Chapter Three - Together

There was the normal chaos at the breakfast table, as all the family argued, ate and laughed together. Eowyn fussed over her children, as did Maura and the new young maid, Hiril. There was much commotion as Melethron, the youngest of the brood at a little over a year, tipped his porridge over. It fell not only on the table but also over the leg of his sister, Eirien, the next youngest, who immediately burst out in tears. It took a good ten minutes before everything calmed down enough for the meal to continue.

Finally it was over, and Eowyn ushered all the younger children out into the nursery where their tutor waited. Elboron and Cirion, who were both on summer vacation from the Academy, where they were both now pupils, wandered out into the garden, muttering something about cooling off down by the stream. Eowyn gently gave Melethron to Hiri, and the maid rushed out to clean him up. Only then did she turn to regard her husband, who had been sitting silently at the head of the table, seemingly oblivious to the anarchy around him.

“Honestly, it’s like trying to feed an army, although without the discipline!” She reached across for a slice of cold toast. “Did you come to bed at all last night?” she asked.

Faramir sniffed and his glazed eyes suddenly found focus on her. “What?” he said. Then he shook his head slowly as he realized what she had asked him.

“You get too carried away in those books,” she admonished gently. “You need to sleep as well.”

He sighed and his hand went up to his head. It was then she noticed the cuts on his knuckles.

“Faramir, what’s wrong with your hand?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

He looked at it and blinked, as if seeing it for the first time. He flexed his fingers and stared, as if mesmerized.

Eowyn knew exactly what the bruising signified. She put down her toast. “Whom did you hit?” she asked.

“Wormtongue,” Faramir said softly.

Eowyn puffed in confusion. “What... Wormtongue, but how?”

Faramir shrugged as it was a regular occurrence and nothing was amiss. “He came to see me last night. He was rather.... eh... unreasonable, so I hit him.”

Eowyn’s mouth was wide open and her eyes gleamed with shock. “You hit him!” she repeated and then her face broke in to a satisfied smile. “Well good for you! He deserved that,” she beamed.

Faramir stood up. “As you know, it is not the way I normally conduct business, but I have to admit,” and his face broke into a corresponding smile, “I enjoyed it!”

He moved around the table to his wife. They had been together for so long that the gestures of affection that they had regularly shown each other at the start of the relationship were now rare, but he felt the need to touch her warmth. Something he did not understand pushed him to her. Sensing his need, she stood up, and they embraced. He pressed his face into her neck and nuzzled her softly.

“Will he come back?” Eowyn asked, for though she wanted to respond to her husband, her constantly practical mind sought security.

“No,” he whispered into her ear. “He won’t ...ever.” In between his words, he kissed her softly as deep down he felt his passion began to stir.

“Come to bed,” he purred.

She giggled as his soft whiskers tickled her neck.

“Faramir!” her voice was playfully shocked. “It’s the middle of the morning. I have things to do.”

He continued to nestle into her neck as his hands enveloped her in a longing embrace.

“Come and ‘do’ things with me,” he enticed. Playfully she pushed him away. “What has got into you?” she said. “Abusing visitors and now this!”

He would not be denied. Instead he bent and took her into his arms once more. She began to beat at him lightheartedly, her small, balled fists falling painlessly on his chest.

“Stop, woman!” he teased. “You should know your place. And today your place is in bed with me!”

So saying, he lifted her off her feet and carried her. She was giggling but not giving in without a fight, and it took him some time to negotiate his way to the bedroom. By then the whole household had been alerted to what was occurring. Anborn had just arrived to discuss an issue with Faramir, but with a smirk he turned away.

“I will return later, much later,” he said to Maura, who rolled her eyes knowingly.

“Oh, Captain,” she said. “I will not hear of any book being run with regard to the gender of the next one, you know.”

Anborn’s smile widened. “The next one!” he said, shaking his head. “Who’d have thought that lanky, little Ranger who turned up at Henneth Annûn all those years ago had it in him!” His eyes twinkled as he teased, “I’ll pop round and see Beregond later to find out which his money is on!”

“Don’t you dare!” Maura said rising to the bait, but the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers had already slipped away, as was his talent. Maura cursed where he had been and then turned back to the meal she was preparing. “Better make it special,” she muttered. “My guess is that they will have worked up quite an appetite.”

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The morning sun sparkled in through the window as the heat of the day grew. Outside the birds were singing merrily, and their voices were joined by those of the children, playing happily outside on the grass.

Eowyn could not stop the contented smile running across her lips. Beside her, his head resting on her chest, and his arm still cuddling her protectively, Faramir snored softly. She looked down at his familiar face, appearing so young and carefree when lost in the release of sleep, and gently stroked his tangled hair.

She wished for this moment to last forever. Although she had joked about her husband’s treatment of Wormtongue the night before, the very mention of the name, not to mention the thought of that toad being in her house, so close to the children, had struck fear into her heart. The fear that it was all about to start again, for though it had been seven years ago, she knew that Faramir had still not recovered from his last skirmish with Saruman. His behaviour, although nowhere near as desperate as it had been at the time, was still bizarre enough to give her serious concerns. Long had she debated whether she should raise it with him, but in truth she feared the consequences of such a discussion, and so, uncharacteristically, she had held her tongue.

Her anxiety had been re-focused and augmented since the royal visit. She had known that Aragorn had asked her husband to reconsider his position once more. Faramir had not disclosed the details of what had passed between the men that evening, but she could tell from both their reactions that harsh words had been spoken. On their return the King had appeared flushed, and Eowyn noted that his hands had shook with what she could only conceive as being anger. Faramir had been subdued and troubled. This morning’s antics had been the first time he had really seemed at ease since.

Now, this further revelation that Grima Wormtongue had been there concerned her greatly. She was not aware that her husband had met with him since those awful events of seven years ago. Thinking on it now, she realized she had missed it at the time, but there had been something sinister in the tone of Faramir’s voice when he had asserted that Wormtongue would never bother them again.

An ice-cold fear gripped at her heart. She needed to be assured and began shaking Faramir beside her. He groaned and tried to turn away.

“Faramir,” she hissed. “Wake up.”

He opened one weary eye and stared at her through the unruly hair that fell across his face. “Not again,” he breathed. “Give a man time. I’m not as young as I used to be!”

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Oh,” he groaned again and slowly pulled himself to a sitting position. “I might be able to manage that.”

“What did you mean about Wormtongue not bothering us anymore. You haven’t killed him, have you?”

“No,” he said.

Eowyn let out a sigh of relief but gulped it back in again as he continued. “Not yet, but I will.”

She stared at him and saw the bright glimmer of conviction in his eye. It scared her. She would have expected such a reaction from her brother Eomer- King, who in fact had been furious that Aragorn had agreed to release Wormtongue last time, but not from her husband. Personally she had long hoped that Wormtongue would meet a grisly end, and even hoped she may be able to have some part in it, but somehow she had never thought that her husband would be the one to strike the final blow.

“Faramir,” she said, trying to find a way to frame her concerns, which would not offend him. “The threat of violence, murder even, is not what I would expect from you.”

He sighed deeply. “When a man is pushed to the limit, when a man knows he has wasted time, been taken for a fool, who knows what to expect from him?”

They were silent for a long time. Finally she asked, “You will be careful won’t you? And anyway, why now?”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Because...” he replied but let the sentence fade to nothing.

“Because what?” she pressed. “This is important, Faramir. I need to understand.”

He nodded. “The King is desperate. He told me that his rule is failing. Not because of important things like wars and diplomacy, but because of the little things. The things that he says I could attend to, I should attend to.”

Eowyn’s face darkened. “He cannot blame that on you. There are others surely.”

Eowyn had remained steadfastly loyal to Faramir’s decision to resign his Stewardship. Although she hated the circumstances that had forced him to take such action, secretly she was pragmatic enough to realize that it had given him the chance to devote so much more time to her and their family. Time that would have been shared between them and the Minas Tirith court had become exclusively theirs. She knew that the children had benefited greatly from their father’s unwavering attention.

“Apparently not,” Faramir responded.

“But his rule failing? It cannot be.”

Faramir gulped. “I don’t think he lied. His desperation was genuine and quite frightening.”

Eowyn closed her eyes as all the thoughts rushed about her head. Finally she came to a decision. “You must go back, Faramir,” she stated her conclusion, not willing to disclose the thought process that had got her to it.

“I know,” he shook his head sadly. “No matter what I do, it appears the fall of Gondor will always be my fault. I cannot withdraw from society without my supposed unique talents suddenly becoming crucial to its very existence, and if I do return I may kill the King!” His eyes were bleak as he finished, “Which is the lesser of the evils?”

“You do not know that the spell has not been lifted,” Eowyn stated, speaking from hope, but realising as she said it that all the facts pointed to the same conclusion; they both really knew it had not.

Faramir steepled his hands and chewed his thumbs. “No, I do not, and I have wasted so much time and effort getting absolutely nowhere in trying to determine the answer. My head does not know, but my heart tells me the stain has not left me and will not without action.”

“Why was Wormtongue here?” Eowyn asked. Something was still gnawing at her conscience.

Faramir snorted. “He is aware of my predicament. He offered me information to aid me.”

“What information?”

Faramir threw back the bed covers and eased his feet on to the floor. Standing up, he padded towards the bathroom. “I do not know,” he replied as he disappeared. “I was not prepared to pay the price he asked of me to find out.”

Eowyn cursed loudly, reverting to her native Rohiric to best express her feelings. She was still describing in graphic detail what she would like to do to Wormtongue, when Faramir came back into the bedroom after his wash.

He dripped on the floor, as he stood, a towel around his middle his only garment and regarded her, a smile playing across his lips.

“Do you mind, Lady?” he teased. “My children may be within earshot and I do not wish them to be exposed to such barrack room language!”

Eowyn stopped and pouted as the colour rose in her cheeks. “You are taking this very calmly,” she retorted hotly.

“You forget, Eowyn,” he responded. “I exorcised some of my demons last night when my fist connected with his jaw.” He shook his head. “And it felt good,” he muttered.

He sat down on the bed and handed her another towel. She began to dry his back.

“So what are we to do?” she asked.

He let out a long, deep sigh but refused to meet his wife’s eye. “I have to come to a decision,” he reasoned. “But which way do I go?”