As for the men of the White Company, who not only guarded the fort but also filled all the housekeeping jobs (from majordomo to cook), they did not talk to the prince much at all. ‘Yes, Your Highness; no, Your Highness; I don’t know, Your Highness’ – that was the extent of the conversation, with ‘don’t know’ a clear favorite. They were ordered to guard, so they guarded; were they ordered to kill him, they would undoubtedly do that, too. Faramir could not figure out whose orders those cutthroats obeyed, but he did not believe even for a moment that it was Beregond. At the same time, there seemed to be no messages from Aragorn, either, unless they had clandestine communications with Minas Tirith without the captain’s knowledge – but then why make it so complex?
Indeed it was a strange crowd that made its home in Emyn Arnen that spring, and the funniest thing was that all the participants of The Prince of Ithilien and His Court show made a touchingly united effort to keep that strangeness from becoming the subject of discussion outside its walls, where real life went on.
In real life it was a rare day that Faramir did not bless a new group of subjects – yet another group of settlers from Gondor. Many of those were not at all eager to show themselves to the court, preferring instead to huddle in the farthest reaches of the forest; it was clear that they regarded tax collectors as a much more harmful and dangerous threat than the ‘goblins’ that supposedly infested those thickets. During the war those people have learned to wield weapons expertly and got out of the habit of bowing to landlords, so the Prince of Ithilien would not have been able to control the fortified forest hamlets these people were building even if he wanted to, which he did not. All he did was try to convey to the newcomers that they would not be fleeced in his demesne, and the message seemed to be getting through: lately grim armed men from the far hamlets have been showing up at the main Settlement, with pointed inquiries about prices for honey and smoked venison. That year axes and hammers sounded throughout Ithilien: the settlers built houses, cleared forests for fields, put up mills and dry distilleries. They were settling the forests beyond Anduin for good.
Chapter 22
More than a month has gone by since the end of the Mordorian campaign, and still Éowyn had no message from Aragorn. Well, who knows what the circumstances are… If she had reached any conclusions already, she kept them to herself and her behavior had not changed a bit. The only difference was that she no longer asked Beregond daily for news from Minas Tirith. It also seemed to Faramir that her remarkable gray-green eyes have acquired a new, colder, bluish tint, but that would have been really supernatural. The girl treated the prince with genuine warmth and sympathy, but she had channeled their closeness into nothing but friendship from the very beginning, and he had to accept that.
They were sitting at the dinner table in the Knights Hall of the fort, unwelcoming because of its large size, when a Gondorian lieutenant in a dusty cloak showed up, accompanied by several soldiers. Faramir immediately offered the messenger wine and venison, but the man shook his head. His business is so urgent that he will only change horses and ride back. He has the King’s orders to pick up Éowyn from Emyn Arnen (the girl leaned forward and her shining face seemed to dispel the gloom of the hall) and escort her to Edoras, to the court of King Éomer.
He followed up with some Minas Tirith news of which Faramir had only consciously registered an unfamiliar name: Arwen. Arwen – sounds like the tolling of a gong, he thought fleetingly; I wonder what fight this gong announces… The prince looked up at Éowyn and his heart felclass="underline" her face was a bloodless mask of pain, her eyes seeming to take up half of it – a child who had just been cruelly and mercilessly tricked and is now about to be publicly mocked to boot.
But this show of weakness lasted for only a moment. Then the blood of six generations of steppe knights asserted itself: the sister of the King of the Mark of Rohan may not behave like a miller’s daughter seduced by the landlord. Smiling charmingly (although the smile held about as much warmth as moonlight upon a snowy White Mountains pass), Éowyn told the lieutenant that his orders were very strange, as she was not the subject of the man who called himself the King of Gondor and Arnor. In any event, they are presently outside the Reunited Kingdom, so if the Prince of Ithilien (a nod towards Faramir) does not object, she would like to avail herself of his hospitality for some more time.
The Prince of Ithilien had no objections, of course, and the only thing that really upset him about the situation was this: he was unarmed, so if Aragorn’s men were under orders to remove the girl forcibly if necessary, he would have to fight with only the dagger he has just used to cut venison. A truly fitting end for the last heir of the ill-fated Anarion dynasty! At least this tragic farce will be concluded in its prevalent style… The prince glanced at Beregond, who stood on the right side of the table, and was startled by an astonishing change that had come over the captain: his gaze was firm as in the old days, and his hand rested familiarly on the hilt of his sword. Neither of them needed any words to understand that the old warrior had made his choice and was ready to die by Faramir’s side.
Whereas the Gondorian officer was obviously perplexed: apparently his orders did not include any violence against royal persons. Éowyn smiled again – with real charm this time – and firmly took the upper hand:
“I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay after all, Lieutenant. Do try the venison, it’s especially good today. Your soldiers must need rest, too.” She addressed the butler: “Gunt! See the King’s men to the kitchen and make sure they’re well fed after their journey. Oh, and arrange for their baths!”
Éowyn had the fortitude to stay until the end of the meal and even keep up the conversation: “Please pass the salt… Thank you… So what’s the news from Mordor, Lieutenant? We’re quite cut off, here in the boonies…” It was clear, though, that she was holding on with the last of her strength. Looking at her, Faramir remembered some over-tempered glass he once saw: it looked just like a regular piece of glass, but shattered into tiny pieces with a tiny flick.
Of course he did not sleep that night; sitting by the lamp, he kept futilely wracking his brains, trying to think of ways to help. The prince was an expert in philosophy and pretty well versed in military and intelligence crafts, but to be honest, he knew little about the intricacies of the female soul. So when his door opened without a knock and there was transparently pale Éowyn, in a nightshirt and barefoot, he was completely bewildered. She was already inside, though, stepping like a somnambulant; then the nightshirt fell down at her feet, and she ordered, head held high but eyelashes down: “Take me, Prince! Now!”
He picked up her light body – goodness, she’s shivering like crazy, must be nervous shakes! – carried her to his bed and covered her with two warm cloaks. What else do I have here? He looked around – aha, Elvish wine, just what she needs.