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

[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.