Mettarë Feast, 3 Fo.A. 

 

“Is there any way we might steal away early,” Éowyn said, her eyes sparkling, “and have our own celebration?” 

“I shared my lady’s wish,” Faramir replied, turning her in time with the music, “and have arranged our discreet escape.” 

“But not too early—” he cautioned. 

“I know,” Éowyn completed his sentence.  “We need to stay for the dance with the king and queen, at least.  And the Steward must light up the New Year candle.” 

“Let us see it done, then,” she added brightly.  “Ah, here comes Aragorn.” 

As the king led Éowyn to the dance, Faramir went to approach the queen.  But he halted, as a face across the hall drew his gaze. 

He wove through dancing couples and food-laden tables, until he neared the entrance of the hall. 

There, by the wine fountain, a lady stood, speaking with a young man. 

“Lady Adanel?” 

She looked up, and curtseyed as she recognised him. 

“My lord Steward,” she greeted him with the same warmth that Faramir remembered from his youth.  Then she turned to the young man and introduced him—her son—to Faramir. 

“I am very glad to see you,” Faramir said.  “You have not been to Minas Tirith for many years.” 

“That Mettarë was the last time I came,” she replied.  They both knew exactly which Mettarë she meant. 

Adanel’s son handed a glass of wine to her and Faramir before slipping away to join his cousins.  He patted Adanel’s hand lightly before he left. 

Now alone, Faramir and Adanel regarded each other.  She seemed to hold many questions, but hesitated to ask. 

“Would you like to hear about Father’s departure?” Faramir asked gently. 

She looked at him gratefully.  “If it is not too painful for you, my lord.  Many tales have been spun of the late Steward’s end.  I refuse to believe any of them.” 

“Father prepared the City well against Mordor’s attack,” Faramir said.  “But he lost Boromir, and saw me dying.  During the siege, he chose to seek his death.” 

 “Through fire?” 

Faramir nodded. 

Adanel’s eyes shimmered with tears.  “He must have felt so alone.  If only—” 

She wiped her tears, and left her words unspoken. 

It was not only my youthful fancy, Faramir thought.  She did love Father. 

They stood in silence until Adanel spoke again. 

“My husband is a widower,” she said quietly.  “The son I introduced is my stepson.”  

She added wistfully: “I told Lord Denethor I did not mind having no children of my own.” 

“And I told Father I did not mind having more brothers,” Faramir replied. 

They shared a rueful smile. 

“He found it difficult to accept mercy or kindness,” Adanel said. 

The absence of judgement in her voice—there was fondness, even—touched Faramir. 

“Would you like to visit his tomb?” 

She looked up, surprised.  “Only the king’s and the steward’s kin may enter the Hallow.” 

“Friends are also welcome,” Faramir countered.  “And loved ones.” 

“I placed a copy of your Downfall of Númenor inside his coffin,” he went on.  “Father kept it on his desk till the end.” 

Adanel made no effort to stem her tears. 

“I would cherish it,” she said.  “You have always been kind, my lord, since you were but a youth.” 

Her gaze grew tender as she added, a little shyly: “You resemble him so much.” 

Faramir rested a hand gently on her shoulder. 

“You brought joy to Father, Lady Adanel.  I thank you.” 

“Shall we meet in the Archives tomorrow afternoon?  Then we will go to the Hallow together.” 

Adanel clasped his hand and nodded gratefully. 

Faramir made his way back towards the far end of the hall. 

His steps slowed as he reached the middle of the hall.  There he stood for a moment, gazing at the dais where his father had often sat alone during feasts.  Silently, he placed his fist over his heart and bowed his head. 

Then he returned to his lady, who had just finished a dance with the Envoy of Harad. 

“It is almost time to light the candle,” she reminded him. “And you have not yet danced with Arwen.  Will we even have a moment to ourselves before Elboron wakes?” 

Éowyn was beautiful, and seemed even more so in her impatience to be alone with him. 

Their son was asleep at home. 

Merethrond was arrayed in silver and sable that night, showing forth the splendour of Gondor, now at peace. 

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Faramir leaned forward and kissed Éowyn. 

“All is well, my dear.  Tonight is ours, and tomorrow as well.” 

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