For drinkupmehearties

[shieldofrohan]

The door to Jack's cell opens just before dawn. Éowyn stands there, dressed for riding - breeches under her gown, her hair braided back close to her scalp - and looks at him for a moment, hand on hip, before beckoning for his things to be brought. His sword will be given back to him: his gun will not. She knows, after all, that if it comes to a fight with swords, she is a more than equal match for him, but her experiences in the Capitol have let her know just how dangerous a gun can be in the wrong hands.

Outside, the horses are waiting. She has chosen a mare for him, docile and easy to ride, with a high saddle that should be easy to stay in. Even with their experience in the Arena, she's loath to trust his riding. There's a big difference between staying in the saddle for an hour or so with adrenaline pumping through your veins, and staying in the saddle for the long day's ride that lies ahead of them.

Her own horse, of course, gives her no such worries. The grey stallion has borne her well since the Pelennor Fields, and she's more comfortable in his saddle than she could ever be with both feet on the ground. As they head out into the courtyard, he raises his head and whickers at her, making her smile.

Faramir stands beside the horses, though he is not dressed for travel. As she approaches, he goes to meet her, ignoring Jack for the moment as he ducks his head to kiss her. "You are sure of this?"

"I am sure," she answers, with a fond smile, and leans up to kiss him in return. "Do not linger here too long, love. Emyn Arnen is not nearly so fair without you in it."

He laughs, low in his throat, and traces his fingertips over her cheek. "How can it be made fairer by my presence, when you are already there to illuminate it?" Straightening up with a kiss to her forehead, he smiles. "I will be a few days, no more. Travel well, my lady. And for my sake, if you should see an enemy, ride away, and not towards them."

Éowyn smiles, shaking her head, and pulls away. "Jack, do you need help mounting, or can you manage?"

Comments

i love that she gave him the beginner horse lmf

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack is quick to outfit himself with the various pieces that had been taken from him (one being his baldric, strapping that across his shoulder and affixing his scabbard to it), movements practiced and cultivated from old habit. While the absence of his pistol doesn't go unnoticed -- in fact, she receives a long glance when it's clear that it's not forthcoming -- it feels damn good to have his cutlass back in his possession, at least.

He follows Eowyn out in the courtyard and as her and Faramir exchange farewells, Jack busies himself with getting into the saddle. He offers a brief look in her direction at the question, though, hooking a hand onto the saddle and readying to heave himself up. "Aye, not a worry. I can manage it meself."

It's certainly leagues easier with actual stirrups to work with -- as opposed to bareback like in the stables -- and so Jack hoists himself up onto the saddle without too much hassle. Yet, even if he'd had difficulty, he would've refused the offer; he's already nursing a bit of a bruised ego from being dragged about from one set of shackles to another like this, better to not make it worse by having everyone watch him helped up onto a horse like a child learning to ride.

The mare doesn't react much to the added weight on her back beyond a light flick of her ear, and Jack leans forward to grab the reins and settle comfortably into the saddle. He looks to Faramir first, offering a warm half-smile and tap of two fingers to his temple. "Luck and a fair wind to you, mate. It's a pleasure." Then glancing to Eowyn, "Shall we be off, then?"

it has an l-plate hanging from the back clearly

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn nods, vaulting into the saddle. "Go well," she tells Faramir, guiding her horse around so she can lean in to kiss his forehead. "And do not work too hard. Do you hear me?"

He smiles, taking her hand for a moment. "I hear you," he says, kissing her knuckles, and pulls away. "Ride well, both of you. And good fortune to you, Captain. I doubt not that we shall meet again ere long."

right below the huge CAUTION sign

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack shifts in his saddle, a touch fidgety as he waits, then gives a nod when Faramir speaks to him. "As I'm sure. Thanks very much."

While he's not in any way keen to travel further away from the sea or his ship — provided the Pearl wasn't already back out on the water in the hands of another captain — Jack is eager to leave. He's spent longer in jail cells, months even, but that didn't temper the restless agitation that came with captivity.

He straightens a little in his seat, sweeping his hand out. "By your leave, my lady. Lead the way."

[shieldofrohan]

If Éowyn is honest with herself, it's a little gratifying to have him address her as my lady, rather than Éowyn or luv. It's a reassuring reminder that this is not Panem, and things are not as they were between them. She gives him a little smile, nodding, and nudges her horse into a walk.

Only the two of them are riding: that may be a sign that they put some faith in Jack, or only that they put a great deal of it in Éowyn. She brings her horse around, heading out of the courtyard and down the cobbled street, and turns to wave goodbye to Faramir as they leave.

She doesn't speak for a while, not until they have walked the horses down through the seven levels of the city - past stalls and stores, through a throng of citizens who smile and wave or bow to Éowyn - and out through the front gates, onto the Pelennor Fields. Even then, it's a couple of minutes before she turns to look at him. "This is where it happened," she tells him, conversationally. "The great battle I told you of."

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack nudges the heels of his boots to the horse's side, urging the mare to follow along beside Eowyn. He's at ease in the silence as they navigate down the streets, using the time to quietly survey the city unfolding around them.

He's marveling a little, in part, at the sights. But it'd be a lie to say that he wasn't also studying the circuits and alleyways of the city, memorizing the path back to where they were. The thought has already crossed his mind to sneak off, circle back, see if he could figure out a way to free his crew and take it from there. But there are too many eyes on them as they pass, and soon enough they're out of the gates and the possibility passes.

"Ah. The one with the Witch-King," He answers as their horses trot along, his eyes roaming the fields that stretch out around them. It's an absurd feeling, he muses, to think of the conversation they'd had in the Arena, to think that he hadn't ever expected to find himself in this place. He's not quite homesick, as there wasn't much back home that Jack desired besides the Pearl. But it's a strange thought nonetheless.

"The adoration that lot was throwing your way is well-deserved, judgin' by that song."

yeah it's not worth doing a new post for this

[shieldofrohan]

The woodland of Ithilien comes into view around mid-afternoon; the sun is still high and bright behind them, and there is a light breeze on the air that makes the trees whisper. Éowyn smiles to see the woods - after so long trapped in Panem, it makes her heart lift every time she can see this sight and know she is truly home - and she turns to look at Jack, pointing. "We are near, now. Those hills, there, are Emyn Arnen."

And nestled among the hills, her home. It is a strange sort of place, unfolding into view as the horses trot through the unspoilt forest: parts of it look ancient indeed, the remnants of some great house, while other parts are freshly-made, and still others are scaffolded and half-constructed. Emyn Arnen has long been deserted, and a year is not a long time to build a city anew. Still, it is beginning to look like a homely place again. Gondor's flag flutters from the towers, and the surrounding houses - fewer than might be expected - are filled with the everyday bustle of a town. As they had done in Minas Tirith, the people leave their work and turn when Éowyn rides towards the courtyard, but there's more familiarity in their smiles, and open curiosity when they see Jack. It's clear nobody has been warned that she'd return so soon, much less that she would have a strange man with her.

"Of old," she says to Jack, ignoring their curiosity, "Faramir's forefathers dwelt here. But that was many centuries ago. As for us, we have lived here only since the war."

[drinkupmehearties]

His attention draws over to where she points, to the city that unravels around them as the two ride on and into the courtyard. As they pass by the populace, Jack returns the curious looks with mutual interest, watching as their reverence for Eowyn turns to inquisitive stares when their eyes find him.

Once she speaks, however, his gaze drifts back to her. "I imagine there's quite a bit of history to this place, then. Cozy, nonetheless." A short pause, filled with the noise of the horse's hooves striking the ground. "Where to, now?" He doesn't voice the thought, but all the same he's wondering whether he'll be returned right back to another jail cell.

[shieldofrohan]

"I'll have a room readied." She reins her horse in, slipping easily out of the saddle. She can imagine what he's thinking, and almost adds We have no cells here, but thinks better of it. Instead, shaking her hair back, she starts to lead her horse towards the stables. "It may not be the most luxurious, but I doubt you will find it too unbearable."

There's a certain dryness in her tone. She knows perfectly well that they've both stayed in far, far worse places.

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack follows suit, sliding down from the saddle and bundling the reins in his hand to lead the mare in the direction that Eowyn heads. He's relieved; in part, because he's sorely and obviously so unaccustomed to such long, tiresome journeys on horseback. An actual bed to sleep in sounded wonderful at this point. But, of course, it also eases him to know that he won't spend his time here behind iron bars.

He picks up on her tone and the corner of his mouth perks just a touch, tone wry in turn. "I'm much obliged. And I'll do me best to endure it."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn doesn't hurry. She lingers in the stable a long time after sending one of the servants off to ready a room, and since nobody's directing Jack anywhere else, she's presumably expecting him to stay while she sees to the horses - not just feeding and watering them, but brushing them down as well. She's not one to cut corners, especially not when it comes to her beloved horses.

For the most part, she ignores him while she works, besides occasionally gesturing for him to pass her something. At last, she says, "You'll be across the hall from me. Where I can keep an eye on you, if need be."

clearly i went with what was behind door number one. the nightmare door.

[shieldofrohan]

She wakes up in the middle of the second night, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe. The moon is hidden, and the fire has burnt down to nothing; the dark is so complete that she might as well be blind. Blind, or back in that tiny, airless cell the Capitol locked her in after her rebellion. The bed feels cold and empty, the air clammy against her skin. She fumbles for a light, and for a moment feels - actually feels - her fingers bruise against the too-smooth wall of a Capitol cell before reality kicks in.

It takes her several tries to light the candle. She sits up in bed, her shift plastered to her body, a scream still sitting in the base of her throat, and looks over at the empty space beside her, and weeps. She feels like a child, alone in the dark, and she hates it, because she ought to be stronger by now. She's a grown woman, a Healer, a shieldmaiden. She ought to be stronger than the ghost of the Capitol.

Eventually, she settles down, blows out the candle, and tries to sleep again. It's all of five minutes before she surges out of the bed, crying out in fear and grief and frustration, to pace wildly around the room. About half an hour after that, the lock of Jack's door rattles open, and Éowyn walks in, ghostly in her sweat-drenched shift, a candle in her hand. Her hair is loose and tangled around her shoulders, and she walks with none of her usual confidence. She sits on the edge of his bed, still holding the candle up, and presses her lips together.

"This is your fault," she tells him, unsure whether he's even awake to hear it. "It was never this bad before, not since first I returned. And if ever you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll carry out the King's first sentence myself."

oh no

[drinkupmehearties]

Under normal circumstances, Jack was usually a pretty heavy sleeper; drinking foolishly large amounts of rum certainly helped with that, sure, that even helped with the nightmares, but so did the passive comfort that his ship could handle most hardships that arose even if her captain was out cold. Gibbs, especially, was good for handling things when Jack was otherwise incapacitated.

But this wasn't the Pearl, and since his return from Panem, he's slept rather lightly -- nearly a full year of being jarred awake for midnight Sponsor meet-and-greets or random photoshoots had drilled that habit into him. Or, of course and more importantly, the notion that this time it'd be that dreaded early, involuntary morning shuffle to the next Arena.

And so, the clatter of his door unlocking abruptly pulls him out from a light, drifting semi-sleep.

He cracks an eye open at Eowyn's voice, but it takes a few long beats for her words to actually make sense to his clouded thoughts. Dragging himself halfway to a sitting position, Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and blinks dully in the candlelight. "Duly noted. With that said, who would I tell?" Despite the concern for her state, there's a hint of humor in his tone. But then, a bit more sober and after a considering pause, "What's wrong, luv?"

Phone tagging, please forgive any typos

[shieldofrohan]

"Nothing." The denial comes automatic as breathing, before she even has the chance to think better of it. She signs, looking down at the candle flame, and shakes her head. This is foolish. She couldn't fool even an idiot with that lie, and Jack, whatever else he may be, it's no idiot.

"...it plagues me," she says at last, her voice small and a little shaky. "I wake up sweating and sure I'm back there. In Panem. In prison. And I roll over to find Faramir beside me, because if I'm not alone I can't be back there." The hand not holding the candle is clenching against her skirt, bunching up the thin fabric of her shift. She looks as though it's an effort not to cry. "But I am alone, Jack. And it's foolish to feel so, for I know it's only a few nights ere he returns. But even one night like that is an eternity. I can't breathe, I can feel the walls close in..." She takes a deep, juddering breath. "...I'm going to light the fire. Do you mind?"

[drinkupmehearties]

The initial denial is met with no reaction from him; even if Jack didn't already know how proud and poised Eowyn liked to be, the redness in her eyes and the tremble in her voice was more than enough hint for him to know something was very wrong. He pulls himself up the rest of the way to sit, a frown making its way onto his face, brow knitting.

And Jack pauses for a lengthy moment, as if to say something about what she's just said. But then, instead, he simply makes a small gesture and answers, "Not in the least." He runs a hand over his face, scratching fingertips against the scruff on his face. It'd give him time to shake the drowsiness fully away while she did, at least.

Eventually, however, Jack lets his gaze draw to her. "Nightmares, I take it? Waking nightmares, at times, perhaps." A hesitant pause, longer than it should be, while his gaze roams to one of the tapestries that's barely visible in the dim room. "Had 'em too, sometimes." The fiery hot bullet tearing through his chest, the sword in his gut, the pale screaming creatures that had torn into him. He'd awoken more times than he'd like to admit in a cold sweat, heart pounding, utterly convinced that death had taken him and that he'd awoken back in hell.

[shieldofrohan]

By this time, Éowyn's got up, taking the candle with her, to kneel in front of the fireplace and lay out the fuel. When he speaks, she looks over her shoulder at him, the faint light of her candle casting deep, gaunt shadows across her face. One eye is lost in the shadow cast by her hair.

When she's sure he's done, she nods, turning back to the fire. Her face is hidden from him, but the hunch of her shoulders and the bend of her back show her unease just as well. At last, she lights the fire and pushes herself to her feet, turning so she's silhouetted against the newborn flames. She stands there for a moment, her brow furrowed, looking at him across the room. Then she strides over to the bed and, without really thinking, puts her arms around him. Her embrace is rough and brief, but she doesn't regret it: whether or not he needed it, she did.

"Make room," she tells him, as she pulls away, and gets onto the bed beside him. She doesn't get under the covers (she has some sense of propriety, even distraught as she is), but it's just so good to have someone beside her, warm and close and real, and not feel so alone. For a moment, she sits there, with her knees pulled up to her chest, and watches the fire take hold in the grate. At last, so quietly it's barely there at all, she says hoarsely, "What have they done to us?"

[drinkupmehearties]

The fire had died out some hours previous, the light it'd provided now replaced by the early morning sunlight streaming through a window. Jack slowly stirs from sleep, an arm still loosely draped around Eowyn, roused by the pale light and the distant chirrup of birds. The morning is quite young still, but Jack is more than used to rising early with the sun; back home the day's course would need to be charted and plotted out, tasks assigned to crewmen, captain's log updated, and rum to be drunk to chase the previous night's hangover away.

It takes a few moments for the hazy fog of sleep to clear from his thoughts, for him to remember where he was (not home) and who was nestled so warmly against him. He doesn't immediately wake her, however, instead reveling in the feeling of holding her for a short few moments.

Then he shifts and lifts a hand, brushing fingertips against her cheek and says quietly, "Eowyn."

[shieldofrohan]

She stirs, eyes still closed, and nuzzles closer against him, her arms wrapping around his waist. "Mm. Morning, love." For her part, she hasn't quite remembered where she is or what happened last night: she's still two-thirds asleep and all she knows is that there's someone in bed with her, holding her, and that that's nice. It's not surprising, really, that she assumes it's Faramir, or that, sleep-clouded and content, she leans up to kiss him.

It's not until her mouth brushes his, and his beard and moustache bristle against her skin, that she registers who it is. Her eyes fly open, and she goes pink, pulling away - though not as far as she ought to. "Jack! I didn't mean..."

Or maybe she did. Just a little.

[drinkupmehearties]

It probably doesn't help that Jack accepts the familiar intimacy of her touch without any protest whatsoever; when she nearly kisses him, too, her lips sweetly soft on his, Jack just about leans forward to deepen the kiss. But when she pulls away, flushing pink, a cheery, warm smile tugs at his mouth. "And a fair mornin' to you, luv."

He pulls himself up partway on the bed, leaning on his elbow, sliding a palm to rest brazenly over her hip. "Did you sleep well?"

[shieldofrohan]

She glares at him, as hard as she can (and never mind that it isn't as intimidating as usual, not really), and purses her lips. Rather than answering his question - although the answer would be yes, better than I thought I ever might again - she nods down at his hand on her hip.

"You aren't making this easy," she observes. It's meant to come out cool and distasteful: in actuality, it sounds more than a little plaintive. "We're not alone in this place, you know. People will talk."

[drinkupmehearties]

She hasn't made this much easier for him, either, is the remark that Jack doesn't voice out loud. Instead, he merely grins warmly at the glare she gives him, sitting up. "Aye, that could be true. But all the same, I'm not sure who would be here to know." There would be gossip, certainly, if someone were to spot them like this. Gossip, and major trouble.

But despite that risk, Jack appears untroubled. "Would you rather we part ways, then?"

eventually i should probably make a new post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[shieldofrohan]

She avoids him, for the most part, for the rest of the day. It's easy enough to tell herself it's only because there's work to be done. There is work to be done, there is always work to be done, but deep down she knows it's avoidance. Just as she knows it's a conscious decision to send food and drink to him through servants, rather than taking it herself, as a hostess ought to.

But she needs the time. She needs to catch her breath, get her thoughts in order. It isn't until the next morning that she steels herself to actually talk to him as she knows she must. After breakfast, she crosses over to his room, knocking sharply on the door. "Jack?"

yes prooobably

[drinkupmehearties]

"Aye," His voice answers after a few lazy beats, familiar in its nonchalance. He had begun to wonder -- as the day had lapsed into night, then moved to morning once again -- if she would return to speak with him. He'd wondered, too, after the hours kept passing, if she'd instead just send servants his way until it came time to talk to her husband.

But with not much else to do but eat and drink and wait (and perhaps entertain the thought of escape a few times, as was his style), he'd decided to make use of his time and pent up energy. When she opens the door, she'll find that Jack has pulled a table out into the middle of the room and spread his map onto its surface. He's draped into a chair next to it, legs kicked up onto another chair in front of him, finger pressed onto one of the map's rings.

[shieldofrohan]

She looks at the map, then at him, clearing her throat. "We should talk." Her eyes flick briefly to the bed, and she colours, biting the inside of her cheek. "Somewhere else. Come with me." She isn't entirely sure where somewhere else will be, but this conversation is going to be painful enough, without the constant awareness of where she transgressed. Their conversation has to be private, of course, but if she's honest, she's also scared to be alone with him at all. She doesn't trust herself, after what happened yesterday.

[drinkupmehearties]

He studies her face for a few moments, trying to suss out what exactly he's in for with this conversation. Then his mouth bends with a mild smile, and Jack slides his feet from the second chair, leaning forward to roll the map back up. "Mornin' to you, luv. Let's talk, then." He tucks the map away into a pocket in his coat, rising from the chair and crossing over to the door.

"Lead the way."

[shieldofrohan]

She takes a little step back to keep space between them, and nods. Her mouth feels dry, her heart a little too fast, and she realises with a spark of bitter amusement that she's more scared of this conversation than she's ever been on the battlefield.

Wordlessly, she turns and heads down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he's following. She leads him upstairs, after a moment's thought - up to Faramir's study. It's a smallish room, made smaller by the books and papers lining every wall. Éowyn unlocks the door, nodding for Jack to go inside and sit down.