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?"

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[shieldofrohan]

"I..." She trails off almost at once, wiping at her eyes, and swallows hard. It's a moment more before she picks back up, her voice a little firmer. "It will not fall on you, if that is your fear. I will not allow it."

How exactly she's going to keep him out of it, that's another matter. Knowing Faramir as she does, though, she thinks she can move him to gentleness. It isn't his anger she fears, but his hurt. Anger, she can face, has faced, if not from him, yet from her brother and her uncle, no less dear to her. Hurt, disappointment, grief... that scares her. Faramir has, to her mind, suffered more than enough in his life.

She takes another long, shaky breath, and closes her eyes. "He will forgive you," she says at last, without opening them. "He may even forgive me. But I know not whether he will forgive himself, though he is the only innocent."

[drinkupmehearties]

His brow knits with puzzlement, at first, if not an instinctive shade of skepticism. He's had experiences in the past where situations like this had gone sour, where the other party had only anger and ill will to offer to the offending parties. But she knows her husband's temperament, and the possibility that Faramir would react (relatively) well certainly helps allay his fear that this whole thing might go awry.

"Generous o' him, then." His voice is quiet, still somewhat unsure. Jack considers for a few moments, then asks, "And you? Are you all right, luv?"

[shieldofrohan]

"Of course not." There's no sharpness in her voice, though. She sighs heavily, rolling onto her side to look at him. A tear tracks its way down her face, drips from the bridge of her nose. "This was not meant to happen, Jack. None of it."

He ought to have been left behind, with everything else about Panem. She ought to have been stronger. She ought to have fought harder. Things ought never to have come to this point, with her naked in his bed, in her own home. And this time, she can't blame Panem, or loneliness, or desperation. This time, she has no excuse, and nobody to blame but herself. She can't even blame Jack - she was the one who came into his room, she was the one who kissed him...

"I do not love you," she says slowly, after a moment, and bites her lip. "I care for you, but I do not love you. He is the man I love, and that has not changed, will never change. So why do I let you turn my head this way?"

[drinkupmehearties]

His initial impulse, after realizing there's tears in her eyes, is to hearten the mood with some glib, joking remark (how else to deal with crying? It's not really his forte). But something tells him that she wouldn't appreciate him being flippant right now. So instead, Jack answers, "Mayhaps not. But if I've learned anything thus far, it's that life has its own course that it takes, no matter the preparations you've made for it." His thumb idly rubs at the raised mark on his right forearm, expression ruminative. "Sometimes there ain't much you can do but weather what comes."

The last bit she says, however, has softened his expression with a bit of a smile. "Couldn't rightly tell you, meself. Love doesn't always have a part to play in it."

[shieldofrohan]

He has a point. The trouble is, she hates it. She hates the idea that she's the kind of person who would let lust take over where love ought to dwell, and she hates it all the more for this proof that it's true. She wanted him - still wants him - because he's a good lay, because he has a fire and a selfishness she didn't know she craved in a lover, because he makes her feel good.

She wipes her eyes, biting her lip. "Good," she decides at last, aloud. "Love would only make it worse." Then, taking a deep breath, she sits up, still holding the sheets over herself. "I should go."

[drinkupmehearties]

"O' course." He can see the disquiet in her expression, and somehow finds himself desiring to brush a hand to her cheek to dry the wetness from her face. Something stops him, though, and instead Jack grazes his fingers against the line of his jaw.

He does care for her too, he knows. The horrifying experience that they'd both been through back in Panem, the understanding between them that it had forged, continues to draw him to her. But as eager as he is to give anything resembling feelings a very wide berth, he's not happy to see her upset like this. Maybe even a touch guilty -- in a way -- that he's the cause of it. Not that the word guilty would ever actually be in his vocabulary.

He nods, then. "If you'd like, luv."

[shieldofrohan]

She nods, but doesn't move away. Not for a moment. Instead, she looks at him long and hard, her gaze searching. Guilt may not be in his vocabulary, but it's certainly in hers, and she feels more guilty than she has in a very, very long time. It burns under her skin, too big to contain. And it isn't just Faramir she feels guilty over. Jack is her responsibility. This whole mess is her responsibility.

She sighs, breaking her paralysis to reach over the edge of the bed for her shift. "We'll talk later," she says, and gets to her feet. It's easier to say than I'm sorry. "You should dress."

[drinkupmehearties]

"Aye." He leans over to retrieve his shirt, slipping it on and sliding off the bed to fetch his breeches from the floor. As Jack puts them on and buttons up, he glances her way. "I don't suppose you've some wine -- or somethin' stronger, I'd hope -- for me to have?"

Old habits and all that. He's used to drowning away the previous night with a fresh bottle or two in the morning, to chase off any hangovers or developing headaches, then carrying on with his day. Besides which, booze sounded wonderful after a good fuck and a hard conversation.

[shieldofrohan]

She sighs, pulling the shift over her head. "I'll have something sent up," she agrees quietly, without argument. She isn't a big drinker, but truth be told, even she could use something to make all this a little less... sharp. "Stay here. If you want to go outside, find me."

Because, yeah. Still a prisoner. She has to remember that.