Chapter Text
Éomer stared down at the paper in his hand, wondering if it had been trembling since he first read its words.
To Éomer, son of Éomund, High King of Rohan:
I, Faramir, son of Denethor of the House of Húrin and Steward of Gondor, hereby ask your permission to wed your sister, the Lady Éowyn, Shieldmaiden and Princess of Rohan. None in my life have captured my heart so much as your sister, and I live to cherish and honor her. I hope to bring her as much joy as she has brought me as we celebrate the fall of the Shadow and the new Dawn.
Yours in Honor and Admiration,
Faramir, Steward of Gondor
The letter had been rolled tightly, and carried the wax “S” of the Steward of Gondor. There was no doubt of its authenticity. The Steward of Gondor had just formally asked him for his sister’s hand in marriage.
Éomer scowled at its formality, scowled at this man who claimed to love his sister. How long had they known each other? A fortnight? No, this was far too short a time to have made such a rash decision. He would not allow it. Not his little sister. No. He couldn’t. Not her.
Yet, to know Éowyn was to love her. Éomer thought back to his confusion and gloom upon receiving Éowyn’s letter from Merry, that she would not be joining him at Cormallen. Healed? Whole? How had that come to be? Their parting had haunted him deeply as he rode forth with the host. He could tell it was taking the bulk of her strength just simply to endure. He could not stop thinking about the look in her eyes that told him that she endured solely for him. Then she sent that letter saying she’d remain in Minas Tirith and become a healer, when he had begged her to be with him in their glee and celebration? The contents of her letter ate at him. He knew he would never deny her things that brought her happiness. Yet, he knew he was missing something, some part of his sister’s miracle.
Éomer had interrogated Merry upon receipt of Éowyn’s letter, and found the effort infuriating. Merry would not break the confidence of his shieldmaiden, and seemed to become more pleased the further he aggravated Éomer. Was Éomer not the King? Could he not command Merry, a squire of the Riddermark, to betray all he knew? Éomer could, yet Éomer would not do that. Merry kept repeating that he was sure Éowyn would tell him all when she was ready to, to have faith. Merry smiled the whole time, it was insufferable.
Now, here it was. The Steward. Steward of Gondor. Had stolen away his baby sister’s heart. But, perhaps not! Faramir had said little of Éowyn’s mind in his letter. Maybe Éowyn had given her hand tentatively, to further strengthen the realm and her people. Maybe Éowyn had only consented because her declaration of love had been rejected by Aragorn (of course he knew of her unrequited love for the high Lord, he was her brother ). He would protect her from the sorrow of being bound and caged for the sake of a beneficial political arrangement and say no, for her, of course.
Sure, the tone of the letter in his hand was what such a formal request demanded, but couldn’t this Steward have let just a small assurance that Éowyn wanted this slip in? No, the letter the Steward had written was perfect. It was a letter written by a man who understood the political ramifications of asking for such a match (and likely knew that they were good). Éomer resented Faramir for his sophistication. An alliance between Gondor and Rohan at that level? As King of Rohan he should be overjoyed, but as big brother to his precious sister, he was fretful.
Éomer looked at the small stack of papers still awaiting his attention, knowing there was one rolled up and bound with a small sprig of lavender and his name printed in the gentle sloping hand of his sister. He reddened. No, he could not look at that yet. If it said what he thought it would say, he knew he would give into Éowyn’s will. No, right now he got to pretend that Éowyn had decided to sacrifice herself by marrying the Steward, and he was the good and protective older brother who was saving his sister from being trapped in her tower. Again. He would never fail to protect her again.
Éomer re-rolled the Steward’s letter and placed it in his satchel. After a brief hesitation, he gingerly picked up the letter from Éowyn and placed it in the satchel next to the Steward’s, unopened. He would look at the letter, in his own time. Éomer then stood and began his harried search for his squire Merry. Perhaps now the Hobbit would see fit to better answer the questions of his King.