Hello again! Sorry for the wait, the last few weeks have been busy. Welcome to the third and final sequel to "Faramir's story"! If you haven't read "Faramir's story", you can read the synopsis in the beginning of "Fell Wound", the first sequel. Thank you to everyone who reviewed my other stories, you are the best! And again, I've had to use those break lines to separate scenes which is really annoying. I hope it doesn't bug you too much.
Beware the fact that Evil Skittle wrote most of this story. Good for Faramir-angst-lovers, bad for Faramir.
Hope you enjoy!
Éomer glanced anxiously out of the window for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. He sighed at the empty plain. 'Where are you two? I am going mad!' The King of Rohan turned back to where his advisors were arguing over every little thing imaginable. Éomer shifted slightly in his seat and rubbed his head. He had called the meeting for that morning knowing that his sister, Éowyn, and her husband, Prince Faramir of Gondor, were going to arrive in the middle of it. 'And they're late. I don't know if I can handle any more of this squabbling!'
A servant leaned over and whispered in the King's ear. ''My Lord, your sister and her husband have entered the city." Éomer quickly turned his head and looked out the window in time to see the rearguard of the White Company, Faramir's personal guard, enter the Gates. He smiled, relieved. 'Thank the Valar.' Trying not to grin maliciously, the King rose to his feet.
"My pardon, gentlemen, but it appears that my dear sister and her husband the Prince of Ithilien have arrived. The council is dismissed." Éomer wasted no time in bolting out of the room as fast as was considered polite. As soon as his sister entered the Golden Hall, he pulled her into a tight hug. "It is wonderful to see you Éowyn! You do not know how much I have missed you." Letting her go, he enthusiastically shook his brother-by-law's hand. "Thank you for coming Faramir. It is always a pleasure to have the Steward of Gondor here."
Faramir eyed Éomer. "You had a meeting with your advisors again, didn't you." Éowyn laughed at the King's sheepish smile.
"Well, yes. But I am glad to see you. Come, let us get something to eat." Éowyn's eyes lit up. She was famished from the trip and felt like she could eat an entire wild boar herself. The King of Rohan led them to the small dining hall and ordered the food to be prepared. As the servants scurried to work, Éomer sat at the head of the table, Éowyn at his right with Faramir sitting next to her. The King smiled as he watched them 'furtively' shift their seats so that they were closer together, Faramir's hand finding his wife's. 'Two years of marriage, and they act like it is still the first week.' The food was served and the three piled food onto their plates. Éomer was surprised when Éowyn bypassed her favorite, roast quail, in favor of a potato on which she heaped large amounts of gravy, butter, and... blackberry preserves? Faramir made a face at his wife's choice of toppings. Éowyn just smiled and dumped a spoonful of preserves on his wild boar.
Éomer laughed as Faramir retaliated by pouring a large amount of pepper on Éowyn's strange concoction. She took a tentative bite. "You lose, love. This tastes quite good!"
"Sister, I am surprised! You were always such a picky eater as a child."
Faramir shook his head. "Recently she seems to have taken quite a liking to blackberry preserves. She puts it on everything!"
"Not everything, dear. I have yet to try it on spinach and I have no intention of ever eating that dratted vegetable, with or without blackberries." Éowyn glared and her brother and Éomer grinned, remembering her one and only experience with spinach.
"But sister, you turned such a lovely shade of green! How was I to know that you wouldn't like having a worm with your spinach salad? And I still have not forgiven you for flattening Squiggles.
Faramir choked on his wine. "Squiggles? You had a worm named Squiggles?"
Éomer cheeks reddened. He had not meant to mention the pet worm he had had as a child. "Um, so how is Ithilien?"
They accepted his change of subject, though Faramir vowed silently to find out about the Squiggles incident later. "Ithilien blossoms under your lovely sister's care. Her hand has brought much healing to the land."
Éowyn lightly shoved him. "Do not place all the praise on me, husband. You work just as hard as I do, perhaps more so. Killing orcs, planting trees, all in the day's work for the Prince of Ithilien."
Glad to have the focus away from him and Squiggles, Éomer leapt at the chance to question his brother-by-law. "You have had many trees planted? Does not Ithilien already have too many?" As a horseman who loved the open grasslands, trees were something of a nuisance. One could not gallop around trees, and if one could not go into a full gallop, one could not fight the enemy well. It was a feeling shared by most of the Rohirrim.
"Not only does he have trees planted, he plants them himself! I swear, you nearly gave that poor old woman a heart attack when she found out that her Prince had helped turn the ground for her orchard."
"Is it my fault that she took me for a gardener?"
"Yes, because you insist on dressing like one. Perhaps if you were more proper, you wouldn't be mistaken for a commoner."
Faramir leaned closer to his wife. "You wouldn't like me if I was a proper nobleman."
Éowyn smiled and also leaned closer. "You would be politer."
"You wouldn't like me polite."
"You are right." Their heads came nearer and they were about to kiss when Éomer suddenly became embroiled in a coughing fit that broke the two apart. They smiled sheepishly and returned to their meal. Éomer picked at his roasted quail, not hungry anymore. He felt a little bit jealous that his sister had found love and was happily married while he was still alone. Though there was no lack of maidens eager to be Queen of Rohan, Éomer had yet to fall in love and it hurt to see others so happy. The King shook his head to clear his thoughts. 'Do not dwell on these things. Enjoy your time with your sister, and be happy that she has found someone to share her life with, even if you have not found someone yourself.'
Night had fallen. Eistavar crept along the shores of Snowbourne River into the dark forest of Puvarjo. His eyes darted nervously from tree to tree and his hands shook with dread. The man looked older than his thirty years, aged by fear and darkness. Eistavar came to a large obsidian rock and knelt, his head touching the moist ground. Suddenly, black shadows loomed over him and he shivered. "What news, rat?" sneered a deep masculine voice. Eistavar cowered in unhidden fear. "Speak!"
"M...my lords. Th...the Prince and h... his wife are in Edoras."
"They suspect nothing?" inquired a second male voice, lower than the first and more menacing."
"N... nothing, m... my lords. They suspect nothing."
Eistavar could feel the first man's evil grin. "Good. We attack midmorning, they will not suspect a thing. Rohan will be mine! King Éomer will pay for his uncle's cruelty."
"And I will have my revenge on the General's murderer." Eistavar shuddered at the hatred in the second man's voice.
"Yes, the Steward too will pay. But what shall we do about the White Lady?"
The second man shrugged. "She is useless. Have the men kill her." At that moment he seemed to remember Eistavar. "Leave, rat. Go back to your home. But should you warn anyone of what is to come... well, you know what will happen." Eistavar trembled as he rose to his feet, running away as fast as he could to the sound of evil laughter.
(Lirenel is unavailable for comment. Evil Skittle has tied her up in a closet and taken over the computer. Her mini-Balrog, Elladen, is currently trying to free her.)