for drinkupmehearties

[shieldofrohan]

It has been most of a month now since Jack came to Gondor's shores, a good two weeks since Faramir returned to Ithilien. Éowyn has meant, every day, to tell him the truth; every day, she has shied away from it. It isn't out of fear for her own sake, or Jack's, but when she comes to speak to Faramir, sees the familiar lines of his face and the gentle look in his eyes, she can't bring herself to hurt him that way. She keeps telling herself the time will come, must come, that she isn't avoiding it but only waiting. Deep down, though, she knows full well there's never going to be a right time, that she'll never tell him if things go on this way, and perhaps Jack was right, perhaps that's for the best. She's kept away from Jack for the most part, giving his care over to one of the serving-men of the household, and she's certainly never repeated the mistake of that first morning back in Ithilien. Faramir knows something is wrong, she can tell that much, but perhaps if she just lets it lie, tries to get back to normal...

It would be easier if everything else went back to normal around her. But it doesn't. It takes her a few days to be sure, to count off the days and know she isn't just being paranoid, that she really ought to have bled by now. She keeps hoping for a day or so after that, but when she comes back from her afternoon ride, strips down to change into a dress, and finds her underthings still clean, hope shrivels to despair.

Faramir is out, luckily. Éowyn dresses as quickly as she can, and tries to steady herself, to wipe away the tears that haven't quite spilled over, before taking a deep breath and heading out into the hallway. Jack's guard is outside his room, and looks at her with clear concern, but when she dismisses him, he goes without argument.

She locks the door behind her, not lingering in the doorway this time but crossing right over to Jack and grabbing his arm. The tears are threatening again, and there's a light in her eyes that isn't remotely one of happiness. "Jack. Listen to me."

Comments

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack had anticipated a knock at some point, weeks ago, when word had spread that Faramir had returned. He'd assumed that it'd only be a matter of time until he was led out, then, to face Faramir and whatever consequences that might come his way.

But the days had continued to go by without incident, and Eowyn had all but vanished again with no word. Left to entertain himself in the interim, Jack filled the time as best he could -- whether by poring over his ragged map again and again, studying each inch and script on it, or by enjoying the occasional respite given to him in the form of supervised trips outside. He trusted Eowyn's judgment of both Faramir and the King, and with hope in that had also begun to mentally map out his next steps once the Pearl was back in his possession.

While there wasn't much to be said about the company he was given, Jack knew it could've been worse. He'd been left to languish in much, much worse prisons before, for much longer than this. He figured a comfortable room with treks out for fresh air wasn't bad at all, really, in the grand scheme of things.

When the door opens this time, Jack doesn't initially pay much attention -- he's instead busy practicing tying a mooring hitch knot out of a piece of cloth that he'd found. It's only when the door closes, then locks, that his head jerks up. He doesn't have much time to realize it's Eowyn before she's grasped his arm, and it only takes a glance to see the troubled look in her eyes. His brow creases, worry lining his expression. Something was wrong.

"What's amiss?"

[shieldofrohan]

"It's been a week." She meets his eyes, scanning his face for a moment, before belatedly realising that he has no idea what she's talking about. Heaving a sigh, she lets go of his arm, her hand dropping back to her side. "Since my courses ought to have begun. I have not bled."

He's a man of the world. He has to know what that means. She sinks down on the end of the bed, putting her head in her hands. "Jack... I have not bled, and nor have Faramir and I... Not since his return."

If there's a baby, it's yours.

[drinkupmehearties]

He certainly knows what it means, judging by the immediate alarm that fills his face. Of all the scenarios that he'd been running through his mind for her visit, this was not one of them. In fact, even being as stupidly reckless as he was, the possibility hadn't ever even entered his thoughts. This was just not a complication that he'd ever wanted to deal with, or truly, think about.

A heavy feeling settles in his gut, and Jack swallows thickly. "You jest. You must be." He can already tell by her grave expression that she's not; and besides which, she isn't one to joke about things like this. He curses under his breath, setting aside the cloth in his hands, a muscle in his jaw working. "It may mean nothin', right? Are you certain? Could you be wrong?" She knows her body better than him, she'd know if she was late, but that doesn't stop the denial from gripping him.

[shieldofrohan]

"I could be." But she doesn't think she is wrong. She's never wanted so badly to be wrong in her life, but life isn't that kind. She doesn't look up, her head still in her hands, her long hair falling like a curtain to obscure her expression. There's a heaviness in her voice, and in the slump of her shoulders. She can't think that, even in the cells of the Capitol or in the shadowed halls of Edoras during the war, she's ever felt quite so hopeless, or so thoroughly guilty. "I could. But if I am not, what then?"

That isn't a rhetorical question. Help her out here.

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack drags his gaze from Eowyn to the locked door, lingering, then to the far wall, to a tapestry and the stitches on it that he's beginning to memorize. What then. He can feel the urge to get up and pace around the room, to somehow burn off the dismay that's winding itself into his limbs. But something else locks him firmly in place, keeps him staring at the wall instead. Damn it all.

He runs his palm over his face, ending the movement with fingers combing his beard, and grimaces. "I ... " He doesn't continue, at first. There hasn't been many times in his life that Jack has been at a loss of words. But, at the moment, he's not quite sure what to say. His mouth opens, closes, his hand lifts, then lowers. Then finally, in a rougher voice, " ... I don't rightly know, were I to be honest." He looks back to her, searching for a reaction despite her face being hidden. "I don't reckon I would, or will, be around for the natural conclusion to this." He'd planned to be far gone, once the King allowed him free. And with this thrown into the mix? Fatherhood doesn't sit well with him at all.

"What options are there? What do you want done?"

[shieldofrohan]

"I don't know." She looks up, briefly, to gauge his reaction. "There are ways to... to end it. Herbs I could take. But..."

Trailing off, she drops her gaze again, wiping her eyes on the cuff of her sleeve. The remedies she knows are not certain. More importantly, her studies have taught her that they can render a woman barren. She doesn't want that, can't bear to betray Faramir twice over that way. Nor is she sure she wants her first pregnancy to end that way, a child killed out of shame. But is it any better than a child born of treachery?

"I don't know," she repeats, and bites down hard on her lip. "I'm afraid, Jack. This... I never meant for any of this. And I can keep it from him no more." That isn't just an issue of morality, although that's pretty significant. Faramir has been her husband for over a year, knows her well, knows her body. He'll know before too long, one way or another. Even if she tries to kill it, the herbs will make her sick, she's sure, and then he'll know. There's no way to keep from hurting him now.

[drinkupmehearties]

He meets her gaze, his own steady. Jack has heard about herbs -- even procedures -- that could end a pregnancy. In fact, it'd been his first impulse to propose it when she told him, knowing that neither of them wanted the child. He'd hesitated in suggesting in it, though, having also heard stories about how such things could harm the woman in the process. How sometimes it could even cause her death. It'd be the easiest solution, in his mind, but very much a tough decision to make.

Jack shifts closer to her on the bed, laying his palm gently on her upper back. "Aye, I'm sure. This ain't easy. But we'll figure it out, I'm sure." He sounds confident, even if he isn't quite feeling that way at the moment. He dips his chin a little, studying her face, then ventures, "If you end it, would he know? How long would it take?"

[shieldofrohan]

"He might not." She wipes her eyes again, taking a long, shaky breath. "Or I might bleed too much to miss. Or vomit, or take a fever, or it might not work. Already he suspects something, I fear, from how he looks at me."

Although that might be to do with her uncharacteristic coolness towards him since his return. She hasn't done much more than kiss him, and even that feels tainted somehow, guilty.

She raises her head, taking another long, deep breath and biting back her tears. "This is a sign. I have been a coward over this matter too long. I will tell him, and see what he would have me do. 'Tis the least I owe to him."

[drinkupmehearties]

He drops his hand away from her, then pinches the bridge of his nose and stifles the sigh that rises in him. This has all spiraled out into much more of a mess than Jack would've ever anticipated it would, and the feeling of having it all so wholly out of his hands only makes all the disquiet gnaw at him even further.

Jack finally slides off from the bed, unable to sit still any longer, and wanders over to fireplace. The fire had died out on the grate hours ago, leaving only the trace scents of burnt wood and smoke in its place. He crosses his arms, then leans into the wall next to it, staring at the ashes.

"If you've got your mind set on it, I can't stop you." He's been at her mercy since being pulled from that cell in Minas Tirith and brought here. If she left to tell Faramir, he couldn't do much but sit in this room and wait again. His gaze lifts to her. "Is that the wisest choice, you think?"

switching accounts seemed appropriate here

[nearamir]

Perhaps two hours have passed since Éowyn left, when the key clicks in the lock and the door opens. It isn't Éowyn in the doorway, though, but Faramir. He's still dressed in the clothes he rode out in, forest-green and well-worn, his hair still braided back for riding. His swordbelt is buckled to his side, but the sheath is empty, as are his hands. His face is always grave, but now it is positively stony, his lips pressed together, something fell and distant in his eyes.

With a brisk wave of his hand, he wordlessly signals the guard beside him, who steps back into the hallway and closes the door behind him, leaving the two men alone. It's a moment before Faramir speaks, but it's not a silence that invites interruption.

"I will not ask if what she says is true," he says at last, his voice soft and more sad than angry. No need for preamble: from what Éowyn told him, he's sure Jack knows exactly what he means. "Only this - and answer me truly, for I am sick to the bone of falsity. Did you come with this in mind?"

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack's head turns when the lock clicks, gaze lifted from the cloth knot in his hands over to the doorway. He hadn't been sure whether to expect Eowyn or Faramir, when the time came -- or if it would be armed guards that would come to his room, had the conversation gone poorly. Upon seeing that it's Faramir, however, Jack slides his feet from off the table and sets aside the cloth, straightening in his seat.

He hasn't given thought to what he'd say during those two hours, preferring instead to feel out the mood and wing it as he went. He doesn't speak out of turn once the door shuts, waiting for Faramir to initiate; in the meantime, Jack has defaulted back to that composed, calm demeanor that comes natural to him in tense situations.

Faramir's question brings a pause from him. Don't lie, she'd told him. "I hadn't planned for it when I came, no." Which is honest. He hadn't thought Eowyn would give him the time of day, with her husband back in the picture. And, at the very start, Jack had tried to hold back, with his own self-preservation in mind. That hadn't lasted long, clearly. "I hadn't ... meant for it to happen."

Had it been on his mind, however? Certainly. Ever since she'd swept into that cell and he'd laid eyes on her, wrenching back all those memories from Panem that he'd buried during that first month home carousing and pirating. But he doesn't offer that tidbit. He's not sure Faramir would appreciate hearing how he'd been lusting after his wife. "It just -- " He gestures some, "-- happened."

[nearamir]

"It just happened," Faramir repeats, quietly, and sighs. Silence hangs on him, heavy as a shroud. He's never been a man of many words, never - even in such a situation as this - one to speak without thinking. Perhaps especially in such a situation. There are too many thoughts to sort through, too few words to make them fit. He is angry, yes - but the anger is almost an afterthought to grief and shame.

He steps away from the door, a little closer to Jack as he looks the other man up and down searchingly. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he clears his throat.

"She will carry it," he says at last. "This has done hurt enough already. There is no reason to endanger her for it. She will carry the child, and I will love it as my own, though what will become of such a child when they are grown, I know not."

It's matter-of-fact, and if it weren't for the look in his eyes and the tightness of his posture, he might have been discussing the weather. There's a part of him that says he ought to leave it at that. Warn Jack off touching her again, on pain of death, and turn away, and find a way through this maze of confusion somewhere away from the eyes of the man who brought it about.

Instead, he abruptly moves to sit, his shoulders slumping, his breath, for a moment, catching.

"What is it, that drew you together?" he asks, then shakes his head, as if scolding himself. "Nay, not what drew you to her. That I know. She is a fair lady, and bold. But what is it that you give to her, that I cannot?"

[drinkupmehearties]

He instinctively stiffens at Faramir's approach, expectant, gaze fixed on the man. When Faramir merely speaks, however, Jack eases a little and settle back. He wouldn't have blamed the man if he'd outright clocked him, but he's more than happy that he'd chosen not to. "A sensible choice, for certain." He's relieved to hear it, mostly because Faramir raising it would absolve Jack from having any responsibility for the child.

For a few brief moments, it looks like the conversation may be done. Then Faramir seats himself, and Jack leans back into his own chair. Not out of the wood yet, it'd seem.

The question draws a faint frown onto his face, something that looks almost like sympathy edging into his eyes. He's silent a couple beats, considering his answer, then clears his throat. "What drew us together? Circumstance, I would suspect. I assume she's told you about what'd been done to her in Panem, the horrid things that the Capitol put us through." He rubs his thumb against his lip, eyes momentarily distant. "I'd wager she'd sought comfort, in such a brutal place." For him, even if that hadn't been the whole picture (Panem or not, Jack has always been a rake), that had certainly played a part in his pursuit of her. He'd been starved for affection, for touch, knowing that within the next day, or even hour, the Capitol could force him to fight for his life again.

His gaze focuses back on Faramir, hand dropping away to rest on his leg. "All the same, I can't rightly speak for her on that." Especially with regards to their recent escapade. "You're a decent man, mate. She speaks highly of you, and has told me plenty about her love for you."

[nearamir]

Faramir's smile is thin and sad, and for a moment, his only response. A decent man. Given the situation, that feels hollow, to say the least.

He can believe what Jack's saying. It isn't how he would react himself - he's always been a closed-off man in that way, never the most sexual at the best of times - but he's led enough men in hard times to know that it's not unusual. And he can see it from Éowyn, a way to take her mind off imprisonment, especially if she didn't know she'd ever come home again. He can't blame her for that, and honestly, can't even blame himself. If it were only that, he could let it go, he thinks. It would grieve him, but he could let it go.

But that it happened here, in his own home? He's angry at her, and angry at Jack, but mostly he's angry at himself, because all he can think is that Jack offers her something he hasn't brought to their marriage. That, once again, he's let someone he loves down. Is it his absences? Or is it something more?

"Do you love her?" he asks abruptly, looking up and meeting Jack's eyes.

[drinkupmehearties]

Panem serves as a simple answer -- but not a satisfactory or very complete one, Jack knows, in light of what's happened. He's only ever heard from Eowyn how wonderful Faramir is, how much love she has for the man. And not knowing their relationship much beyond that, what might be lacking in it, and with seeing how much this all must pain Faramir, Jack hadn't wanted to openly speculate and twist the knife in deeper.

But, truth be told, he's seen an intensity to her, a wildness in her that matches well with his own. If there is an answer to why here and why now, perhaps that plays a part in it. He couldn't say that for certain, however.

Faramir's next question draws a bit of a reaction from him, a sharp blink and sudden tension that coils into his shoulders. No, of course not is the first response that Jack nearly blurts out, mouth open already to say it. Except, the words don't actually make it out. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat instead, and it takes a moment for him to actually answer.

"I care for her." Quite a lot, judging by the tone of his voice and the way Jack says it. His mouth presses. "She's madly in love with you, mate, if that's your worry. She's made that quite clear."

[nearamir]

"If that were my worry, I would have said as much." Faramir's voice is soft, but there's a steel behind his tone that says he doesn't much appreciate the comment. Éowyn already told him she loves him, and on that matter as on many others, he trusts her a lot more than he trusts a corsair - one who's made a cuckold of him, no less.

But the answer itself - that gives him pause. It might, perhaps, have been easier if Jack had said no, or if he seemed false. If this were as simple as a rake seducing a troubled woman, only because she was there. But that doesn't seem to be the case, and while it's something of a relief to know she hasn't been being used, it doesn't make any of this matter easier to handle.

He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet again. "I have to think," he says aloud, not to Jack so much as the room in general. For a moment, he's silent and still, and then, without a hint of irony, he turns a little and inclines his head to Jack - not a bow, but a clear acknowledgement. "Thank you. For your honesty. Know that I will not have this sour me against your case, nor do you an injustice from my own wrath."

[drinkupmehearties]

He dips his head with a nod. "O' course, that's fair. Weren't my place." He doesn't mind the chiding undertone to Faramir's remark -- perhaps even actually prefers it, in place of the difficult questions Faramir keeps asking him. Honestly Jack is glad for anything at all, really, that would help to redirect the conversation away from his own personal feelings in this matter. He'd already offered out more than he'd cared for, in his attempt to be honest.

Jack clasps his palms together as Faramir stands, and the gratitude in his eyes is quite sincere. "I'm very much obliged for that, mate. You're a generous man." More generous than the men that Jack knew, who were more given to holding grudges than they were to practicing forgiveness or leniency of any kind.

[nearamir]

"No. Only an honest one." Faramir's lips thin for a moment. Not that you would know much of either, he almost says. Almost. It's with an effort that he bites it back, because he can see just how petty that is, and he's trying to be an adult over all of this. Be a good man, the kind she deserves and ought to have.

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, and turns away, knocking briskly on the door, three times. It opens a moment later, and he looks back from the doorway, still and quiet for a moment. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, and leaves. The guard closes the door behind him, and the key clicks in the lock, and that's that.

That is, for some hours. When he returns, it's dark outside, the candles and lanterns of the castle being lit up and down the hall. This time, when the door opens, there are two figures in the doorway. Éowyn hangs a step or two behind her husband, her eyes downcast, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable in her skin.

[nearamir]

Eowyn and Faramir slip away an hour or so later; slip out from under the covers, dress quickly, and head out into the hallway, hands joined, like furtive lovers afraid of being caught. The door locks behind them, silence ebbing back to fill the darkened room.

Morning comes, bright and clear, light sharp as a knife. When Jack wakes, he'll find himself alone, but there is a cup and a tray of food covered with a cloth on the table nearby, and a fire in the grate, so someone has clearly been there. He'll be left to his own devices for several hours: only in mid-afternoon does the door open.

Faramir steps inside, papers under one arm, a slight redness to his cheeks, and clears his throat. "I trust I am not interrupting aught?"

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack is sitting cross-legged near the fire when the door opens, clad simply in his linen shirt and breeches, the back of his wrists resting on his knees and eyes closed in meditation. He'd picked up the practice from his travels in the East, and had since found a certain measure of enjoyment in the quiet peace that it brought. With not much else to fill his time with, either, this helped to pass the hours.

He hauls himself to his feet as Faramir steps inside, offering him a genial smile. "Not at all, mate. Not much to interrupt." Dropping into the chair near the table, Jack gestures with a sweep of his hand. "Sit, if you'd like." He's never completely certain what these visits will bring -- from Eowyn or Faramir -- but judging from the papers tucked under his arm, Jack figures Faramir desires a conversation.

[nearamir]

Faramir hesitates a moment, but then does as he's bid, sinking into a nearby seat and setting down the papers on the table in front of them - maps, of various parts of Gondor and the surrounds. For a moment, he leans forwards as if considering them, then looks back up at Jack.

"I thought we might talk of whence you came." It's an excuse, and truthfully, he knows it. But it feels... wrong, shameful, to come to a prisoner of the King with only baser motives of his own. He should at least try to do some work, while he's here.

Besides, opening with maps of the coast is far less awkward than launching directly into what he actually wants to discuss, which is, of course, the night before. Faramir clears his throat, reaching up to push back his hair, and points to one of the maps. "Here is where you were brought ashore. And we have had certain reports of..." He clears his throat, more visibly nervous than ordinarily. "...reports of your ship earlier than that, here and here, at least. Ere that? Where was your bearing?"

[drinkupmehearties]

As Faramir begins to indicate the points on the map, Jack leans forward. He's not yet had a chance to glimpse a map of this world in detail. But as his eyes scan over the lands marked and the writing on it, Jack is not entirely surprised to find it all foreign and unfamiliar. Even with his time spent in Panem, and the months spent here, however, it's still unsettling for him.

"We'd had our course set on Tortuga, an island in the Caribbean." He brings his gaze up to Faramir, settling back into his chair. "Before that, we'd been at Shipwreck Island, preparin' to set sail for a fight." And somehow, between the time the pirates had won the battle against the Dutchman and set a course for Tortuga, Jack had found himself plucked from his ship and waking up in Panem.

He runs a thumb against the scruff of his jaw, thoughtful. "From what I've been able to gather, this ain't the same world as mine."

[nearamir]

Faramir nods, pressing his lips together. "Certainly, I know no places by those names. Not in any tongue of Men or Elves. I wonder at it, yet..." Yet, if what Éowyn has told him is true (and he will not believe she is lying to him, nor see any reason that she should) then it is a sensible conclusion. Perhaps the only sensible conclusion. And that, of itself, raises such questions... He thinks, perhaps, they ought to send West for Mithrandir's counsel. It seems to him that only a wizard is prepared to grapple with such a concept.

But Mithrandir is not here. Only him, and the pirate. He clears his throat again, starting to clear away the maps. At least he has something to report back to the King.

"Your weapons were unfamiliar," he muses, and nods. "It is well that we met with you first, perhaps. An enemy with such weapons, in greater number..." He's veering off-topic, and he's all too aware of it. Sighing, he closes his eyes a moment and comes to the real reason he's here. "I think Éowyn, too, has reason to be glad you are here. Did you suggest what... what passed last night?"

[drinkupmehearties]

His gaze pulls away briefly at Faramir's initial words. "Aye. Perhaps it were a spot of luck, that." Someone with flintlocks and cannon at their disposal, equipped with graver and more heinous intentions than simple pirating -- Jack can't imagine that an encounter would bode well for these people. Cutler, certainly, would wholly take advantage.

He hesitates at the question, however, wanting to be careful in his answer. "She was, rightly, uncertain 'bout the choice you'd given her. Figured she could only be with one, or the other. Not both o' us." And of course, there had been no choice when it came to that -- Jack was aware that Faramir would always win in that respect. "I suggested that instead of choosing between the two of us, that we could all take part together."

[nearamir]

Faramir is no quicker to respond. This is not an easy subject for him, nor a comfortable one, and he, too, wants to choose his words carefully. He still isn't entirely sure how he feels about their tryst the night before, either. It is... complicated. In all regards.

"I had never lain with a man before," he says at last, his brow furrowing a little. "It is not... You seemed more comfortable with it than I had expected." That isn't quite a question, but something close to it.