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And They All Lived Happily Ever After [Part 1]

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Chapter 1

It was the fifth banquet in one month and quite likely the reason why the Rohirrim had not yet left for their homeland, though their hosts were beginning to drop growingly obvious hints about their welcome drawing to an end. Oh, not King Elessar – his hospitality, it seemed, knew no end - but the inhabitants of the White City in general were growing weary of their guests, with their resonating laughter and loud attitude. Really, it was all very well for them to have come and saved Minas Tirith from certain doom, but a visit is a visit and it was time for them to go.
One Gondorian not to share this opinion, though, was the young Steward, who was seated at the King's right-hand side and distractedly fingering his goblet, his eyes watching one of the foreigners sitting a distance away from him – the Lady Éowyn, who was currently leading a heated discussion with one of the local stableboys about the care of horses' coats. He was just thinking to himself how endearingly pink her cheeks became when angered when his rêverie was brutally interruped by the sight of the man beside her: the King of Rohan, her brother. The look on his face was so full of rage that Faramir found himself hurriedly breaking the eye contact and staring at his plate studiously, feeling both embarrassed and guilty. Eomer had been an intimidating enough man even before he had discovered of the attachment which existed between his sister and the Steward. Faramir quickly turned his attention towards Elessar and the conversation he was having with the cheerful hobbit to his left – Samwise, was it not?
During the remainder of the evening, he was very careful to not do so much as glance in Éowyn's direction, though he sorely wished he could. At times he would furtively assess Eomer King's mood, but it remained sour throughout the meal. Faramir cursed himself for having been so indiscreet in his admiration for the Lady of Rohan, for as a consequence it appeared that matters in the battle which was obtaining Eomer's blessing had taken a turn for the worse.
As the feast drew to an end, and the King of Rohan had retired after muttering something in his sister's ear, probably 'Hurry up, it's bedtime now', or 'Stay away from that Steward, he's a reputed murderer' (or something to that effect, Faramir was certain), he himself took leave of King Elessar and made to go.
A hand clasped firmly on his shoulder just as he walked through the archway stopped him.
"You ignored me all meal," came a familiar yet still delightful voice, heavy with reproach. He turned to face Éowyn, who wore an expression nearly as fearsome as her brother's previous one.
"I did not wish to do so, but I feared discretion was necessary," he replied coolly. His beloved was spirited and loud, an exemplary Shieldmaiden of Rohan, and thus caution was not an prominent part of her personality when dealing with other human beings. One of her favourite activities, a habit which she had adopted while residing in Gondor, was to exchange meaningful looks with Faramir whenever eye contact was possible but speech not so. He himself enjoyed the game, but it would have proved disastrous if played during that banquet, with Eomer watching them like a hawk.
"Oh? And since when is the Steward of Gondor careful of discretion?" What? He had always been discreet! He was the quiet, pensive one – Boromir had been the rasher of the two of them, but he was ever careful! ... Was he not? Perhaps... Perhaps Éowyn had been a negative influence on him. Though he could not say he minded. Even so, he found the comment insulting.
"I always have been! But – that is not the point. My lady, I felt the particular need for vigilance tonight, as your brother, the King of Rohan, did not seem thrilled to find my gaze fixed upon you."
As Éowyn came to understand what the situation had been, she slowly nodded and formed an O with her mouth.
"Indeed. Hm. Well, it does not matter. He has always been overprotective of me, though never to the point of actual usefulness. I shall speak to him." She grinned ruefully. "And then we shall have visual discussions whenever we please."


Eomer decided that the situation he currently found himself in did not fall into the category of 'speaking' with his sister, although that had been her request. He was not certain what it was exactly, but it involved angry words and sharp objects being flung at him, and he found himself resisting the urge to flee the scene. Anyway, turning his back on Éowyn and her projectiles was not a concept which went hand in hand with survival.
"You selfish bastard!" she screeched, pummelling at his chest with her surprisingly painful fists. Eomer seized her wrists firmly, not wishing to hurt her but also following automatic self-preservation instincts, effectively holding her more still than she had been all morning.
"Éowyn! Please, calm down. I only want to have a rational discussion with you."
"And I only want for you to leave me and Faramir alone!" she retorted angrily. He sighed, keeping his own temper at bay, though it was being continuously provoked.
"What is it about the Steward, Éowyn? For goodness' sake, why does everything have to come back down to him?"
"Because you will not consent to our marriage!" she hissed. Disgusted, Eomer released her from his grasp and began to pace a distance away from her.
"Why are you so bent on making this difficult for me?"
"You are the only party making anything difficult."
After several moments' thought, Eomer looked up, his face set as his mind was.
"You will return with your people to the Mark, when we leave, in a week's time."
"I knew you would say that."
"If you knew it, then why ever did you accept Faramir in the first place?"
"Because I love him!"
The words hung in the air, raw and desperate, the last stand of what had been a fierce tirade. They stung Eomer, for he could hear the sincerity in them, and somehow the manner in which her voice broke over the last syllable filled him with guilt. But he reasoned that, even though she had cast him as the villain, what he was enforcing was for her own good. Therefore when he spoke again, it was sternly, and authoritarian.
"If you will not accept the advice of a brother, then obey the orders of your King. You may not remain in Gondor. Your place is in Rohan."
And with that, he left the chamber.


Éowyn did not believe she had ever been so delibaretly spiteful in her relatively short life. As begging Faramir to act rashly had come to no avail - though she personally believed that a clandestine marriage was both ingenious and thrilling - she had set about to render Eomer's life as difficult as possible. She actually found it an entertaining way of taking revenge, for one could visibly notice the effect her attitude had on him; while all of Minas Tirith, both Rohirrim eager to return of home, and Gondorians glad to be rid of their guests, was in high spirits, Eomer remained sour.
However her attempts to irritate her brother into approval proved fruitless, and she found herself seated in Faramir's study the evening before her departure, painfully disappointed. The Steward was sorting through papers, while in her mind she mulled over her tedious everyday life in Rohan.
"Éowyn." She glanced up. She had not noticed that he had stopped turning pages and that his eyes were now riveted upon her.
"I shall... be very sorry to watch you go, tomorrow," he said, wearing an expression she found attractively pained - he was distraught that she should leave, and the attention made her feel wanted - yet frustratingly resigned.
"Perhaps I will not," she replied. He laughed half-heartedly.
"I am certain that your brother will personally search the entire city if you do not show in the morn'," he said.
"He shall have to drag me the whole way to Edoras."
"That would be a waste of everyone's time..."
"You do not want to marry me," she accused sulkily, annoyed by his surrender.
"What? No! Of course I do! Éowyn, where are you getting such ideas?" replied Faramir, quite shaken by her statement.
"Well, you seem content enough for me to go away!" She was now on her feet, the frustration and anger which had been building up within her over the past weeks spilling out. She did not want to take it out on him, but she felt so helpless, so oppressed - she could not help it.
"I just told you I am sorry that is the case!"
"But not enough to actually do something about it! You will wave me farewell and be sad for a day and then move on and find another bride, and I will be too far away to do anything!"
"For goodness' sake, Éowyn, shut up." She was surprised to feel his lips crash against hers, and effectively chose to obey his order to stop speaking. Determined never to let go of him, she locked her arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss, but all too soon he broke the spell and pulled away, leaving her starving for more.
He gazed into her eyes, and she unexpectedly found tears in his own. Guilt stabbed at her heart for having made such dramatic accusations about him.
"Éowyn, I will wed none but you. And if that means never marrying, then so be it; but I will have you know that I have every intention of making you my bride. You may not like it, but time will be of the best use to us in this predicament."
She nodded slowly, feeling her own eyes grow heavy with tears she did not want to fall. She was going to leave the next day, she could no longer deny it, but along with the acceptance of her fate came the desperation of parting with Faramir, which until then she had suppressed with futile hope.
"I will miss you," she said quietly. Her actions had been rash, immature, foolish, and there all along Faramir had had it right. She felt as she had during their first encounter, inexperienced and silly beside his wisdom.
"As I will you. Write to me when you arrive in Edoras, will you?"
"I doubt my brother will be pleased for me to keep contact with you..."
"Well, then, you shall have to be very discreet about it, because if I do not recieve any news from you I shall be very much obliged to ride out myself to confirm that you are well."
At this Éowyn grinned, for she quite enjoyed the idea of him travelling all the way to Edoras to set his fears about her at rest.




Chapter 2

Upon joining the Riders in the First Circle of Minas Tirith, Éomer was thoroughly relieved to perceive his sister's smaller shape among the men. He approached her, aware he would be greeted with nothing but hostility, but determined to break the ice which had frozen over between them.
"You have very little baggage with you," he commented. "Lucky steed."
Éowyn glanced up at him.
"Well, I did not expect to return." Éomer was surprised to find that despite the neutrality and disinterest expressed in her tone, she no longer appeared to be sulking.
"Fortunately, you will be returning," he said. Only after he had spoken did he realize how she might understand him – he had intended to show happiness at her recovery, but it sounded as though he found joy in removing her from Gondor.
"Fortunately indeed," she answered levelly, swinging up onto her horse in a casual manner which would have become Dernhelm, but looked appallingly inappropriate on a Lady of Rohan. She could not care less, and although she had come to terms with her brother's decision, she took pleasure in noting the uneasiness this action caused him.
In truth, she was anxious. Faramir had not yet come to bid the party farewell, and she feared he might miss them. Éomer was eager to leave and so were the Riders; she seemed to be the only of the group desiring to stay. However she comforted herself with the thought that King Elessar had not yet revealed himself either, and they would have to wait for him before their departure.
Éomer was busy preparing his ride and worrying over his sister, when someone behind him coughed a small, polite cough. He turned, and recognized one of the women from the Houses of Healing – a relation of some kind to the Steward, he recalled scornfully.
"My lord, you forgot your sword behind... You've got the sheath, but the blade is missing, you left it in your chambers..." she said, in a manner both well-spoken and awkward. She held the sword out to him, though in so inexperienced a fashion he thought he might laugh; she apparently expected him to grasp it by the blade.
Another thought occurred to Éomer – the more effort he made to remember his preparations, the more certain he grew that he had taken the sword with him. And weapons did not remove themselves from their sheaths by their own free will.
"Why, thank you," he said, accepting the blade. Now that he was face to face with the girl, he recognized the family resemblance between her and Faramir, though he silently remarked that she wore the features better than her relation. "But who do I thank?"
"Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, my lord."
"That's quite a name," he grinned. "But I am very fortunate indeed, for without Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, I should be without my sword."
The confident manner in which she dismissed his gratitude spoke of some deliberate intervention on her part, but instead of feeling anger at having been so fooled by a young Gondorian maid, Éomer found her oddity quite amusing.
"It does not truly matter," she said. "I am certain they could have forged you a new sword, the smiths in Rohan. I hear they are very skilled and produce objects near as fine as those of the Elves or the Dwarves."
"Near as fine? Goodness! That is no way to flatter a King, now, is it?"
"Pfft. I can count the weeks you have been king on my fingers!" Again, the insolent words merely stole a smile from Éomer's lips.
"You certainly know how to make people feel inferior," he laughed. "I suppose that is very easy for Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." He emphasized the grandeur of her name teasingly, and she turned a furious pink.
"Begging your pardon, sire," she stammered, red to the roots of her dark hair. "I only meant to leave you with a witty reminder of Gondor."
"And a very beautiful reminder at that, too," added Éomer, but before Lothíriel could undertake blushing further – the possibility of which he doubted – a fanfare sounded and the High King of Gondor, still known by close companions as Lord Aragorn, appeared, walking down towards the Riders with his Steward at his side.
"King Elessar!" cried Éomer warmly, striding forth to greet his host.
As the party finally made to go, for the two kings were exchanging a few last words, Faramir approached Éowyn to bid her farewell.
"My lady," he addressed her.
"You know, I have been thinking. I believe I shall run away from Edoras and return to you very soon," she said, grinning. He laughed, relieved by the jest in her tone – any serious consideration of attempting such an elopement would no doubt result in failure and remorse. And possibly his own death, at the hands of her brother.
"I shall be waiting for you," he replied.
"Good." She paused. "Farewell, Faramir."
"Good-bye," he smiled. "We shall meet again soon, I am certain. Until then, my lady."
"Until then," she nodded.
Éomer rode to the front of the group, and after a moment's pause to check all was ready, the City gates were swung open and the Rohirrim spurred their rides forward.
As they left Minas Tirith, Éomer's thoughts were no longer turned towards the feat of settling into his throne in Rohan, or the quandary which was Éowyn's infatuation with the Lord Faramir. He was beginning to deem the idea of returning to Gondor tolerable, for there was one face he suddenly wished he did not have to leave behind.  Lothíriel, the girl who stole my sword, he thought, already finding it difficult to remember her fair features exactly as the fields of Pelennor rolled by him and his kinsmen.


Returning to Edoras was not as distressing as Éowyn had feared; though the latter years she had spent there had been grim indeed, it was her home, and in her determination to stay at Faramir's side she had not realized how sorely she missed the halls of Meduseld, where she had played with Theodred and Éomer as children, and learned to ride – in fact, she could not recall her life prior to Edoras. At least in the company of her own people, with their cheerful faces reddened by the cold winter winds and their fair hair turned golden by the summer sun, she could act as she wished; they loved her, she was their Shieldmaiden. The Rohirrim did not judge her... Memories of the Gondorian women resurfaced, those of hostile eyebrows raised at the mud on her petticoat, or chuckles at her mispronunciation of certain words.
She shook her head at the negative recollections; no silly old matron could threaten her love for Faramir. Nevertheless, she could hardly admit to preferring Minas Tirith over her homeland.
But if she was gladly rid of the city, the Steward remained ever present in her thoughts. She wrote to him daily, careful to leave this activity unbeknownst by Éomer, and delighted in receiving answers, though they were often a couple of days old due to the distance to cross. She told him of her daily activities and the rebuilding of the Mark, and he wrote of his own novel duties as Prince of Ithilien. Through the letters, Éowyn found the trial of being parted from Faramir bearable.
As for the King himself, he was finding the throne more comfortable than he had expected; his new responsibilities kept him occupied but not exhausted. The Rohirrim were eager to rebuild the Westfold and repair the damage inflicted by Isengard, and their cooperation meant that the tasks were accomplishable. His power was not challenged, and his person respected... In truth he could not have asked for a better beginning to his reign.
His anxieties did not leave him, however, and he kept a careful eye on Éowyn. The guilt of not having been there for her during the end of Theoden's reign was still raw – the thought that she might have perished on the battlefield, unrecognised and abandoned, nagged at his conscience day and night. The worst part of it was that she had sought this death, purposefully rode out to war hoping not to return, and he had not helped her. She claimed... She claimed that the Steward had.
But he rejected the thought that he, the son of a foreign lord, a mere Ranger of the South, had triumphed where Éomer himself had failed, that he had saved her when her own brother had not. What Éowyn was experiencing was simply infatuation for the exotic and unknown – for all his calm and wisdom, Faramir was unlike all Men she had met in her young life, and therefore exciting in the way novel discoveries are. He convinced himself that he had been right to separate them, before one of the two lovers grew weary and hearts were broken. Anyway, he doubted the sincerity and good intentions of this Steward: he had seen the way he looked at his sister. Éomer knew such desire all too well; and seeing it in the eyes of another man, caused by his Éowyn! it had been all he could do to not skewer him through with his sword.
Yes, he decided, It had been a wise choice to remove his sister from the Steward of Gondor.
Nevertheless, he watched her mood carefully. He did not doubt that she was still of a different mind to his when it came to his decision, being hot of temper and strong of heart; ever he feared a relapse in her recovery, a sudden frown, a miserable glance, anything which might hint at that which King Elessar had described as a 'frost'. Fortunately, though weeks passed, it did not seem that she was in any way unhappy, and her manner was that of one content with one's situation.
He approached her one fine April morning, as she was sitting down to write he knew not what. When he entered the chamber, she hurriedly put the parchment away and turned to greet him warmly.
"Éowyn, I bear good news," he declared, feeling that she deserved the surprise after her efforts at forgetting the Steward and settling back down in Rohan.
"Being?" she prompted, demonstrating due interest.
"The time has come for us to return to Minas Tirith and escort Theoden's body back here," he explained. He awaited a reaction; did she not pine for the City of the Kings?
Her eyes did brighten with delight, though he was quite mistaken in presuming the cause of such enthusiasm.
"Oh! Truly? You do not speak in jest?"
"Not at all, dear sister. And I request your company on the journey."
"You need not; I do not believe you could be rid of me even if I were forbidden to join the escort." Éomer laughed, glad to recognize his sister's old wit in her teasing smile. He took his leave, as the day's duties awaited him. When he reached the door, he turned again to face his sister.
"You know, I am quite relieved you got over that foolish Steward fellow, otherwise I doubt I should feel inclined to take you within two leagues of that City. Now, make haste and ready your belongings, for we leave soon."
A Lord Of The Rings fan fiction I wrote a while back and published on www.fanfiction.net, rotating around the shipping of Faramir and Éowyn.

Constructive criticism or just general feedback would be much appreciated!

© The Lord Of The Rings and all related works belong to J.R.R. Tolkien
© 2012 - 2024 SnowyBubbles
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zealousshadow's avatar
Oh my! I'm surprised no one has commented on this fine tale! I love how you added little details about how the Gondorians responded to the Edoras soldiers and how Eowynn remembered what the Gondorian matrons had said about her. Too many writers just write about the main characters, not remembering that there are entire peoples that affect those main characters. I'm glad for Eomer that the start to his reign is relatively easy. I kind of suspect it would be easy to hide corresponding to Faramir from him, but I'm curious about how Eowynn hides that she's receiving letters. I mean, especially as they're the only form of communication, wouldn't a rider bearing news from Gondor be noticed by the King? Or any rider bearing news to the Halls for that matter? That I feel is a weak point in your story.

Eowynn, you're not 'silly'--what you are is 'impulsive' in contrast to Faramir's patience. There is a good time and place for impulse too but I'm glad Faramir was at last successful in getting through to her that waiting would be OK. I liked your idea of Lothloriel snitching Eomer's sword as an excuse to talk with him. Very sneaky that House of Hurin.

Be careful Eowynn, though you find it amusing that Faramir would ride out to put your fears at rest, I am positive he never says something he doesn't mean to follow through with! :D

I am desperately curious to hear what Eowynn says next. She will either say nothing so she can get close to see Faramir, or say something to the effect of "I doubt you can stop me, brother!"