Chapter Text
“Do you think,” said Boromir, leaning back against the wall, “that she has any idea what they want from her?”
“Hm?” Faramir, who had been watching the new Lord of Calembel poorly muddle his way through one of Lady Berúthiel’s customary interrogations, turned to look where Boromir had nodded.
Across the hall, Éowyn was encircled by several of the City’s most ostentatious social climbers, all puffing out their chests and trying (and, to his eye, laughably failing) to win her attention. They had every reason to: she was breathtaking. Her gown, as simple as ever, was a brilliant sapphire that looked as if it had been cut from the infinite firmament and wrapped around her by the hand of Elbereth herself. Her hair fell down her back in rivers of spun white-gold, brighter yet more delicate than Ithil’s rays. His heart grew warm and gay in his chest—and there was something of an uncouth smugness in there too to see those men try and fail to do what he had already done.
“Oh, I’m sure she’s quite aware.”
“Perhaps you’re right, she’s not half so naïve and she sometimes plays at. Still, do you not feel as if you ought to join the fray? Display a little charisma, flaunt your charms? Ensure that you do not lose out to some bloviating cretin?”
“Why should I? She has already agreed to marry me,” Faramir said calmly, taking a long sip of his wine.
Boromir barked out a laugh, loud and uncompromising across the general din of the hall. Then, looking at Faramir and seeing that he was neither himself laughing nor preparing to deflect from his teasing as he usually did, his mirth vanished and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.
“Did she really?”
Faramir looked long and quietly at his brother before returning his focus to Berúthiel’s inquisition, where the Lord Calembel seemed to be faring no better than before.
“Manwë’s balls, I almost don’t believe it.”
“Your confidence in me is heartening.”
“Not you, her. I haven’t met someone so committed to self-martyrdom since, well, you.” Boromir elbowed him. “Have you spoken to father?”
Faramir sighed, no joy could be savoured without swift tempering by duty’s fist. “Not yet, there are some complications yet to be managed.”
“I should think so,” Boromir said, his voice noticeably quieter. “Securing consent from her uncle will be no small feat.”
Faramir stiffened, looking hard at his brother, who briskly waved him off.
“You forget, brother mine, that I have long been a close friend to our Rohir allies,” he said, smirking as Éowyn pointedly ducked what was an obvious attempt to siphon her off from the group she was with. “You and the fair lady are not the only ones in Gondor with knowledge of the Horse-lords’ strife.”
“Then father knows?” Faramir rubbed his jaw, thoughts racing ahead of him.
“You have always given me too little credit,” Boromir said sternly. “He may have his suspicions, but not by my speech does he know anything that our dear friend would not approve of, and I do not foresee any circumstances in which that might change.”
Across the room, Éowyn gave a muted curtsey, then turned on her heel, leaving more than a few of the men looking profoundly startled. Faramir stifled a new wave of smugness. With perhaps less subtlety than she ought to have shown, she made her way through the gathering, heading directly to where he and Boromir stood.
“You will behave yourself, won’t you? Her Prince cousin is not half so impetuous as the legend says, but Théoden King is… a very prideful man to say the least, and likely would not take well to any perceived encroachments on that which he feels he has final claim to.” There was a look of genuine worry in his eyes. “Faramir, there is more in contention here than your own heart, tread lightly.”
“Yes, thank you,” answered Faramir with an indignant sniff. “I am perfectly aware of the sensitivities involved.”
Boromir hummed, evidently not yet willing to agree. “Yet I should say: very well wrought. There are few who can measure up to you and fewer still who can claim to be your equal; she, I believe, is of the rare sort that far surpasses you. I will be glad to have her as my sister.” He paused, watching Éowyn bob and weave ever closer through the crowd. “Did you really?”
Faramir, despite himself, laughed, not taking his eyes off Éowyn. As she approached, she dropped into an exaggerated curtsey, swishing her skirts comically.
“My lords,” she greeted, an impish look in her eyes that made his heart sing.
“You appear to be very popular this evening, I can only thank you for condescending to grace us with your sought-after presence,” Boromir said, then jerked his head in the direction of the vestiges of her circle of admirers. “Will you be making an honest man out of any of your eager young friends?” Faramir rolled his eyes.
Éowyn straightened her posture and threw her head back, sending her hair dancing in the light. “I could hardly be tempted by any effete men of Gondor.”
“Is that so?”
“He knows,” said Faramir over the rim of his cup.
“Accepting the charge of effete, are we?” His brother, he thought, looked far too pleased with himself.
Éowyn, meanwhile, turned on Faramir, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “One week,” she said, ignoring Boromir entirely. “You could not last even one week. ”
“Forgive me, the keenness of my love for you has made me insensible. I am incapable of restraining myself from proclaiming my good fortune at having convinced so excellent a woman to be my wife,” Faramir answered, winking at her. Her cheeks reddened, though she continued to look irritated—an expression he imagined (hoped) he would see very often for the rest of his life.
“Well,” said Boromir abruptly, with no small amount of exhaustion in his tone, “as I will now have to unexpectedly take up the role of chaperone, and as I have no desire to stay and listen to that sort of talk any longer, perhaps you will let me partake of that good fortune and whatever other florid nonsense my pompous brother has showered upon you by allowing me to escort you in this next dance.”
She turned to look at the dancers congregating in the centre of the hall, then looked back at Boromir, her face contorted in annoyance. “Not this one! This one is horrendously dull—and why should I be the one who has to suffer? Last I checked it is Faramir , not I, who has earned a less than sterling reputation, surely it ought to be he who bears the brunt of the sanction!”
Faramir balked at her. Boromir laughed loudly. “That is the sort of vicious behaviour that will see you live very comfortably in this family; and while I agree with the spirit of your argument, I unfortunately do enjoy this dance, and as you are the nearest available partner…”
“Oh, well! As you have complimented me so highly,” said Éowyn with a brutalising eyeroll. She turned once more on Faramir as Boromir led her away. “I expect repayment of some sort, you know that I dislike these dances.”
He shrugged. “If I recover from the shock of your betrayal, I might consider it.”