The Thing About Rabbits... (Faramir-Eowyn) for Mercurie
Title: "The Thing About Rabbits..."
Author(s); Grey_wonderer and A. Friend
Beta: A N Other Friend
Type: FPF
Rating: PG at most
Pairing: Faramir and Eowyn with mention of Merry and Estella
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The characters and locations are the creations of J.R.R. Tolkien save for a few OC's that turn up here and there. No money is being made on this and I own nothing.
Summary: Eowyn accompanies Faramir on an errand for the King, but she is troubled by personal concerns until a good friend offers some assistance.
For Mercurie
Prompt:
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Faves: Éowyn & Frodo, also like
Strider, Merry, Pippin, and Galadriel. I'm not a shipper for this
fandom, but I don't mind if canon pairings are included.
Squicks/Dislikes: Prefer no porn and little to no Sam or Gollum, if possible.
The Thing About Rabbits...
by GW and A. Friend
beta: A.N. Other Friend
As they slowly made their way through the muddy streets of Bree, Éowyn made that oddly soothing little clicking noise with her teeth and tongue, just one of the facets of his dear wife that Prince Faramir of Ithilien found so enchanting. He knew however that the sound was not directed at him.
"Come on Starlight," Éowyn patted the tired horse on his sweating, mud-caked neck, "only a few more steps and you can take your ease for as long as you need."
Was she not tired, hungry, did she not see any folly to this adventure? Certainly, Faramir mused to himself, he was starving, bone weary and did not mind who knew. But Éowyn, the amazing, talented, heroic, beauty that he had married, looked as if she had just stepped outside to take a little air.
Several long, weary, months ago, she had been determined to come along with Faramir on his journey through the lands ruled by Gondor’s High King. In fact, when Faramir had told her of his assignment, she had insisted that she not be left behind in Ithilien. Much as she loved their home in Emyn Arnen and had vowed after the War of the Ring and her betrothal to Faramir to forswear the sword and only to seek healing, in truth Éowyn still yearned for excitement and adventure.
Nevertheless the persuasive case she had made to both the High King and her husband was that she should show the women of Gondor that it was safe to travel abroad once more and if she, a shieldmaiden of Rohan were to sit cowering in her guarded hills what hope was there for peace within the Kingdom and all its lands?
It was true that several of the soldiers in their small party had been wary that the King’s Steward would be accompanied by his wife, and indeed with good reason. Princess Éowyn's reputation was well known as both a warrior and a cook. The only issue left open to debate was which of her skills was the most deadly.
Six days ride into their journey, the company had been attacked by ruffians. The thieves had surprised their party in a narrow pass and had very nearly managed to take them captive. As the ruffians attacked, Éowyn found herself facing two of them on her own and her skill with a blade had allowed her to prevail. The surprised soldiers of Gondor, having bested their foes, found her standing over the two men, one of whom was unconscious, and the other with the point of her blade against his throat.
She was pleased to have demonstrated her prowess in battle to the soldiers and to have convinced Faramir that she could handle whatever dangers their mission might place in her path.
The Men of the company were equally pleased when, having proved beyond doubt her mettle as a warrior; she was finally persuaded that she no longer needed to be involved in any form of catering.
Faramir had been instructed to ride through the countryside and to survey the conditions of the people. The King was interested to know how his subjects were managing since the War had ended. Lord Faramir, as the Chief Steward of Gondor, was the obvious emissary.
Faramir met with the leaders of the communities along the way, spoke with farmers and merchants, collected lists of grievances among some of the people, made note of shortages in certain lands and let the people of Gondor know that their King was interested in improving their lives.
Éowyn pulled her hood forward to block out the drizzling rain and glanced at her husband, thinking how tired he looked. Of course, Faramir was a fine man and she loved him more than she had, at first thought possible. She was troubled that she had not yet been able to give him a child. They had been husband and wife for three years now and still she had not quickened. Their love-making was passionate and frequent. They both enjoyed their intimate time together. He completed her and she felt that she completed him, but there was no child.
Faramir had not complained. In fact, he never mentioned it. It was she who often brought the subject up late at night when they were alone. He would say, “A child would be a blessing beyond measure, but if we are to have none of our own, you are enough for me.”
“There it is, my Lord,” one of the younger soldiers said, pointing ahead through the rain. “Shire Rest.”
Faramir smiled. “I was told that Sir Meriadoc had commissioned a special residence in Bree from which to conduct business but I didn’t know if it had been completed.”
“It looks to be so,” the soldier said studying the sturdy, stone dwelling which stood just behind The Prancing Pony across from their stables.
“It will be good to have a bath and get warm again," Faramir said.
“It has a round door, my Lord,” another soldier called out as they neared The Shire Rest. "But full sized!"
“So it has,” Faramir said. He had wondered about that. After all of this riding, he had hoped that he would not find himself in cramped quarters. King Elessar had told him of Meriadoc’s proposed private quarters for travellers a year or so ago but at that time Faramir had not given much thought to what size they might be. Now, as he sat before them, he sincerely hoped they were warm, dry, and comfortable. He turned to his wife who had been strangely quiet all day. “It will be good to see Meriadoc again, won’t it?”
She smiled sweetly and met his eyes. “It will indeed. I have lovely, long, letters from him often but I have missed his company.”
“You must be the King’s representatives,” a voice called out and they all watched as a hobbit with a slight limp approached them, grinning broadly. “It is an honour to welcome you to Bree and to The Prancing Pony and to The Shire Rest. I’m Nob. Mr. Merry said you’d be here directly. He weren’t certain of the day, but he said it should be soon now and here you are.”
Faramir dismounted his horse and the men followed his lead. He extended his hand to Nob. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nob.”
Nob wiped his hand on a well-worn trouser leg and then shook hands with Faramir, his grin nearly splitting his face. “It’s an honour, Sir. A great honour.” He released Faramir’s hand and bowed deeply. "The Men are to stay in the Prancing Pony, I understand and Mr Butterburr has rooms made ready for them. But Mr Merry says you and your good lady are to stay with him in Shire Rest. Now, if I may take the horses, Sir? Madam?"
"Lead the way Nob," Éowyn smiled down at the hobbit, "I will ride Starlight to his bed and see that he is tucked in, it is not a duty I ever shirk."
Faramir knew well enough not to question her decision to go to the stables. It would do no good. "Very well, Nob. I trust you will escort Lady Éowyn to the house once the horses are settled." The Rohirrim were very particular about their horses and his lovely wife was no exception to that. His men would each see to his own horse and would oversee Nob's care of his own animal. He would wait for Meriadoc.
Faramir turned his attention to the new building. The Shire Rest was a very well-constructed, stone structure with a thatched roof. Most of the town of Bree was built from wood. The Prancing Pony was a timber house as was its adjoining stable. The Shire Rest looked a little out of place among the wooden buildings. It was neat as a pin with a bright, red, round door, the kind favoured by hobbits. This round door was large enough to accommodate a full grown man though. There was a neatly swept step in front of the door and some lovely, red, flowers blooming in the window boxes in spite of the cold weather. Two rain barrels stood to one side of the building, both brimming with water. Above the red door, there was a neatly carved wooden sign which read: The Shire Rest Welcomes You.
Very well, if Shire Rest did Welcome him, why not go on inside and get out of the rain which had started to come down with a vengeance. Faramir tried the door and found that it opened easily. He stepped inside and was instantly greeted by a wonderful smell. Someone was baking! Now that was indeed a fine welcome!
He inhaled deeply and then heard the patter of bare feet on the polished, wooden, floors. “Mercy!” an old hobbit declared as he entered the room. “No one told me there was anyone here just yet. I’ve just this minute put the kettle on,” he said. He was wearing a clean, white apron tied around his thick waist and a brightly coloured pair of trousers with a mismatched shirt. The trousers were orange and the shirt was a blindingly bright shade of violet. He had curly brown hair, generously laced with silver and small, brown eyes. He squinted at Faramir for a minute and then said, “Are you here about the back door?”
“The door?” Faramir looked slightly confused.
“You’re late if you are. It squeaks something fierce and it sticks when it rains. Since it’s raining buckets now, you can well imagine how much trouble it’s been. I had that lazy Nob to send for you two days ago and here you are just getting to us,” the old hobbit complained. “Good thing nothing was on fire or we’d have all been ash by now.”
Faramir grinned. “What seems to be the trouble with the door?”
“I just told you,” the old hobbit said. “Are you deaf as well as late?”
"I’ll get right to work on it if you have some tools I might borrow?”
“Bless me,” the old hobbit sighed. “They sent you out to do a job without any tools? What is this town coming to?” He shook his head and then hurried off. “I’ll get you what you’re likely to need and then I’ll have a word or two with your boss when I see him. A carpenter needs tools.”
An hour later, Merry came into the kitchen of Shire Rest to find a most surprising sight. The Steward of Gondor was standing with his hands on his hips staring at the rear door and listening intently as Bill, the old cook, moved the door back and forth on its hinges. “I believe that’s got it,” Faramir smiled.
“It does indeed,” Bill grinned. “You came late, didn’t bring your tools, and you’ve eaten an entire plate of biscuits but you’re a good carpenter.”
“What in all wonder is going on in here, if I may ask?” Merry said.
“They finally sent someone to mend the door, Mr. Merry,” Bill said. “Only took me constantly nagging after them and the use of our tools but it’s mended.”
“I’ll see to it that your charges for it are less than my usual rate as I’ve eaten all of Bill’s biscuits,” Faramir grinned.
Merry laughed and they shook hands and then embraced while Bill watched uncertainly.
“He did a good job and all, but I don’t know as I’d get that friendly over a discount, Mr. Merry,” Bill said.
“Bill, it would seem that your door-mender is none other than Prince Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and a very good friend of mine,” Merry said.
Bill squinted at Faramir and then said, “No wonder it took all that time to get this job done. They sent someone from all the way in Gondor.” Bill whistled. “Don’t that take the biscuit? You’d think there’d be a proper carpenter closer to hand, wouldn’t you?”
Faramir struggled not to laugh and Merry said, “You would indeed. Since he’s come all that way, Prince Faramir will be staying with us tonight, Bill. I’m going to show him where he can wash and then why don’t you see about feeding him something more substantial than a plate of biscuits? Maybe some of your roast chicken or a bit of that fine ham?”
“Will be glad to,” Bill said and as Merry and Faramir left the room, they heard Bill muttering, “I know well that Mr. Merry likes a bargain, but roast chicken for a man that mended a squeaky door seems a bit much.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Later that evening as they sat around the Shire Rest’s dining table catching up on events and friends and enjoying a very respectable feast prepared by a rather confused Bill, Merry couldn’t help but notice that Éowyn seemed rather subdued. She was friendly but her smile just didn’t seem to spread to her lovely eyes. Merry got the impression that she was putting on a show for his benefit.
When Faramir and Merry had given a giggling account of Bill's assumption that the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien was a jobbing carpenter, she had not even laughed.
Faramir had been quite comfortable with the joke, but for some reason she could not define, it made her feel a little cross. Perhaps it was the thought that her noble husband could be perceived by others as nothing more than a humble carpenter.
“I am so sorry that Pippin couldn’t be here,” Faramir changed the subject. “I was looking forward to seeing him again.”
“He will be sorry to have missed you both also,” Merry said. “There was no getting around it though. Pippin’s oldest sister, Pearl nearly died in childbirth and naturally, Pippin was reluctant to leave the family this soon. Pearl has two other lasses and so this was unexpected. She’s never had any trouble before.”
“That’s awful,” Éowyn said, "I hope she makes a speedy recovery."
“The healers are hopeful, although think this may be her last." Merry said. “But then Pippin shouldn’t have been born by rights. His mother went through a similar thing with the birth of Pippin’s sister, Pervinca. They told her she wouldn’t be able to have any more, but Pippin is proof that they were wrong. It may be the same for Pearl.”
"At least she has two fine, healthy lasses," Éowyn said.
“Three now," Merry smiled.
“So, the trouble didn’t affect the baby?” Faramir asked.
“No, the baby was fine, healthy as a shire pony and with a fine pair of lungs. She squalled all week for her Mum until Pearl was strong enough to nurse her,” Merry grinned. “If it’s one thing the Tooks do well, it’s make noise.”
Faramir grinned.
“So, you’ve seen the child?” Éowyn asked.
“Oh, I happened to be there for the birth,” Merry said. “I only just arrived here today. I didn’t want to leave until they were more hopeful of Pearl’s chances.” Merry decided to move on to lighter topics. “How are things in Gondor?”
“Prosperous,” Faramir said. “Our King continues to make great advances in commerce with all manner of people. Every time I talk to him, we have a new source of trade. He is a wonderful diplomat and a very skilled negotiator. No one can resist him.”
“He has the gift,” Merry said. “He may not have always believed it to be so, but he is a born leader. You can see it.”
“Indeed,” Faramir nodded. “I have documents for the Thain with me but nothing too pressing. Mostly more trade agreements. There is a huge demand for more Longbottom Leaf. Our King and many of our people can’t make it through a day without it.”
“And no one should have to do so,” Merry grinned. “I’m very certain that my Uncle will welcome more trade.”
As the talk turned to the business on which Faramir had come, Éowyn seemed to be even more distant. She sipped her wine and smiled and nodded now and again, but she did not seem to be wholly involved in the conversation. Merry was concerned and he decided that later, he would find a way to speak with her alone. He wasn’t certain what might be at the heart of her troubles, only that she obviously had them.
0-0-0-0-0
“I know you are fond of horses, my Lady, but I didn’t expect to find you out in the stables at this hour after the long day you’ve had,” Merry said.
Éowyn turned, surprised to see him there. She had been currying her horse. He didn’t really need it as it had been done earlier, but the act of grooming the horse calmed Éowyn. “My Uncle always said that simple acts keep one grounded and settle the soul. I thought perhaps giving dear Starlight some attention might help me to sleep.”
“Is it working?” Merry asked, taking a bite of the apple he was enjoying.
“No, I am still wide awake,” she confessed.
“And, unless I miss my guess, you are also troubled by something,” Merry said.
“You know me well,” she smiled. “I had hoped you would not notice.”
“Since I have,” Merry said. “Why not tell me what it is that troubles you. Perhaps I can help.”
Éowyn let the curry brush slip from her fingers and sighed, her breath visible in the cold air. “Tonight, as you told us about Pippin’s sister, I envied her. She nearly died but she has her little ones.”
Merry frowned. “Then you and Faramir have not been blessed as yet/”
“No, and I suspect all the talk is likely to be true,” Éowyn said. “People in Ithilien and even in Minas Tirith have begun to whisper and gossip as people do. They are saying that Lord Faramir might have been hasty in his choice of a bride. They are saying that perhaps taking a shieldmaiden to wife will deny him the son he will need to carry on the house of the Stewards. They are starting to fear that perhaps Faramir will be the last of his line.”
“Even if it is so, it is not necessarily your doing,” Merry said gently. “There is always the chance that the problem is Faramir’s. And, there is also the chance that you will have many fine sons. It’s like I said during the evening meal, my Aunt wasn’t supposed to be able to have any more children after her youngest daughter was born, but she did.”
“I thank you for your encouragement, Merry,” Éowyn said. “But it has been more than three years now. That is a very long time to wait for a little one. I won’t be indelicate and discuss personal matters, but I will say we have given ourselves every chance. I am afraid that I am barren.” She lowered her eyes and stared down at the straw covered stable floor.
“Three years may seem a long time, but it is not out of reason that you may yet be blessed with children,” Merry said.
“I would settle for one, fine, healthy child,” Éowyn said, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. “And poor Faramir. He says nothing. He does not let me see his pain. He is ever loving and strong. I know well that he will never allow me to know fully how disappointed he is not to have a son. He lost so much during the war.”
“Many folks did,” Merry said.
“Yes, but I think it is important for Faramir to have family about him. I had hoped to give him that. He misses Boromir and Faramir never really resolved his problems with his father,” Éowyn said. “He wishes there had been a chance for happier times with the Lord Denethor. He still grieves for them and I thought a child would help him.”
“I'm sure that you have helped him,” Merry said.
“Merry, I wanted so to give him an heir.”
“You will,” Merry said. “If it is meant to be, then you will. If not, then there is a reason for that. Neither you nor I can see it, but there is a reason.”
He could see the tears on her cheeks and quietly handed her his handkerchief, then he looked away and continued to speak. “Have you seen a healer?”
“Several,” Éowyn said. “None will say that I am destined to remain childless but neither do they offer encouragement.”
“Then, wait,” Merry said. “Don’t give up now. Just let nature take its course as they say. If you’ve no children in another year or so, then...” He let the sentence fall there and abruptly changed tack. "Do you know about rabbits?"
"I... um... what about rabbits?" Éowyn tilted her head on one side. "Are you teasing me Master Holdwine? I have certainly heard ribald jokes about rabbits and their breeding proclivities."
Merry now took a turn at a questioning, lopsided look.
"When in the guise of Dernhelm," Éowyn explained. "And sometimes just eavesdropping. But surely you are not suggesting..."
"No," Merry turned scarlet at the implication. "I meant..." He paused, considered for a moment, then decided that he and Éowyn had been through enough together for him to speak plainly. "Rabbits have fascinating breeding habits."
"Indeed?" Éowyn was not sure if it was appropriate for her to hear this.
"I was thinking of writing a book, but I need to complete my studies on herb lore first." Merry grinned now. "But rabbits... Well, to start with if you were to keep rabbits, for commerce that is and you want them to breed, you must always take the doe to the buck, never the other way round."
"Really, why?" Éowyn suspected she could already guess the analogy.
"Because the buck has to be in charge if he is to... ahem... perform adequately." Merry had been studying his curly topped toes as he spoke but now let his eyes glance up to see Éowyn's reaction. It seemed all right. "Chances are, if you take the buck to the doe, she'll eat him for breakfast."
"So you think I need to make Faramir feel more, 'in charge'?" Éowyn frowned slightly. "You think he doesn't feel that now?"
"I think he adores the strong, capable woman that you are," Merry looked firmly into Éowyn's eyes now. "As I do. But I wonder if the lack of love he felt from his father lowered his own confidence. Which brings me to the other thing about rabbits."
"Good gracious!" Éowyn smiled at last. "There's more?"
"Oh yes," Merry nodded enthusiastically. "Much, much more, but I just want to tell you one other thing. When rabbits are living in the wild and their warrens become overcrowded or the does become nervous or unsettled, they cannot reproduce."
"Really," Éowyn was becoming interested in spite of the bizarre nature of the subject. "I thought that rabbits just bred for all they were worth, all the time."
"No, no," Merry was warming to his topic. "If female rabbits are upset or doubtful of sufficient food or whatever else, a doe will become pregnant, but reabsorbs the young into her body. This is well observed in rabbits and I have to wonder if it might not be the same for other species too."
"You mean people?" Éowyn said. "Or, more specifically, me?"
"You do seem to be very on edge," Merry tried tactfully. "Perhaps if you..."
"If I just played the doting little wifey and try to make Faramir forget I was ever a shieldmaiden," Éowyn gave a short snort of derision. "Perhaps I could play act the damsel in distress and Faramir could rescue me - make him feel like my hero."
"Yes," Merry agreed earnestly, totally missing the sarcasm. "That's exactly the sort of thing!"
"Oh," Éowyn suddenly realised that Merry was not joking.
"After all," Merry said. "You played the part of Dernhelm very well and look at what that achieved!"
"That was rather different," Éowyn pointed out.
"Perhaps we could set something up," Merry continued, ignoring her objection. "You could ride out to Brandy Hall, I know my parents would love to meet you both and you could meet Estella. And I could arrange to have you attacked on the way.
"Oh Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Éowyn gave a mock gasp. "You really are too kind!"
"Don't mention it," Merry spotted the irony this time. "But seriously Milady, if you truly want what you say, isn't it at least worth a try?"
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
There was a light covering of snow when Faramir and Éowyn set off for Brandy Hall. Éowyn was actually feeling quite nervous at the prospect of the "attack". It was one thing to fight off an unexpected assailant but quite nerve racking to anticipate one without showing any signs of knowing what was going to happen, particularly if you did not actually know when or where it would occur.
It had not been difficult to persuade Faramir to go to Brandy Hall. They both knew that in all probability it would be their last and only chance to visit The Shire as the High King was seriously considering passing a law forbidding Men of any race to set foot within its borders.
The other matter had been to convince Faramir to leave his armed escort behind in Bree.
"But what if we are set upon by a large gang?” He had argued. "I do not like the idea of risking your safety for the sake of a short detour. The Men will enjoy Brandy Hall too, and I'm sure Merry will not mind."
"Oh we cannot possibly descend on the Brandybucks without warning," Éowyn had countered. "Not such a large party. It is enough of an impertinence to arrive ourselves unannounced."
"But I thought Merry invited you?" Faramir frowned in confusion.
"Oh yes," Éowyn did not falter for a moment. "But he is not Master of the Hall. His father Saradoc holds that title and will do so until the end of his days. I'm sure Merry's invitation is adequate, but it can hardly extend to our whole company. And... and..." Éowyn continued quickly before Faramir could raise another objection. "I do so want to see where Merry grew up and to meet his parents and his new wife!"
"Well I understand that," Faramir conceded. "If it were not for Meriadoc you might not even have survived your great battle and we might not ever have met and I would have died a lonely man. We have much to thank him for."
They rode along in comfortable silence. Éowyn, much to Faramir's surprise, had purchased in Bree a side-saddle and rode it now with the ease and grace that she inevitably showed upon a horse - but still - a side-saddle?
"Holdb! Stay ber han' and 'tand 'own!"
"What?"
"I said," The oversized youth, who had lumbered into the centre of the road, pulled the disguising kerchief off his face and repeated, 'Stay yer hand and stand...'"
"Yes, I heard what you said," Faramir retorted with an edge of exasperation. "I meant, what do you think you're doing?"
"We're 'olding yer up!" The troll-like creature waved a loaded crossbow in the general direction of the hedgerows. "Don't try anything stupid, we got yer completely surrounded."
Faramir, who had long and vast experience of guerrilla warfare from Ithilien to Henneth Annun glanced quickly around. "No you haven't, now get out of the road."
"Ho yus! We'll see 'bout that!" The young troll, in spite of his bold words, sounded a trifle nervous. "Bo! Ron! get out here!"
Another two trolls scrabbled from the undergrowth beside the road. At least one of them did, the second became entangled in the blackberry thorns and tripped over into the ditch from which he had just emerged, cursing and swearing enough for a band of orcs.
"Right Elfin," said the one presumably called Bo. "Sorry 'bout Ron. Shall I go and help him or summick else?"
"Don't call me Elfin!" snarled the first. "And no, yer supposed to be helping me. Get their weapons can't yer?"
"Right El," Bo looked at the bemused couple waiting patiently in the road. "You want me to take 'is sword?"
"Yeah," El waved towards Éowyn. "An' yer better see if she's armed an all. Git Ron to 'elp yer if yer must."
"Just move you idiots," Faramir was almost chuckling now. "As much as I enjoy a little street theatre, you are taxing my patience."
"For pity's sake Merry," Éowyn muttered to herself. "Is this the best you could come up with?" Then out loud for all to hear, "Faramir, don't upset him, he looks desperate and he is armed!"
Faramir could hardly believe his ears. Éowyn! Frightened? How could that be?
Bo began moving towards Faramir, shuffling cautiously from one foot to the other, his arms outstretched in front like a wrestler weighing up a likely opponent. Faramir watched with weary amusement, although his hand did stray to rest on the hilt of his sword.
"Oi Ron!" Bo shouted as he circled, "Git youself up 'ere an' give us a 'and!"
"I fink I broke summink!" Ron shouted back. "Me foot's gone all queer like!"
"Gimme strength!" El spluttered. He moved over to the ditch and wedging the crossbow under his arm, offered both hands to the ditch-bound Ron. "'Ere, grab 'old you ijit!"
No one was ever too sure exactly what happened next. Only a few facts were ever reliably agreed upon. Firstly, it was Ron who accidentally triggered the crossbow as he reached up to grab El's hands. Secondly, it was definitely Bo's fault for lunging at Faramir just as Ron set off the bolt from the crossbow, making Faramir's horse rear and thereby putting his rider in the direct line of fire.
"Faramir!" Éowyn cried out in horror as her husband slumped forward, a thick bolt protruding from his left shoulder.
Almost without thinking, she urged Starlight close enough that she could grab the reins of Faramir's horse, the greatest danger being that the unnerved animal might bolt with her wounded husband on board. Then she slid nimbly to the ground and supported Faramir's weight. Quickly, she saw that he was unconscious.
"You, Bo!" She called softly so as not to frighten the horses, but still with a voice that did not brook argument. "Lift him down. Carefully now. That's right, just lay him on the ground so I can take a look."
"I'se really sorry Ma'm," El came over now with the hapless and limping Ron in tow. "It were an accident."
"Well I should hope you didn't do it on purpose!" Éowyn snapped. "Get me a knife, quickly now, there's one in my husband's saddlebag. And you, Ron, get a fire lit, quick as you can, he's cold and we need to warm him up."
Éowyn was not much taller than El's belly button and Ron could have gripped the circumference of her waist in his hands if he had dared. But the three troll lads scurried around to obey her orders as if an Uruk hai sergeant were barking them out.
"I'll need some bandages... and... and..." Éowyn realised that Faramir was moving slightly under the pressure pad she had wedged against the protruding bolt. "Farrie? Darling, don't try to move. You've got a nasty bolt in your shoulder and I think I'll have to get it out here and now. It's too far, there and back to send for a surgeon and you'll lose too much blood if I leave it in."
"What happened?" Faramir blinked his eyes open against the pain and the dim winter's sun. "Éowyn! The trolls? Are you all right?"
"Is he awake Ma'am?" Ron leaned over into Faramir's line of vision. "Thass a good sign that is!"
"Umm the trolls are fine," Éowyn wondered if now was quite the time to admit the deception. "Don't you worry about the trolls my darling."
"But Éowyn, my love," Faramir gasped for breath and gripped his wife's hand so tightly it hurt. "They were threatening you and... aaahhhh!"
Éowyn had suddenly released the pressure on the wound so that she could cut away the clothing from around the area. Faramir had lost consciousness again at this point and happily remained so while El and Ron had held him steady as Éowyn extracted the bolt and cauterised the resulting gash.
Insisting that the trolls look the other way, she ripped lengths of her petticoat into bandages and then, using a strand of hair from Starlight's tail, stitched and bound the injury.
By the time Faramir woke once more he was bundled up in Éowyn's spare fur cloak with his head in her lap. On the other side of the blazing fire Ron and Bo were, on Éowyn's instructions, brewing up some tea and glaslichen - an analgesic fungus which grew in abundance in the north.
"Éowyn?" Faramir's mouth felt sticky and unpleasant but his brain was hammering questions at a speed that could not be ignored. "What on Middle-earth happened? Did you take on those three trolls on your own and tame them?" He struggled to sit more upright, feeling at his wound at the same time. "You've even doctored my injury... how... I mean..."
"Hush my love," Éowyn moved his hand away from the bandage. "Don't worry, everything is fine. The lads are going to build a temporary shelter. You need to keep still and it will be at least three or four days before you can travel."
"Lads?" Faramir blinked in surprise. "What lads? Did the men come..."
"No," Éowyn could see she would have to own up sooner or later. "I mean the trolls - that is Merry's trolls. They're good chaps really. Apparently they do a lot of work for hobbits pulling ploughs and such. It works really well, the hobbits find shire horses and men sized ploughshares hard to handle and these lads need employment, so..."
"But they tried to rob us," Faramir insisted. "Why did they do that?"
"Um... You need to rest now my love," Éowyn knew Faramir would pursue this, but she was not above taking advantage of his weakened state to play for time.
"Éowyn, what's going on?" Faramir might be weak in body, but his mind was fully functional now. "What did you mean 'Merry's trolls'?"
"We...ll, you see," Éowyn quickly decided that there was nothing else for it - Merry would have to take the full blame. "Merry had this bright idea... that is... well he thought perhaps you thought you needed to appear more of a hero in my eyes and so he..."
"He paid these idiot trolls to attack us?"
"Simply put," Éowyn winced as the words left her mouth, "yes."
"I'll strangle him," Faramir gasped. "So help me - with my bare hands! I will choke the life out of that scheming, interfering little..."
"I think I'll hold your coat," Éowyn agreed.
0-0-0-0-0-0
It was six whole days before Faramir could travel again but the trolls had built a passable shelter by the expedient of piling up loose rocks into a makeshift cave, leaving a hole in the centre of the roof as a chimney. They also kept up a constant supply of firewood and rabbits so no one went cold or hungry.
Merry had sent out a search party and, when the group was discovered two days later, a waggon had been summoned. By the time it reached the wounded man, another four days on, Faramir was almost recovered enough to ride, but agreed to travel in the waggon after Éowyn suggested she keep him company, saying how cosy it would be.
The couple had discovered an entire new range to their passion whilst holed up in the troll-made cave. It slowly dawned on them that camping out in the wild rather than being together in a stately bedchamber, was an environment in which they both felt comfortable. But there was more...
"Éowyn, my love," Faramir had asked as she snuggled into his side. "Why did you, or was it perhaps Merry, think that I needed you to see me as a hero? I see you as an equal, both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber and I believe that in days to come more men will appreciate their wives in the same fashion."
"I must admit," Éowyn smiled up at him, "it was not all Merry's idea."
"Really?" Faramir sounded a little put out. "You're my heroine; I hoped I was your hero?"
"Absolutely, of course you are, my hero, my Knight, my Prince!" Éowyn decided that she needed to regroup and press the blame firmly outside of her sphere. "It was actually all Merry's fault!"
"Good," Faramir kissed her lightly on her blonde head. "Does that offer to hold my coat still stand?"
0-0-0-0-0-0
Epilogue
"Merry you've come up with some daft ideas in your time," Pippin could not actually think of many daft ideas that his cousin had come up with - that generally remained his province. But this one was so stupid he was not about to let it go too easily. "But hiring trolls to attack your guests..."
"I know, I know," Merry's back was broad in this matter, he really quite enjoyed Pippin finally having something to tease him about. "But I was only trying to help!"
"And you got Faramir shot into the bargain!" Pippin continued. "Not to mention you could have got the trolls killed as well. I mean Éowyn can be pretty mean when she's cross!"
"Oh the trolls were fine," Merry ignored the part about Faramir on account of it being true. "El and Ron quite enjoyed their little sojourn with, as they put it, 'real roy'lty!' And Bo was happy that Éowyn taught him how to make old leather soup."
"Well, they'll not be travelling abroad for a while now," Pippin pointed out. "Not with their new little one. And do you realise he was born almost 9 months to the day that Faramir was laid up. You don't suppose..."
"Of course I suppose," Merry interrupted with a grin. "I think the whole incident must have struck a chord with them - if you take my meaning."
"Not sure if I like the name they've chosen," Pippin decided to ignore Merry's last comment, just in case he meant what he thought he meant. "Elboron, I suppose it's after some ancient King or Steward of Gondor."
"No," Merry chuckled, "El - bo - ron, I think they just named him after three very helpful friends."
The End
GW and A. Friend
12-13-2011
NB: "Elboron was the son of Faramir and Éowyn, and succeeded his father as Prince of Ithilien and the Steward of Gondor after the death of his father in FA 82. It is possible that Elboron was the father of Barahir, the grandson of Faramir and author of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen."
*****This story is posted with many thanks to a couple of very good friends who saved this story by rewriting a large portion of it. I got way off track while writing this and wound up making a long-winded expedition into boredom. Thankfully, my friends were able to take the story in hand and get it back on a much more interesting path. If you enjoyed reading this, it was due to their efforts. I would credit them, but they prefer to remain anonymous. So, I will simply say, thank you to them and thank you for reading this. GW 12-14-2011
Author(s); Grey_wonderer and A. Friend
Beta: A N Other Friend
Type: FPF
Rating: PG at most
Pairing: Faramir and Eowyn with mention of Merry and Estella
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The characters and locations are the creations of J.R.R. Tolkien save for a few OC's that turn up here and there. No money is being made on this and I own nothing.
Summary: Eowyn accompanies Faramir on an errand for the King, but she is troubled by personal concerns until a good friend offers some assistance.
For Mercurie
Prompt:
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Faves: Éowyn & Frodo, also like
Strider, Merry, Pippin, and Galadriel. I'm not a shipper for this
fandom, but I don't mind if canon pairings are included.
Squicks/Dislikes: Prefer no porn and little to no Sam or Gollum, if possible.
The Thing About Rabbits...
by GW and A. Friend
beta: A.N. Other Friend
As they slowly made their way through the muddy streets of Bree, Éowyn made that oddly soothing little clicking noise with her teeth and tongue, just one of the facets of his dear wife that Prince Faramir of Ithilien found so enchanting. He knew however that the sound was not directed at him.
"Come on Starlight," Éowyn patted the tired horse on his sweating, mud-caked neck, "only a few more steps and you can take your ease for as long as you need."
Was she not tired, hungry, did she not see any folly to this adventure? Certainly, Faramir mused to himself, he was starving, bone weary and did not mind who knew. But Éowyn, the amazing, talented, heroic, beauty that he had married, looked as if she had just stepped outside to take a little air.
Several long, weary, months ago, she had been determined to come along with Faramir on his journey through the lands ruled by Gondor’s High King. In fact, when Faramir had told her of his assignment, she had insisted that she not be left behind in Ithilien. Much as she loved their home in Emyn Arnen and had vowed after the War of the Ring and her betrothal to Faramir to forswear the sword and only to seek healing, in truth Éowyn still yearned for excitement and adventure.
Nevertheless the persuasive case she had made to both the High King and her husband was that she should show the women of Gondor that it was safe to travel abroad once more and if she, a shieldmaiden of Rohan were to sit cowering in her guarded hills what hope was there for peace within the Kingdom and all its lands?
It was true that several of the soldiers in their small party had been wary that the King’s Steward would be accompanied by his wife, and indeed with good reason. Princess Éowyn's reputation was well known as both a warrior and a cook. The only issue left open to debate was which of her skills was the most deadly.
Six days ride into their journey, the company had been attacked by ruffians. The thieves had surprised their party in a narrow pass and had very nearly managed to take them captive. As the ruffians attacked, Éowyn found herself facing two of them on her own and her skill with a blade had allowed her to prevail. The surprised soldiers of Gondor, having bested their foes, found her standing over the two men, one of whom was unconscious, and the other with the point of her blade against his throat.
She was pleased to have demonstrated her prowess in battle to the soldiers and to have convinced Faramir that she could handle whatever dangers their mission might place in her path.
The Men of the company were equally pleased when, having proved beyond doubt her mettle as a warrior; she was finally persuaded that she no longer needed to be involved in any form of catering.
Faramir had been instructed to ride through the countryside and to survey the conditions of the people. The King was interested to know how his subjects were managing since the War had ended. Lord Faramir, as the Chief Steward of Gondor, was the obvious emissary.
Faramir met with the leaders of the communities along the way, spoke with farmers and merchants, collected lists of grievances among some of the people, made note of shortages in certain lands and let the people of Gondor know that their King was interested in improving their lives.
Éowyn pulled her hood forward to block out the drizzling rain and glanced at her husband, thinking how tired he looked. Of course, Faramir was a fine man and she loved him more than she had, at first thought possible. She was troubled that she had not yet been able to give him a child. They had been husband and wife for three years now and still she had not quickened. Their love-making was passionate and frequent. They both enjoyed their intimate time together. He completed her and she felt that she completed him, but there was no child.
Faramir had not complained. In fact, he never mentioned it. It was she who often brought the subject up late at night when they were alone. He would say, “A child would be a blessing beyond measure, but if we are to have none of our own, you are enough for me.”
“There it is, my Lord,” one of the younger soldiers said, pointing ahead through the rain. “Shire Rest.”
Faramir smiled. “I was told that Sir Meriadoc had commissioned a special residence in Bree from which to conduct business but I didn’t know if it had been completed.”
“It looks to be so,” the soldier said studying the sturdy, stone dwelling which stood just behind The Prancing Pony across from their stables.
“It will be good to have a bath and get warm again," Faramir said.
“It has a round door, my Lord,” another soldier called out as they neared The Shire Rest. "But full sized!"
“So it has,” Faramir said. He had wondered about that. After all of this riding, he had hoped that he would not find himself in cramped quarters. King Elessar had told him of Meriadoc’s proposed private quarters for travellers a year or so ago but at that time Faramir had not given much thought to what size they might be. Now, as he sat before them, he sincerely hoped they were warm, dry, and comfortable. He turned to his wife who had been strangely quiet all day. “It will be good to see Meriadoc again, won’t it?”
She smiled sweetly and met his eyes. “It will indeed. I have lovely, long, letters from him often but I have missed his company.”
“You must be the King’s representatives,” a voice called out and they all watched as a hobbit with a slight limp approached them, grinning broadly. “It is an honour to welcome you to Bree and to The Prancing Pony and to The Shire Rest. I’m Nob. Mr. Merry said you’d be here directly. He weren’t certain of the day, but he said it should be soon now and here you are.”
Faramir dismounted his horse and the men followed his lead. He extended his hand to Nob. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nob.”
Nob wiped his hand on a well-worn trouser leg and then shook hands with Faramir, his grin nearly splitting his face. “It’s an honour, Sir. A great honour.” He released Faramir’s hand and bowed deeply. "The Men are to stay in the Prancing Pony, I understand and Mr Butterburr has rooms made ready for them. But Mr Merry says you and your good lady are to stay with him in Shire Rest. Now, if I may take the horses, Sir? Madam?"
"Lead the way Nob," Éowyn smiled down at the hobbit, "I will ride Starlight to his bed and see that he is tucked in, it is not a duty I ever shirk."
Faramir knew well enough not to question her decision to go to the stables. It would do no good. "Very well, Nob. I trust you will escort Lady Éowyn to the house once the horses are settled." The Rohirrim were very particular about their horses and his lovely wife was no exception to that. His men would each see to his own horse and would oversee Nob's care of his own animal. He would wait for Meriadoc.
Faramir turned his attention to the new building. The Shire Rest was a very well-constructed, stone structure with a thatched roof. Most of the town of Bree was built from wood. The Prancing Pony was a timber house as was its adjoining stable. The Shire Rest looked a little out of place among the wooden buildings. It was neat as a pin with a bright, red, round door, the kind favoured by hobbits. This round door was large enough to accommodate a full grown man though. There was a neatly swept step in front of the door and some lovely, red, flowers blooming in the window boxes in spite of the cold weather. Two rain barrels stood to one side of the building, both brimming with water. Above the red door, there was a neatly carved wooden sign which read: The Shire Rest Welcomes You.
Very well, if Shire Rest did Welcome him, why not go on inside and get out of the rain which had started to come down with a vengeance. Faramir tried the door and found that it opened easily. He stepped inside and was instantly greeted by a wonderful smell. Someone was baking! Now that was indeed a fine welcome!
He inhaled deeply and then heard the patter of bare feet on the polished, wooden, floors. “Mercy!” an old hobbit declared as he entered the room. “No one told me there was anyone here just yet. I’ve just this minute put the kettle on,” he said. He was wearing a clean, white apron tied around his thick waist and a brightly coloured pair of trousers with a mismatched shirt. The trousers were orange and the shirt was a blindingly bright shade of violet. He had curly brown hair, generously laced with silver and small, brown eyes. He squinted at Faramir for a minute and then said, “Are you here about the back door?”
“The door?” Faramir looked slightly confused.
“You’re late if you are. It squeaks something fierce and it sticks when it rains. Since it’s raining buckets now, you can well imagine how much trouble it’s been. I had that lazy Nob to send for you two days ago and here you are just getting to us,” the old hobbit complained. “Good thing nothing was on fire or we’d have all been ash by now.”
Faramir grinned. “What seems to be the trouble with the door?”
“I just told you,” the old hobbit said. “Are you deaf as well as late?”
"I’ll get right to work on it if you have some tools I might borrow?”
“Bless me,” the old hobbit sighed. “They sent you out to do a job without any tools? What is this town coming to?” He shook his head and then hurried off. “I’ll get you what you’re likely to need and then I’ll have a word or two with your boss when I see him. A carpenter needs tools.”
An hour later, Merry came into the kitchen of Shire Rest to find a most surprising sight. The Steward of Gondor was standing with his hands on his hips staring at the rear door and listening intently as Bill, the old cook, moved the door back and forth on its hinges. “I believe that’s got it,” Faramir smiled.
“It does indeed,” Bill grinned. “You came late, didn’t bring your tools, and you’ve eaten an entire plate of biscuits but you’re a good carpenter.”
“What in all wonder is going on in here, if I may ask?” Merry said.
“They finally sent someone to mend the door, Mr. Merry,” Bill said. “Only took me constantly nagging after them and the use of our tools but it’s mended.”
“I’ll see to it that your charges for it are less than my usual rate as I’ve eaten all of Bill’s biscuits,” Faramir grinned.
Merry laughed and they shook hands and then embraced while Bill watched uncertainly.
“He did a good job and all, but I don’t know as I’d get that friendly over a discount, Mr. Merry,” Bill said.
“Bill, it would seem that your door-mender is none other than Prince Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and a very good friend of mine,” Merry said.
Bill squinted at Faramir and then said, “No wonder it took all that time to get this job done. They sent someone from all the way in Gondor.” Bill whistled. “Don’t that take the biscuit? You’d think there’d be a proper carpenter closer to hand, wouldn’t you?”
Faramir struggled not to laugh and Merry said, “You would indeed. Since he’s come all that way, Prince Faramir will be staying with us tonight, Bill. I’m going to show him where he can wash and then why don’t you see about feeding him something more substantial than a plate of biscuits? Maybe some of your roast chicken or a bit of that fine ham?”
“Will be glad to,” Bill said and as Merry and Faramir left the room, they heard Bill muttering, “I know well that Mr. Merry likes a bargain, but roast chicken for a man that mended a squeaky door seems a bit much.”
0-0-0-0-0-0
Later that evening as they sat around the Shire Rest’s dining table catching up on events and friends and enjoying a very respectable feast prepared by a rather confused Bill, Merry couldn’t help but notice that Éowyn seemed rather subdued. She was friendly but her smile just didn’t seem to spread to her lovely eyes. Merry got the impression that she was putting on a show for his benefit.
When Faramir and Merry had given a giggling account of Bill's assumption that the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien was a jobbing carpenter, she had not even laughed.
Faramir had been quite comfortable with the joke, but for some reason she could not define, it made her feel a little cross. Perhaps it was the thought that her noble husband could be perceived by others as nothing more than a humble carpenter.
“I am so sorry that Pippin couldn’t be here,” Faramir changed the subject. “I was looking forward to seeing him again.”
“He will be sorry to have missed you both also,” Merry said. “There was no getting around it though. Pippin’s oldest sister, Pearl nearly died in childbirth and naturally, Pippin was reluctant to leave the family this soon. Pearl has two other lasses and so this was unexpected. She’s never had any trouble before.”
“That’s awful,” Éowyn said, "I hope she makes a speedy recovery."
“The healers are hopeful, although think this may be her last." Merry said. “But then Pippin shouldn’t have been born by rights. His mother went through a similar thing with the birth of Pippin’s sister, Pervinca. They told her she wouldn’t be able to have any more, but Pippin is proof that they were wrong. It may be the same for Pearl.”
"At least she has two fine, healthy lasses," Éowyn said.
“Three now," Merry smiled.
“So, the trouble didn’t affect the baby?” Faramir asked.
“No, the baby was fine, healthy as a shire pony and with a fine pair of lungs. She squalled all week for her Mum until Pearl was strong enough to nurse her,” Merry grinned. “If it’s one thing the Tooks do well, it’s make noise.”
Faramir grinned.
“So, you’ve seen the child?” Éowyn asked.
“Oh, I happened to be there for the birth,” Merry said. “I only just arrived here today. I didn’t want to leave until they were more hopeful of Pearl’s chances.” Merry decided to move on to lighter topics. “How are things in Gondor?”
“Prosperous,” Faramir said. “Our King continues to make great advances in commerce with all manner of people. Every time I talk to him, we have a new source of trade. He is a wonderful diplomat and a very skilled negotiator. No one can resist him.”
“He has the gift,” Merry said. “He may not have always believed it to be so, but he is a born leader. You can see it.”
“Indeed,” Faramir nodded. “I have documents for the Thain with me but nothing too pressing. Mostly more trade agreements. There is a huge demand for more Longbottom Leaf. Our King and many of our people can’t make it through a day without it.”
“And no one should have to do so,” Merry grinned. “I’m very certain that my Uncle will welcome more trade.”
As the talk turned to the business on which Faramir had come, Éowyn seemed to be even more distant. She sipped her wine and smiled and nodded now and again, but she did not seem to be wholly involved in the conversation. Merry was concerned and he decided that later, he would find a way to speak with her alone. He wasn’t certain what might be at the heart of her troubles, only that she obviously had them.
0-0-0-0-0
“I know you are fond of horses, my Lady, but I didn’t expect to find you out in the stables at this hour after the long day you’ve had,” Merry said.
Éowyn turned, surprised to see him there. She had been currying her horse. He didn’t really need it as it had been done earlier, but the act of grooming the horse calmed Éowyn. “My Uncle always said that simple acts keep one grounded and settle the soul. I thought perhaps giving dear Starlight some attention might help me to sleep.”
“Is it working?” Merry asked, taking a bite of the apple he was enjoying.
“No, I am still wide awake,” she confessed.
“And, unless I miss my guess, you are also troubled by something,” Merry said.
“You know me well,” she smiled. “I had hoped you would not notice.”
“Since I have,” Merry said. “Why not tell me what it is that troubles you. Perhaps I can help.”
Éowyn let the curry brush slip from her fingers and sighed, her breath visible in the cold air. “Tonight, as you told us about Pippin’s sister, I envied her. She nearly died but she has her little ones.”
Merry frowned. “Then you and Faramir have not been blessed as yet/”
“No, and I suspect all the talk is likely to be true,” Éowyn said. “People in Ithilien and even in Minas Tirith have begun to whisper and gossip as people do. They are saying that Lord Faramir might have been hasty in his choice of a bride. They are saying that perhaps taking a shieldmaiden to wife will deny him the son he will need to carry on the house of the Stewards. They are starting to fear that perhaps Faramir will be the last of his line.”
“Even if it is so, it is not necessarily your doing,” Merry said gently. “There is always the chance that the problem is Faramir’s. And, there is also the chance that you will have many fine sons. It’s like I said during the evening meal, my Aunt wasn’t supposed to be able to have any more children after her youngest daughter was born, but she did.”
“I thank you for your encouragement, Merry,” Éowyn said. “But it has been more than three years now. That is a very long time to wait for a little one. I won’t be indelicate and discuss personal matters, but I will say we have given ourselves every chance. I am afraid that I am barren.” She lowered her eyes and stared down at the straw covered stable floor.
“Three years may seem a long time, but it is not out of reason that you may yet be blessed with children,” Merry said.
“I would settle for one, fine, healthy child,” Éowyn said, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. “And poor Faramir. He says nothing. He does not let me see his pain. He is ever loving and strong. I know well that he will never allow me to know fully how disappointed he is not to have a son. He lost so much during the war.”
“Many folks did,” Merry said.
“Yes, but I think it is important for Faramir to have family about him. I had hoped to give him that. He misses Boromir and Faramir never really resolved his problems with his father,” Éowyn said. “He wishes there had been a chance for happier times with the Lord Denethor. He still grieves for them and I thought a child would help him.”
“I'm sure that you have helped him,” Merry said.
“Merry, I wanted so to give him an heir.”
“You will,” Merry said. “If it is meant to be, then you will. If not, then there is a reason for that. Neither you nor I can see it, but there is a reason.”
He could see the tears on her cheeks and quietly handed her his handkerchief, then he looked away and continued to speak. “Have you seen a healer?”
“Several,” Éowyn said. “None will say that I am destined to remain childless but neither do they offer encouragement.”
“Then, wait,” Merry said. “Don’t give up now. Just let nature take its course as they say. If you’ve no children in another year or so, then...” He let the sentence fall there and abruptly changed tack. "Do you know about rabbits?"
"I... um... what about rabbits?" Éowyn tilted her head on one side. "Are you teasing me Master Holdwine? I have certainly heard ribald jokes about rabbits and their breeding proclivities."
Merry now took a turn at a questioning, lopsided look.
"When in the guise of Dernhelm," Éowyn explained. "And sometimes just eavesdropping. But surely you are not suggesting..."
"No," Merry turned scarlet at the implication. "I meant..." He paused, considered for a moment, then decided that he and Éowyn had been through enough together for him to speak plainly. "Rabbits have fascinating breeding habits."
"Indeed?" Éowyn was not sure if it was appropriate for her to hear this.
"I was thinking of writing a book, but I need to complete my studies on herb lore first." Merry grinned now. "But rabbits... Well, to start with if you were to keep rabbits, for commerce that is and you want them to breed, you must always take the doe to the buck, never the other way round."
"Really, why?" Éowyn suspected she could already guess the analogy.
"Because the buck has to be in charge if he is to... ahem... perform adequately." Merry had been studying his curly topped toes as he spoke but now let his eyes glance up to see Éowyn's reaction. It seemed all right. "Chances are, if you take the buck to the doe, she'll eat him for breakfast."
"So you think I need to make Faramir feel more, 'in charge'?" Éowyn frowned slightly. "You think he doesn't feel that now?"
"I think he adores the strong, capable woman that you are," Merry looked firmly into Éowyn's eyes now. "As I do. But I wonder if the lack of love he felt from his father lowered his own confidence. Which brings me to the other thing about rabbits."
"Good gracious!" Éowyn smiled at last. "There's more?"
"Oh yes," Merry nodded enthusiastically. "Much, much more, but I just want to tell you one other thing. When rabbits are living in the wild and their warrens become overcrowded or the does become nervous or unsettled, they cannot reproduce."
"Really," Éowyn was becoming interested in spite of the bizarre nature of the subject. "I thought that rabbits just bred for all they were worth, all the time."
"No, no," Merry was warming to his topic. "If female rabbits are upset or doubtful of sufficient food or whatever else, a doe will become pregnant, but reabsorbs the young into her body. This is well observed in rabbits and I have to wonder if it might not be the same for other species too."
"You mean people?" Éowyn said. "Or, more specifically, me?"
"You do seem to be very on edge," Merry tried tactfully. "Perhaps if you..."
"If I just played the doting little wifey and try to make Faramir forget I was ever a shieldmaiden," Éowyn gave a short snort of derision. "Perhaps I could play act the damsel in distress and Faramir could rescue me - make him feel like my hero."
"Yes," Merry agreed earnestly, totally missing the sarcasm. "That's exactly the sort of thing!"
"Oh," Éowyn suddenly realised that Merry was not joking.
"After all," Merry said. "You played the part of Dernhelm very well and look at what that achieved!"
"That was rather different," Éowyn pointed out.
"Perhaps we could set something up," Merry continued, ignoring her objection. "You could ride out to Brandy Hall, I know my parents would love to meet you both and you could meet Estella. And I could arrange to have you attacked on the way.
"Oh Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Éowyn gave a mock gasp. "You really are too kind!"
"Don't mention it," Merry spotted the irony this time. "But seriously Milady, if you truly want what you say, isn't it at least worth a try?"
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
There was a light covering of snow when Faramir and Éowyn set off for Brandy Hall. Éowyn was actually feeling quite nervous at the prospect of the "attack". It was one thing to fight off an unexpected assailant but quite nerve racking to anticipate one without showing any signs of knowing what was going to happen, particularly if you did not actually know when or where it would occur.
It had not been difficult to persuade Faramir to go to Brandy Hall. They both knew that in all probability it would be their last and only chance to visit The Shire as the High King was seriously considering passing a law forbidding Men of any race to set foot within its borders.
The other matter had been to convince Faramir to leave his armed escort behind in Bree.
"But what if we are set upon by a large gang?” He had argued. "I do not like the idea of risking your safety for the sake of a short detour. The Men will enjoy Brandy Hall too, and I'm sure Merry will not mind."
"Oh we cannot possibly descend on the Brandybucks without warning," Éowyn had countered. "Not such a large party. It is enough of an impertinence to arrive ourselves unannounced."
"But I thought Merry invited you?" Faramir frowned in confusion.
"Oh yes," Éowyn did not falter for a moment. "But he is not Master of the Hall. His father Saradoc holds that title and will do so until the end of his days. I'm sure Merry's invitation is adequate, but it can hardly extend to our whole company. And... and..." Éowyn continued quickly before Faramir could raise another objection. "I do so want to see where Merry grew up and to meet his parents and his new wife!"
"Well I understand that," Faramir conceded. "If it were not for Meriadoc you might not even have survived your great battle and we might not ever have met and I would have died a lonely man. We have much to thank him for."
They rode along in comfortable silence. Éowyn, much to Faramir's surprise, had purchased in Bree a side-saddle and rode it now with the ease and grace that she inevitably showed upon a horse - but still - a side-saddle?
"Holdb! Stay ber han' and 'tand 'own!"
"What?"
"I said," The oversized youth, who had lumbered into the centre of the road, pulled the disguising kerchief off his face and repeated, 'Stay yer hand and stand...'"
"Yes, I heard what you said," Faramir retorted with an edge of exasperation. "I meant, what do you think you're doing?"
"We're 'olding yer up!" The troll-like creature waved a loaded crossbow in the general direction of the hedgerows. "Don't try anything stupid, we got yer completely surrounded."
Faramir, who had long and vast experience of guerrilla warfare from Ithilien to Henneth Annun glanced quickly around. "No you haven't, now get out of the road."
"Ho yus! We'll see 'bout that!" The young troll, in spite of his bold words, sounded a trifle nervous. "Bo! Ron! get out here!"
Another two trolls scrabbled from the undergrowth beside the road. At least one of them did, the second became entangled in the blackberry thorns and tripped over into the ditch from which he had just emerged, cursing and swearing enough for a band of orcs.
"Right Elfin," said the one presumably called Bo. "Sorry 'bout Ron. Shall I go and help him or summick else?"
"Don't call me Elfin!" snarled the first. "And no, yer supposed to be helping me. Get their weapons can't yer?"
"Right El," Bo looked at the bemused couple waiting patiently in the road. "You want me to take 'is sword?"
"Yeah," El waved towards Éowyn. "An' yer better see if she's armed an all. Git Ron to 'elp yer if yer must."
"Just move you idiots," Faramir was almost chuckling now. "As much as I enjoy a little street theatre, you are taxing my patience."
"For pity's sake Merry," Éowyn muttered to herself. "Is this the best you could come up with?" Then out loud for all to hear, "Faramir, don't upset him, he looks desperate and he is armed!"
Faramir could hardly believe his ears. Éowyn! Frightened? How could that be?
Bo began moving towards Faramir, shuffling cautiously from one foot to the other, his arms outstretched in front like a wrestler weighing up a likely opponent. Faramir watched with weary amusement, although his hand did stray to rest on the hilt of his sword.
"Oi Ron!" Bo shouted as he circled, "Git youself up 'ere an' give us a 'and!"
"I fink I broke summink!" Ron shouted back. "Me foot's gone all queer like!"
"Gimme strength!" El spluttered. He moved over to the ditch and wedging the crossbow under his arm, offered both hands to the ditch-bound Ron. "'Ere, grab 'old you ijit!"
No one was ever too sure exactly what happened next. Only a few facts were ever reliably agreed upon. Firstly, it was Ron who accidentally triggered the crossbow as he reached up to grab El's hands. Secondly, it was definitely Bo's fault for lunging at Faramir just as Ron set off the bolt from the crossbow, making Faramir's horse rear and thereby putting his rider in the direct line of fire.
"Faramir!" Éowyn cried out in horror as her husband slumped forward, a thick bolt protruding from his left shoulder.
Almost without thinking, she urged Starlight close enough that she could grab the reins of Faramir's horse, the greatest danger being that the unnerved animal might bolt with her wounded husband on board. Then she slid nimbly to the ground and supported Faramir's weight. Quickly, she saw that he was unconscious.
"You, Bo!" She called softly so as not to frighten the horses, but still with a voice that did not brook argument. "Lift him down. Carefully now. That's right, just lay him on the ground so I can take a look."
"I'se really sorry Ma'm," El came over now with the hapless and limping Ron in tow. "It were an accident."
"Well I should hope you didn't do it on purpose!" Éowyn snapped. "Get me a knife, quickly now, there's one in my husband's saddlebag. And you, Ron, get a fire lit, quick as you can, he's cold and we need to warm him up."
Éowyn was not much taller than El's belly button and Ron could have gripped the circumference of her waist in his hands if he had dared. But the three troll lads scurried around to obey her orders as if an Uruk hai sergeant were barking them out.
"I'll need some bandages... and... and..." Éowyn realised that Faramir was moving slightly under the pressure pad she had wedged against the protruding bolt. "Farrie? Darling, don't try to move. You've got a nasty bolt in your shoulder and I think I'll have to get it out here and now. It's too far, there and back to send for a surgeon and you'll lose too much blood if I leave it in."
"What happened?" Faramir blinked his eyes open against the pain and the dim winter's sun. "Éowyn! The trolls? Are you all right?"
"Is he awake Ma'am?" Ron leaned over into Faramir's line of vision. "Thass a good sign that is!"
"Umm the trolls are fine," Éowyn wondered if now was quite the time to admit the deception. "Don't you worry about the trolls my darling."
"But Éowyn, my love," Faramir gasped for breath and gripped his wife's hand so tightly it hurt. "They were threatening you and... aaahhhh!"
Éowyn had suddenly released the pressure on the wound so that she could cut away the clothing from around the area. Faramir had lost consciousness again at this point and happily remained so while El and Ron had held him steady as Éowyn extracted the bolt and cauterised the resulting gash.
Insisting that the trolls look the other way, she ripped lengths of her petticoat into bandages and then, using a strand of hair from Starlight's tail, stitched and bound the injury.
By the time Faramir woke once more he was bundled up in Éowyn's spare fur cloak with his head in her lap. On the other side of the blazing fire Ron and Bo were, on Éowyn's instructions, brewing up some tea and glaslichen - an analgesic fungus which grew in abundance in the north.
"Éowyn?" Faramir's mouth felt sticky and unpleasant but his brain was hammering questions at a speed that could not be ignored. "What on Middle-earth happened? Did you take on those three trolls on your own and tame them?" He struggled to sit more upright, feeling at his wound at the same time. "You've even doctored my injury... how... I mean..."
"Hush my love," Éowyn moved his hand away from the bandage. "Don't worry, everything is fine. The lads are going to build a temporary shelter. You need to keep still and it will be at least three or four days before you can travel."
"Lads?" Faramir blinked in surprise. "What lads? Did the men come..."
"No," Éowyn could see she would have to own up sooner or later. "I mean the trolls - that is Merry's trolls. They're good chaps really. Apparently they do a lot of work for hobbits pulling ploughs and such. It works really well, the hobbits find shire horses and men sized ploughshares hard to handle and these lads need employment, so..."
"But they tried to rob us," Faramir insisted. "Why did they do that?"
"Um... You need to rest now my love," Éowyn knew Faramir would pursue this, but she was not above taking advantage of his weakened state to play for time.
"Éowyn, what's going on?" Faramir might be weak in body, but his mind was fully functional now. "What did you mean 'Merry's trolls'?"
"We...ll, you see," Éowyn quickly decided that there was nothing else for it - Merry would have to take the full blame. "Merry had this bright idea... that is... well he thought perhaps you thought you needed to appear more of a hero in my eyes and so he..."
"He paid these idiot trolls to attack us?"
"Simply put," Éowyn winced as the words left her mouth, "yes."
"I'll strangle him," Faramir gasped. "So help me - with my bare hands! I will choke the life out of that scheming, interfering little..."
"I think I'll hold your coat," Éowyn agreed.
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It was six whole days before Faramir could travel again but the trolls had built a passable shelter by the expedient of piling up loose rocks into a makeshift cave, leaving a hole in the centre of the roof as a chimney. They also kept up a constant supply of firewood and rabbits so no one went cold or hungry.
Merry had sent out a search party and, when the group was discovered two days later, a waggon had been summoned. By the time it reached the wounded man, another four days on, Faramir was almost recovered enough to ride, but agreed to travel in the waggon after Éowyn suggested she keep him company, saying how cosy it would be.
The couple had discovered an entire new range to their passion whilst holed up in the troll-made cave. It slowly dawned on them that camping out in the wild rather than being together in a stately bedchamber, was an environment in which they both felt comfortable. But there was more...
"Éowyn, my love," Faramir had asked as she snuggled into his side. "Why did you, or was it perhaps Merry, think that I needed you to see me as a hero? I see you as an equal, both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber and I believe that in days to come more men will appreciate their wives in the same fashion."
"I must admit," Éowyn smiled up at him, "it was not all Merry's idea."
"Really?" Faramir sounded a little put out. "You're my heroine; I hoped I was your hero?"
"Absolutely, of course you are, my hero, my Knight, my Prince!" Éowyn decided that she needed to regroup and press the blame firmly outside of her sphere. "It was actually all Merry's fault!"
"Good," Faramir kissed her lightly on her blonde head. "Does that offer to hold my coat still stand?"
0-0-0-0-0-0
Epilogue
"Merry you've come up with some daft ideas in your time," Pippin could not actually think of many daft ideas that his cousin had come up with - that generally remained his province. But this one was so stupid he was not about to let it go too easily. "But hiring trolls to attack your guests..."
"I know, I know," Merry's back was broad in this matter, he really quite enjoyed Pippin finally having something to tease him about. "But I was only trying to help!"
"And you got Faramir shot into the bargain!" Pippin continued. "Not to mention you could have got the trolls killed as well. I mean Éowyn can be pretty mean when she's cross!"
"Oh the trolls were fine," Merry ignored the part about Faramir on account of it being true. "El and Ron quite enjoyed their little sojourn with, as they put it, 'real roy'lty!' And Bo was happy that Éowyn taught him how to make old leather soup."
"Well, they'll not be travelling abroad for a while now," Pippin pointed out. "Not with their new little one. And do you realise he was born almost 9 months to the day that Faramir was laid up. You don't suppose..."
"Of course I suppose," Merry interrupted with a grin. "I think the whole incident must have struck a chord with them - if you take my meaning."
"Not sure if I like the name they've chosen," Pippin decided to ignore Merry's last comment, just in case he meant what he thought he meant. "Elboron, I suppose it's after some ancient King or Steward of Gondor."
"No," Merry chuckled, "El - bo - ron, I think they just named him after three very helpful friends."
The End
GW and A. Friend
12-13-2011
NB: "Elboron was the son of Faramir and Éowyn, and succeeded his father as Prince of Ithilien and the Steward of Gondor after the death of his father in FA 82. It is possible that Elboron was the father of Barahir, the grandson of Faramir and author of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen."
*****This story is posted with many thanks to a couple of very good friends who saved this story by rewriting a large portion of it. I got way off track while writing this and wound up making a long-winded expedition into boredom. Thankfully, my friends were able to take the story in hand and get it back on a much more interesting path. If you enjoyed reading this, it was due to their efforts. I would credit them, but they prefer to remain anonymous. So, I will simply say, thank you to them and thank you for reading this. GW 12-14-2011