“Are you quite certain,” said Éowyn, “that Faramir does not wish you to escort anyone to the feast tonight?”

“He planted information in Meriadoc’s mind, knowing that the holbytla would disclose all to me.  What else am I to believe?”

“That he would assume that you would come to the conclusion that you have come to.”

“In which case…  Ai, I am not used to dealing with the subtleties of Gondor!”

“Say rather of Mundburg, Brother.  But know this—as soon as you make yourself open to the court, you will receive no peace.”

“No peace from Gondor, you mean.  And we are to leave this land soon enough for that to matter little.”

“And yet are not Gondor and the Riddermark bound even closer than before?”

Éomer looked at his sister; the color in her cheek and the way her dress flattered her.  She was right, of course.

“There are two ways that you might go about this,” said Éowyn, slowly, deliberately.  “Either you thwart Faramir’s plan by escorting no one, or you willingly walk into his snare but bend it to your own ends.”

“If indeed his plan is to twist me into getting an escort.”

“If it is.  There would be no dishonor in the first path, for Faramir has chosen to play this game by a different set of rules, one of guile rather than of strength of arms.”

“And yet if it is the path Faramir wishes me to take, I shall be prey to whatever thing he has planned for me next.  One thing he cannot be expecting: that I would select an escort according to my own wishes, with the intent to foil him.  If I could find someone suiting, I could even tell her of his plans.  Surely two would stand a better chance of outwitting him than one.”

“Whom would you choose, then, my brother?”

Éomer sighed.  “I do not know the ladies of the court; indeed, I tried my best not to know them for fear of their honeyed fangs.  And there are few I trust for such a weighty matter.  Éowyn, you must know more of them than I, and you know my manner well enough to choose someone who would be apt to listen to me.”

“I would attend you myself had love not got in the way.”

Éomer chuckled ruefully.  “Find me a lady suitable, Éowyn, if ever you prized my love for you.  I fear this is a foe beyond my reckoning.”

“I will try,” said Éowyn.  “I fear I have been avoiding the court myself; the women of Gondor have little patience with the untamed Eorlingas.  And yet I can think of a few who might fit this purpose.  I will speak with them, and let them know of your predicament.”

“Thank you,” said Éomer.

As soon as he left Éowyn could not but let out a grim smile.  The young stallion had edged forward, close enough to lick the salt rock in her left hand.  He could not see, behind her back, the halter clenched firmly in the right.