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

[shieldofrohan]

She doesn't intend to laugh, but laugh she does, short and hollow. "Time," she repeats, bitterly, taking the hook from him and dropping it into a leather bag that hangs from the stable door. There's a twist to her mouth for a moment, and a hardness in her eyes that is almost scorn.

She shakes her head, and pulls herself together. "I am sorry," she says, quietly, and beckons him out of the stable. "Time and patience are all the counsel I seem to hear. But I have little patience, and so time seems my enemy." It stretches out so far ahead of her, and she sees no end to it, to this sense of lostness in her own land. The worst part is how trapped it makes her feel - but worse than Edoras in the days of the War, worse even than the Detention Center, because the prison she finds herself in now is one she knows she built herself, and has no idea how to escape. "I promised you wine. Come."

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack dusts his palms against his breeches, quiet, giving her a soft, considering look.

"You haven't a need to apologize. I understand the frustration, probably more'n most around here." Even when he'd done his best to forget, relegate the memory to being some ridiculous bad dream, it'd been hard not to speak of it with someone else. Not without earning those disbelieving, dismissive looks.

He follows after her, then, a bit of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Seems the both of us might need a drink or three, eh?" His tone is lighter, hoping, in some small way, to lift the somber mood.

enjoy this unnecessarily long tag

[shieldofrohan]

"That ought not to be so quick a recourse," Éowyn scolds, but she smiles back, taut but genuine. "But I cannot say you are wrong."

She leads him back across the courtyard, nodding to the guard as he bows and turns to open the door for them. "Welcome," she says to Jack, over her shoulder, as she gestures him inside, "to my home."

The hallway is narrower and plainer than those he was marched through in Minas Tirith. This is a prince's palace, not a King's. The beams and rafters overhead are of wood still visibly fresh, and the recent rebuilding is clear, if you look. Still, the tapestries that hang from the walls are finely-worked, and the light lancing through from the high windows lights the stone up in gold. And, of course, he isn't in shackles, which no doubt helps the effect.

Éowyn pauses a moment, looking around. Since her return from the Capitol, she always has this sense when she comes home, as if a weight has been lifted anew, while at the same time she is so much more aware of how easily this could be taken from her. The feeling lasts only a moment, though; then she shakes her hair back and sets off down the hallway, moving with an ease he can rarely have seen in her. Down a corridor, up a small flight of stairs, around a corner... At last, she beckons him into the room where the wine is set out.

The doors onto the balcony are open, letting in a cool breeze and a fine view onto the woods. The room itself is small and simply-furnished; a chest here, a few chairs there, a spinning-wheel near the wall and a loom in the corner with a half-finished tapestry still hanging on it. Éowyn nods Jack towards a chair, and goes to pour the wine.

shh long tags are never unnecessary

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack trails behind Eowyn with that ever-casual stride of his, letting her lead the way past the guard and through the hallway. Of course, it's intriguing to see these places that she's often spoken about with his own eyes. But, mostly, Jack notices the effect this has on her -- the peace that just being here appears to give her -- rather than the architecture itself; perhaps the only times that he's seen her this way is when she's been outside, riding confident atop one of her horses. It's certainly a great difference from the misery and rage that being in the Capitol had caused.

Jack offers a cursory glance around once they've found their way to the room, then moves to sprawl onto the chair, settling in and draping an arm over the back. As she busies herself with pouring the wine, Jack draws the worn tricorne from his head and lets his gaze wander -- his attention lands first on the spinning-wheel, then eventually over to the loom and tapestry.

He nods, indicating. "Are those yours?"

[shieldofrohan]

She nods, setting the wine jug down and holding out one of the horn beakers - no goblets, not for a casual occasion - to him. "I have done little such work of late," she admits, taking the other beaker and sitting down opposite him. "Even before Panem, I had so much else to do."

She almost says the thought that flits into her head - that she would have killed for that loom and thread back in the Detention Center, when boredom seemed as like to kill her as any of the Capitol's warring - but it would only take the conversation back to those dark places. So she swallows it down, cutting herself off, and takes a long draught of wine. "That piece," she comments instead, "I began back in Edoras." Her smile is sad and a little bitter, but it's still a smile. "Look too close, and you can still see where I was learning to use my arm again, after the war."

[drinkupmehearties]

"I would imagine so with a war goin' on, and then dealing with what was left after." And of course, with Panem. He accepts the beaker from her, tipping the cup to briefly consider its contents, then takes a couple slow, hefty swigs from it. The wine isn't as bitter or harsh as Jack usually prefers his alcohol, but he's clearly thankful for the drink either way.

His gaze shifts to the tapestry as she speaks, dark eyes drawing over the woven patterns with quiet interest, then returns to her. "You learned to use that arm quite well, I'd wager. Can't say I've ever seen someone fend off a dragon all by their lonesome, with no more than a sword and shield." A good-humored smile, accented by a glint of gold in his teeth. "But it's a lovely piece. Better'n I could ever do, for certain."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn snorts, ducking her head a little. "I would thank you not to mention that battle to my husband," she says, with a smile that's just a little sarcastic. "Not when he has aided me so greatly in setting sword and shield aside. But I cannot deny I was proud of it." It had been one of relatively few times in Panem when she had felt like herself, like someone proud and strong and noble. She treasures the memory for that, if nothing else. "As for the tapestry, well... I am a noblewoman. Some skills are expected. That is the least of them."

[drinkupmehearties]

Another smile flickers across his face. "O' course, I'll do me best not to mention it -- mum's the word, as they like to say. Though, truth be told, I'd be proud of such a thing too." Jack tilts his beaker towards her, grinning, then takes another swig. The subtle warmth that the drink brings to him is pleasant, familiar, welcome. He takes another sip.

"Alas, I've no great familiarity with the pastimes of noblewomen. What else is expected?"

[shieldofrohan]

She raises her glass in answer, and mimics him in drinking. "Ah," she answers, after a moment's thought, "many things. Manners, of course, and grace. Dancing, and singing, and to know the histories and the tales of the land. When to speak, and when to be silent - though," she adds, with a certain laughter in her eyes, "you may think I am not too accomplished at the latter. But, too, she must take the reins of the household; must know how to order a kitchen and lay the tables, make the beds and oversee cleaning, account the money spent on such things against the money made on the lands. And she should know a little healing, enough that if a servant falls or a child grows sick or a woman begins to birth her child, there is someone to be turned to who has some idea what to do. When anyone is visiting, it is the lady of the house who ought to see to their rooms, and make them welcome, and treat them as accorded by their station. And bring them wine," she adds as an afterthought, nodding to the tray and smiling as she takes another sip. "There is less to do here than in my youth in Edoras, but then I am here less often."

[drinkupmehearties]

The amusement in her eyes is reflected in his expression, and Jack teases with a soft chuckle, "Aye, to the great distress and concern of those around you." Many times in Panem he'd wondered if (or when) her headstrong personality would clash at the wrong time with one of their captors. He had to respect her for it, though, nonetheless. "Not that I've a mind to complain, o' course. Bein' able to speak your mind is commendable."

As Eowyn details the rest, Jack drains the remainder of the wine from his cup and leans back comfortably. Once she's finished, the corner of his mouth perks with a smile. "That's quite the list. Must keep you busy, most times."

[shieldofrohan]

"Most times," Éowyn agrees, and reaches over to refill his glass. "I prefer it so, in any case. Idleness never did become me." That had been the worst thing about the Detention Center: those months and months of enforced idleness, with nothing to do but pace and wish to be elsewhere. No, she won't think about that, not again. She downs most of her own wine, and tops up her glass. "It builds up more now, in any case. Faramir is so often away on other duties, and I spend much of my time in Minas Tirith as well, since I began to study Healing. I fear you will see little of me for a day or two, while I catch hold of all the work I let lie this last week." She's quiet a moment, then, maybe because of the wine or just because despite her resolve she really, really needs to talk to someone who might understand, she adds in a lower voice, "Work is a good way to keep your thoughts at bay, do you not find?"

[drinkupmehearties]

"We've that in common, I think." Jack lifts the glass in appreciation once she's done refilling, taking a long drink from it.

The question she asks, however, draws a more sober expression onto his face, and his fingers come to lace around the cup. The temptation to tell her that he's not bothered by such thoughts is very hard to resist; it'd be much easier to not admit that any of what had happened troubled him still. But there's a part of him that craves that same reassurance -- that someone else out there understood, that there's someone that won't dismiss him outright when he spoke of it.

"Aye," He murmurs. Once he'd found himself home, back on his Pearl, Jack had buried himself in the ship's logs and charts, plotting his next course -- and if that failed to distract enough, he'd sometimes even joined his crew on deck to work the tacks and braces or climb the ratlines.

He rubs a thumb against the glass in his hand, looking to her. "It is. 'Bout the only thing that does, sometimes."

[shieldofrohan]

There are a few other things that help, in her experience. Sleeping beside her husband does something for the nightmares; lying with him can cloud her brain enough to forget. But that doesn't seem like an appropriate thing to say aloud, given the circumstances, so she just nods.

"I felt this way after the war," she says at last, and takes another drink. "Only this is worse." She looks down at her almost-empty beaker, and sighs. "I ran away. In the end, I ran. It was that or stay there always. But I... I don't know how it ended, and I didn't serve a use in it, and I ought not to have the gall to treat you as a coward, because I did no better." There, it's out. She didn't mean to say it, and she doesn't feel better now that she has said it, but it's out, and now it can hang in the air instead of sitting in her gut like a stone.

[drinkupmehearties]

Of course, in the same vein and upon his return, Jack had found a warm bed or two with the wenches that frequented the taverns in Tortuga; work served as a good distraction, certainly, as did the invitingly soft touch of a woman. But, this too, is omitted.

For a long moment after she speaks, Jack is merely silent. He wants to let himself be angry -- for the cool way that she has treated him since he's arrived here, for the hypocrisy in the vicious criticism that she'd laid onto him on their way here. But the feeling fades as quick as it comes; that isn't how he operates. So instead, after a beat, Jack scratches at the stubble on his chin and glances away to the loom that rests in the room's corner.

Eventually, after what seems like forever, his gaze rests back onto her. "No one would blame you for that, luv. You were never beholden to the lot o' them. Neither of us were." A beat as Jack tilts the cup in his hand, idly swirling the wine within it. "This is your home, your life, what they'd stolen from you. You'd no reason to stay."

[shieldofrohan]

"You're right," Éowyn agrees, after a moment. "Or half-right. I had every reason to return, no reason to stay beholden to the Capitol. But that does not mean I had no reason to stay." She looks down into her own cup, then knocks it back, clearing her throat, and goes to refill it again. "They had a... a weapon. From my world. It might have destroyed every man, woman, and child in that land, had they unleashed it. It may yet have done. I told Roland of it, hoped he might see to its safety, but..."

She shrugs, a little hopelessly. "I never learned to let such things lie," she says almost apologetically. "To leave it behind me, to shake that sense that I had a duty to... Perhaps it is easier, to a man used to sailing away."

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack finishes off the wine in his cup, quiet for a couple beats, then shrugs and answers with, "Aye, perhaps it is." Certainly, he had no qualms with leaving problems behind, with being selfish and caring only for himself, damn all the rest. If life had taught him one thing by this point, it was that the only person that he could depend on -- with absolute certainty -- was himself. There was no use, then, in wasting energy worrying about matters that didn't directly involve him.

He shakes his head, then, and sighs. "You've this idea in your head, luv, that you have to carry all the burdens of the world solely on your shoulders. An' the truth of it is you don't." He waves a hand uselessly in the air. "Panem, the Districts, the Capitol, that whole lot were already tryin' their damned best to destroy themselves from the inside out. They already possessed the power to steal people from different worlds, different times, an' who knows what else. Mayhaps, even if one of 'em had gotten their hands on this weapon to use it, there'd not be much of a difference in the outcome. An' even so, Roland's a good man. He'd do his finest to keep it safe." At least, from what Jack had known of the man. And if Eowyn had entrusted this knowledge to him, that had to mean something.

"By and by, there's not a thing you can do but hope for the best now. Worrying's not going to do anything but cause hurt to yourself."

[shieldofrohan]

She smiles a little, rather thinly, and passes the wine flagon (now a great deal emptier). "Would that I could believe it in my heart," she comments, rather wryly. "You are doubtless right. But worry lingers still, and grief." And guilt, which is a less familiar feeling and a far more bitter one.

When she had told Faramir of all that had happened, the day before, she had wept. She feels like weeping again now, bringing all these dark feelings out into the light of day, giving them form. But she cannot weep, will not weep, not now. It is the wine, she tells herself firmly. The wine is making her emotional. That is all, and nothing more.

Best to move on. "You must tell me," she says, her voice just a little husky from the tight knot of emotion in her throat, "what has become of you in the meantime. Where have you sailed?"

[drinkupmehearties]

"I imagine it will. Wasn't anythin' easy, what happened to us. Or what was left behind." He refills his glass, setting the flagon aside to take another swig, gaze momentarily elsewhere. Booze definitely helped to forget such worrisome things. He knew that much.

Jack doesn't answer her question immediately, eventually glancing to her, sensing the tension of emotion that is strung behind her words. He's not one to persist with hard conversations himself, however, and so Jack happily takes the out. "We were on our way to Tortuga -- " A short smile, " -- an old Caribbean port, for scoundrels like me. Beyond that, we'd been on our way to the Aqua de Vida, the Fountain of Youth, to see if the tales were true." And to hopefully grab that piece of immortality that saving Will had cost him.

[shieldofrohan]

"And were they so?" She's grateful, honestly, that he's let the subject be changed so easily. Besides, she actually is interested. So far as she knows, there's no Fountain of Youth in Middle-Earth - in Aman, perhaps, but who knows? - but she doesn't know his world, and the idea is an interesting one. Assuming, of course, that the name is literal - but if it is, then what a gift! To be young and strong all your days, as the Elves are, to escape the slow decay of age. Oh, she can certainly understand wanting to win such a boon. "Did you find it, this Fountain?"

[drinkupmehearties]

The interest that she shows draws another smile to the corner of his mouth; even if the Fountain -- and the immortality that it promised -- was further away than it'd ever been, Jack still enjoyed talking endlessly about his adventures (or really, in this case, would-be adventures, if fate hadn't intervened to bring him here instead). Particularly because most of the time it made him sound more impressive.

"Not as of yet, unfortunate as that is." Jack lifts a hand, leisurely gesturing. "But I've all confidence that I could've found it, had time an' luck been on me side. I had a map in me possession that would've led me right to it, and me ship and crew to bring me there." Of course, had Jack actually reached Tortuga as planned, he would've been lacking that same crew and ship thanks to a certain scraggly-bearded pirate named Barbossa.

[shieldofrohan]

"Do you still have it?" Éowyn leans forwards in her seat, chin in hand, listening intently as she once listened to stories told at her uncle's knee. "This map? Or was it lost along the way, or taken by the men who captured you? I admit, I would like to see it - to see how your world is made."

Would his world be like Arda in geography, or like Panem, or different entirely? She was no scholar, not like her husband, but her experiences had kindled in her a fierce curiosity, one born less of academic interest and more of that wild blood that still ran in her. Other worlds, other lands... after all those months and years in one prison or another, part of her longs to see everything and go everywhere, as if to prove to herself she really is free. She doesn't really want to - she's been away from home long enough - but it's a comfort to imagine such travels, and to think they could be in her power, if she chose.

idk if it shows up but there's a couple image links for reference

[drinkupmehearties]

Initially instinct causes Jack to hesitate when she asks to see the map, but the reaction is very brief -- he's had bad experiences in the past sharing information like this, but in this instance there wasn't a good reason to keep the map to himself.

Jack sits straighter in his seat, reaching into an inner pocket in his frock coat and drawing out a piece of washi-paper that's been tightly rolled. He sets the roll onto the nearest flat surface, spreading the map out so that she can take a good look. The edges of the map are messy, jagged; Jack had cut the middle portion out of the whole map with a knife, an effort to safeguard against (rightly) anticipated treachery. The whole rest of the map looks old, well-worn, but gracefully inked with images of mythical creatures and scribbled passages that speak about death.

"Aye, I do." Jack glances up at her with a sly grin, metal glinting in his mouth. "Don't suppose the lot o' them had much use for a map like this, so it wasn't taken when the Pearl was." He presses down and rotates a ring on the map, lining it up with another outer ring, making it easier to make out the outline of land that makes up Florida. He taps a finger against the skeleton and angel playing tug-of-war over a chalice, indicating. "Aqua de vida. That's where the Fountain was supposed to be located."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn moves the wine flagon to make space for the map, realising as she does so just how light it's become. They've drunk more than she thought. Putting it aside, she leans in to look at the map, fascinated. She's never seen a map like that before - and that doesn't only mean the circular shape, the rotating rings. She's never seen a map with so much sea. It takes her a moment to figure out, even knowing that he's a sailor, that the bigger part of the map is water, not land.

And then there are the words. She squints inelegantly at them, her brow furrowing, for a long time. At last, she says slowly: "...It is the same script they used in Panem, is it not? Yet I cannot read it. Almost it forms words to me, and yet it does not."

The language chip, after all, is gone. Tengwar, she can read. English, particularly English scribbled in so crabbed a hand? Not a chance.

[drinkupmehearties]

It hadn't yet crossed his mind that those language barriers that Panem had erased -- the same ones that wouldn't let him speak or write anything but English to anyone -- would have returned in force now that they were gone from the place. His brow furrows a brief moment, mulling that over, then Jack nods. "Aye, I think so."

He traces a finger across a passage that drones on about how fleeting life is and says, "This is English." Then to 'La Florida', "Spanish." And then over 'Aqua de Vida', "Latin."

He draws his finger back to the passage in English, tapping with a thoughtful pause. "English. I wonder what that'd mean, that it'd be the language the Capitol used." He'd never really taken a good look at a map in the Capitol, never realized that Panem had sprawled out over what had originally been the United States in the past (for them) -- particularly because the States were supposed to be just distant British colonies to him.

[shieldofrohan]

"Perhaps nothing." Éowyn tilts her head, squinting at the letters. "Perhaps they did not, after all. This is from your world. Perhaps if it was from theirs, you could no more read it than I."

It's a possibility, even if it doesn't seem the most likely even to her. They have to at least consider it, right? That the script isn't the same, that it just seems the same because they're looking at it wrong?

"Faramir would be better-suited to this question," she muses, not realising she's spoken aloud. It's true, though - he's the scholar, and languages are his passion. She only reads Westron and Rohirric - if this script were to appear elsewhere in their own world, she might never even know. But Faramir would know. If it weren't so awkward, she would suggest giving him the map when he returns and seeing what he makes of it.

But it is awkward, no matter how much she tells herself to move past it. So she just clears her throat, reaching for her wine. "And where is it you are from? Is it on this map?"