Meanwhile, farther down the table Faramir was making similar requests of aid toward his uncle.  Imrahil shook his head in disbelief as he recounted the day’s events.

            “And you would seek to shirk such a task?” Imrahil said finally, keeping himself remarkably composed.

            “Nay, only to delay its execution.  I gave her my word, and I do not boast in vain.”

            “At any rate,” said Imrahil, “I am afraid I cannot help you in this matter.  If you did not wish for any such difficulties you never should have wooed such a free Northern spirit.  You would do better to ask her brother for help.”  Their eyes wandered to the foot of the table, where the King of Rohan was seated next to his sister.  They both laughed at something, and Faramir desperately hoped that it was not concerning him, nor the events that seemed doomed to occur tomorrow.

            “No,” said Faramir.  “I will not humiliate myself further by asking Éomer King to persuade his sister to suspend my undertaking.  Knowing him, he will judge me weak, and he does not hold authority over her the way men of Gondor might over their sisters.”

            “Do not despair, Faramir.  Tomorrow’s ordeals will be naught compared to what we have all faced and survived.”

            Faramir nodded, but added, “If you believe it to be so light, then, I would suggest that you find a dress that becomes you and wear it tomorrow.  If we could persuade you and Éomer—ah, what a regal bunch we would all be!”

            The Prince of Dol Amroth laughed at this.  “I am afraid I shall have to decline your offer.  Even if I were honor-bound I doubt that we could achieve Rohan’s participation—your schemes would be ruined either way.  However, I will pity you tomorrow, with all my heart.”

            “Uncle—”

            But Imrahil was suddenly very intrigued by the conversation across the table.