lie close to you. You have guessed them well enough." She did not speak of the problems some soldiers were already reporting: inability to make love to their wives due to injury of their hearts or minds, not their bodies.

"I feel wonderful," he smiled, looking relaxed and pleased and almost silly. "But how do you feel, lady?"

"I, well, I had some surprises," Eowyn gulped. "I think I lost my virginity to a horse."

"What!!" Faramir raised his body, causing Eowyn to squeak as he inadvertently jostled her left arm.

"I must have lost my virginity long ago, while riding horses as a girl. I did not bleed. It is a common occurrence for girls in the Mark. Please do not think I have ever been with another man."

His clear blue eyes were languid and soft. Faramir teased, "I can easily tell that you are woman in need of experience."

"Will you teach me now?"

"I am not in a position resist," he grinned.

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Sometime later Faramir rose from the bed. He closed the bed curtains so that Eowyn might sleep, but she was as yet unable. She heard soft murmurs in the bedroom and then silence. Moments later Faramir opened the curtains. He wore a thick grey robe that Eowyn suspected originally belonged to a taller man, perhaps Lord Denethor himself. In his hands was a tray heaped with bread and jam--this morning's breakfast.

"It's late afternoon," Faramir announced before she could ask the time. "I've sent a messenger off to Aunt Haleth to tell her we'll drop by on another day, if that is alright with you."

Eowyn nodded and reached for the bread.

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The bedroom was dark and silent. Eowyn curled into the crook of Faramir's arm, alternately napping and wide awake. She stirred when she heard a gentle knock at the door, followed by a soft male voice, "My lord, we have brought dinner."

At last Eowyn crept out of the bed. Her legs quaked beneath her as she finally put weight on them. Faramir gave her a soft robe that once belonged to his mother. She joined him beside a small table where one of the guardsmen set a substantial meal purchased from one of the nearby inns.

"It's time for me to hire a cook or at least devote some time to preparing food," Faramir suggested as they tucked into roasted beef and sweet root vegetables. "I'm not particularly hungry, and I confess I've lost track of time."

"I'm ravenous," Eowyn confessed.

"Are you expected this evening at your dormitory?" he asked.

Eowyn savored the taste of the well-cooked meat. "I told a few of my friends that I might not return until tomorrow. I don't have to go back this evening, that is, unless you need for me to leave."

"Then stay!"

The evening gave them ample time to learn of each other's wants, desires, and small habits of speech and mind. Late into the night, Eowyn was entirely spent. She was exhausted, down to her bones. Yet somehow the birds easily disrupted her light sleep at the dawn. Faramir rested his head on her shoulder. He must have sensed her waken because he said, "When are you expected at the Houses?"

"I told them mid-day. How long would it take us to return to Minas Tirith from your aunt's house."

"Less than two hours. Eowyn?"

"Yes, 'Mir?"

"What if you become pregnant?"

She twisted her body to lock direct glances with him: "I will not get pregnant. Not now. My cycles have always been reliable and it is far too late. My courses should descend on me but a few days from now, just before the Coronation, as luck would have it." She did not mention the remedy made of mare's sweat, which forestalled pregnancy. She had no need to take it. Yet.

Faramir didn't flinch. In fact, his expression was stubbornly opaque.

"You now have a fiancee," Eowyn continued. "Welcome to living with a woman."

"A wild woman!

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When mid-day came, they boarded the Steward's carriage for a quick trip down to the third circle farmer's market for vegetables and gifts sold by the Lossarnach merchants. Faramir insisted that they give Narmar a flask of ice wine from the foothills of Mindolluin. "Just to keep him from idle speculation," he said.

Eowyn nestled against his shoulder and wondered where she would find the energy to work. She was loath to be separated from Faramir, now firmly intrenched in her mind as her betrothed. "What will our life be like now?" she mused as the carriage returned up the steep streets to the Houses of Healing.

"Happier than they have ever been," Faramir answered, "at least that is my hope. It's also my hope that we marry soon so that we don't have to sneak about to be together." He sighed and rested his hand at the base of her neck. "I fear that our personal wishes and any plans we could make will take second place next to the events of the next week." Then he whispered in her ear, out of the hearing of the driver, "Eowyn, I persist on worrying that Aragorn and especially Eomer might have other plans for us. "

"They can't stop our marriage!" Eowyn hissed. "We've announced our intention to wed in legal Gondorian contracts and in customs well understood in the Mark."

Faramir's arm slid from her shoulders. He said, "I'm sure they will let us marry. One of these days. That's my issue. I'm also concerned that our way of announcing our betrothal might have caused Eomer some insult. You really should go to the Cormallen."

"How can I?" Eowyn stiffened. "I've already promised to help your aunt Idris arrange the accommodations for the guests from the Mark. And then there is Narmar, who expects me to work and study with him right up to the day of the Coronation. He's even asked me to mix the simpler medicines for the injuries and dietary indiscretions that he says always befall celebrating people. At least he accepts that I must attend the celebration as Lady of Rohan, not medical staff."

"And beside Eomer, no doubt, while I stand by Aragorn's side, if he sees fit to place me there," Faramir mumbled as the carriage pulled alongside the curb at the Houses of Healing. "I understand your reasons for staying here, but I perceive there is more to it. But I cannot know for sure. I have never met your brother."

She rose and collected her carpet bag. Callum stepped out to help her from the carriage, but Faramir caught her hand and held her back. He kissed her thoughtfully and then said, "I will come at dinner time for you."

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Eowyn tried to immerse herself in her work. She followed Narmar on his travels through the wards and helped the student nurses fold clean bedding. Little good it did, though. Her body longed for Faramir. Her legs weakened at the thought of his touch and the insistent pressure of his kiss on her lips. Ahhh. How long before dinner? And what would they do for dinner, possibly sneak off to his townhouse again? She would like that.

In mid afternoon, she went to the children's ward with Narmar. Several youngsters had newly arrived with minor sprains and fractures. She had just finished an wrapping an elbow brace for a impudent twelve year old boy when one of the orderlies ran into the ward.

"Lord Faramir is outside and insists that you attend him right away!" the awed orderly announced to Eowyn. The bratty youngster she was treating suddenly remembered his manners and begged to come with her to see the Steward.

"Alright, but you must go back upstairs as soon as you have a look at him," Eowyn was stern. The boy dogged her heels down the stairs through the main entrance, where they both stopped abruptly.

Faramir stood at the edge of the cobblestones, holding the reins of his riding horse Jolly. He was dressed as one about to begin a journey, his deep green ranger cloak covering a simple brown cote hardie and similarly colored leggings. However, two items in his dress announced that he was about to embark on more than a simple trip. First was the sturdy leather armor that protected his mid section. That well worn hauberk was embossed with the white tree of Gondor, the insignia of the Stewards of Gondor. The other item was the long sword and plain baldric drawn across his waist. Eowyn had heard Faramir's war stories and seen the map of scars across his body. Now she finally appreciated that her man of peace was indeed a formidable warrior, one who could stand with the greatest warriors of Rohan. He clearly was a great hero of their age.

The boy beside her sobbed and then grabbed her waist. "There isn't another war, is there?" he looked up at Eowyn with traumatized eyes. "Lord Faramir, please don't go off to war. My dad and my brother didn't come back. There's no one left in my family to send to the army until I am 18."

In response, Faramir approached them and removed the lad's hands from Eowyn's waist. "The war is over, my friend. I'm going to visit the brave soldiers who won the day at the Black Gate. They will be here in five days. You and your mother and all your kin must come celebrate with us in the Citadel."

Evidently a close encounter with the Steward of his land was too much for the youngster, for he dashed back into the Houses without further word.

Oblivious of whomever might be watching, Faramir grabbed Eowyn and kissed her desperately, for this moment might be their last opportunity to kiss for awhile. "You are going away," she stifled a sob after he released her.

"Yes I am, and well stocked for the journey," his arm swept along the street to the amazing entourage behind him. Two magnificent Gondorian wains, elaborately carved and inlaid in pearl and gold plating, lined up behind the restless Jolly. Each wain was drawn by two pairs of the largest horses Eowyn had ever seen. The animals were of honey brown color with silken white manes and tails. Their harnesses were festooned with bells that jingled each time one of the animals raised its head. The significance of the animals and their vehicles was not lost on Eowyn. People of the Mark rode horses; their few carts were small and ox-drawn. They did not trade in remote lands, so did not build huge wagons and breed mountainous horses to pull them. Ornately carved wains and mighty draft horses were symbols of Gondorian strength, fit for a king of any land.

She touched Faramir's cheek and ran her hand along his beard.

"You are priceless," he gulped. "Ten thousand of these could not match your value to me. I hope that these wains and the goods inside them sweeten your brother's attitude toward our marriage."

Eowyn wrapped her good right arm around Faramir's neck. "Do you think it will set a bad precedent for the Steward to visit the soldiers on the Cormallen?" she shuddered.

"No doubt Mithrandir would advise against it," Faramir said. "But I do not go there as a ruler trying to assert his last bit of power. I simply go there as a suitor delivering his beloved's bride price to her next of kin. I am going without fanfare or prior announcement. I will surprise them."

"Them?" Eowyn drew away. "How long will you be gone? The Coronation is but five days from now. I will miss you."

"I will miss you, too," Faramir drew her close and kissed her brow. "We have put this off enough. I can wait no longer. I will return before the Coronation, rest assured. It is my duty to throw open the doors of the Great Gate so that the king may enter."

You are brave, braver than I, Eowyn thought as she watched Faramir urge Jolly down the street, followed by the magnificent entourage. The horses' bells tinkled. The flags of both the Mark and the Stewards fluttered from the magnificent wains. To passers-by they would symbolize joy and promise, the joy of an eager lover asking a family for their beloved daughter's hand. Eowyn's stomach tightened. Faramir brimmed with optimism today, but she suspected that his journey would be one confrontation after another. Confrontation with a new king who might prefer to use his sister as a political pawn in a changed Middle Earth. Then there was the other confrontation ...

She didn't want to think about it. Her heart yearned for Faramir's closeness, his breath on her cheek, his teasing voice in her ear. She sadly returned to the Houses of Healing for a quiet dinner in the cafeteria and a lonely night in her tiny dormitory room. The huge bed she had slept in the previous night would need to be folded in half before it could fit into tonight's utilitarian quarters.

How long would it take Faramir to get to the Fields of Cormallen? How long would he stay?

These thoughts plagued her through the night and the next day, while at Narmar's side she visited the men's wards. Late in the afternoon, Dame Ioreth invited her to dinner. The Coronation gowns were complete and ready to be fitted for final alterations. Eowyn managed to put aside the gnawing undercurrent of anxiety that had made her so miserable throughout the day. The lovely gold fabric that she had chosen weeks ago was now fashioned into a beautiful, form fitting bliaut in the style of Rohan. The magnificent funnel sleeves and neck were trimmed by shimmering beads and subtle tracery. Eowyn had never owned a garment so lovely. She took a little pleasure in imagining how Faramir might enjoy her appearance when he came for her at the Coronation. If he came for her beforehand? Would his journey cause the carefully staged reception Faramir had planned to change and put her at her brother's side.

Another lonely night followed. Faramir had not arrived but her menses certainly had, emphatically confirming that she was not pregnant. Eowyn eschewed breakfast and instead went to the pharmacy, where she sipped teas to relax the cramping female organs. She also prepared the first dose of mare's sweat compound to assure that she could make love without making a baby. How sad to think of how much she wanted children but now must take precautions not to have any until she was by law a wife.

The daily tasks that trained her and enriched her knowledge of healing today seemed such a chore. Eowyn ate lunch with Gertrudis and Thera, who now were full of talk about the Coronation. They, too, had new gowns and spoke eagerly of where their families would stake out a location on the esplanade for the best view of the Coronation ritual.

"Where will you stand on Coronation Day, Eowyn?" Thera pressed her.

"Nothing is set," Eowyn shrugged evasively.

The day dragged on. Her cramps let up a bit but her legs felt tense and sore. This evening she would meet with Idris of Dol Amroth on the plans for the huge reception after the actual Coronation ceremony. If only she felt more enthusiastic. Eowyn trudged down to the Apothecary in late afternoon to create the medicines and teas to be used the following day. She had just managed to lose herself in grinding the compounds with mortar and pestle when a heavy knock came at the door.

"Lady Eowyn, you must come to the Tower immediately!" the Tower Guardsman Nem stood in the doorway, an impassive mask on his face.

Eowyn's tools slipped from her hands. "The Steward has returned?" she asked as she hastily put away the medicines.

"Aye, a few hours ago," Nem said. "He said the matter was of extreme importance, but more than that, I do not know."

And I am supposed to believe that? Eowyn bit her tongue as she reached for her light cloak. Her cramping legs suddenly gave way, but Nem broke her fall. Faithful, taciturn guardsman that he was, Nem assisted Eowyn into the waiting Steward's carriage. On the passenger's bench she tried to compose herself during the short trip up to the seventh circle. What had happened? Was it a good or bad omen that Faramir had returned within the course of two days?

With Nem at her side for support, Eowyn regained her strength and entered the offices of the White Tower of her own accord, Just outside the Steward's chambers, she saw the holbytlan Merry standing at attention, fully attired in the leather and mail coat of a warrior of the Mark. Instantly disregarding whatever duty had been assigned to him, Merry cried, "My Lady!" and raced up to Eowyn, hugging her in delight.

Eowyn dropped to her knees to more closely read his face. Merry's presence gave her great joy, but what might it mean? "Are you here in Minas Tirith to stay from now on?" she asked carefully.

He grabbed her hand. "Eomer king has asked me to help you with the preparations for the arrival of the Rohirrim on Coronation Day. But for now, come with me." He led her into the Steward's chamber.

As she entered, the sight before Eowyn's eyes gave her pause, although it did not completely surprise her.

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"Thank you for planning this surprise," Eowyn whispered in Faramir's ear. "And strangely enough, I have a surprise for you. I now remember when I knew that I loved you."

"Speak clearly now, wife, for though the party is noisy, I am most interested in hearing you."