shieldofrohan | For drinkupmehearties

She might have broken him out, crept down to the dungeons in the dead of night and taken the keys with her. Truthfully, she might have walked down in broad daylight, and had him released on virtue of her name and her connections to the throne, and she would not have been punished over-harshly, for both King and Steward owed her great esteem.

She did not. Could not. She has more honour, more sense of justice, than that. She does not, in fact, come to his cell again at all. Instead, Jack will find himself collected by two men (tall by the standards he is used to; the shorter of them is well over six foot) and ushered courteously and firmly from his cell, up through the layers of the building, to the throne room. For all the grandeur of the building, there is nothing fussy to it, none of the overwrought ornamentation or ostentation Jack might expect from a royal palace. The throne room is largely empty, and well-lit, with daylight streaming in through the open windows.

He may recognise the man who sits enthroned there, a circlet on his brow and a expression of deep thought on his face. Aragorn was, after all, once imprisoned with them in the Capitol. So was Arwen, who sits beside him, her hand on his, ethereally beautiful in the afternoon light. Standing near is Éowyn, gowned in green velvet with her hair spilling loose over her shoulders. And beside her...

Well, she did say she was married. He is tall (very tall, by the standards of Jack's world; six and a half feet or more) and simply-dressed, his long dark hair braided back and his hands clasped behind his back, his handsome face still and thoughtful. From how close he stands to Éowyn and from the uncomfortable way she glances between him and Jack, it's clear who he is to her. All the more clear when, as Jack approaches, she reaches back to take Faramir's hand and squeeze it tight, looking for reassurance.

Aragorn looks down at Jack, from where he sits on a great stone dais, and frowns. "The Lady Éowyn says you are known to her," he says at last, when the silence has stretched to fill the whole hall. "Is this so?"

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"The debt owed," Aragorn says sternly, "does not cancel that owed to the sailors you waylaid, to the lives you would have taken given your chance. Our people have suffered much of late. I would not have their grief compounded, would not have them harried by corsairs, no matter what service their captain has done in the past." Letting go of Arwen's hand, he gets to his feet, looking down at Jack. His voice softens, but only a little. "As a man, I am with Faramir; I am grateful for what good you have done, for the Lady Éowyn is dear to us all. But my duty is to the land, and to its people. I cannot let you go free."

Damn it all. He flashes a fleeting look in Eowyn's direction, then straightens and clears his throat before speaking again. "Provided, we did attack the ship, in a rightly lamentable lapse of judgment and unfortunate circumstance. But as I'm sure you're aware, good sir, none of the crew was harmed. Scuffed and spooked, certainly, I'll grant that, but still breathing. And the cargo, of course, was returned in full."

Forcibly, of course, because like hell would Jack or his crew hand it over willingly. And it'd been taken with the Pearl as well, to his great displeasure.

"So really, no harm done in the long run, eh?" His hands are spread again, a placating gesture. "Even moreso, would that I had known the lot of them were of the lovely Lady Eowyn's ilk -- we are not from this land, you see, you must at least forgive that -- this incident wouldn't have happened in the first place."

Stop talking, Jack, Éowyn thinks, resisting the urge to groan. She understands what he's trying to do, why he feels the need to plead his case, but from the moment he called the King of Gondor good sir, she's struggling not to tell him to shut up. Of course, it probably helps that she's been privy to the discussions earlier, and that she knows Aragorn well enough to get a better read on him than Jack, but empathy never was her strongest suit.

"It might not," Aragorn says, and frowns. "Yet it did. And we have only the Lady Éowyn's word to judge your character." He nods to her. "I trust her word, do not mistake me. But not every word she spoke of you was favourable." Before Jack can respond to that, he raises his hand, wordlessly demanding silence. "We spoke much on this, on what should be done with you. She has claimed custody of you, to be under her watch until such time as we can be sure in releasing you."

Unfortunately Jack has a habit of running his mouth, no matter the circumstance or the need (or lack of) for it. And knowing nothing beyond that brief visit with Eowyn, he'd resolved to fight tooth and nail for himself rather than stand in idle silence to await judgment.

But Aragorn's decision does draw a flicker of surprise onto his face, particularly when the man mentions releasing him. Back home -- and even moreso under Beckett's vicious governance -- so much as whispering the word pirate in his direction could end with the hangman's noose around his neck. Or, at the very very least, a lifetime of rotting in a jail cell.

Thus eased, Jack places his hands together in a sign of gratitude. "I'm much obliged."

"I am not the one to whom you should be obliged," Aragorn turns away, goes to sit back down. "Lady Éowyn spoke quite forcefully on your behalf."

"We ride for Ithilien tomorrow," Éowyn says, squeezing Faramir's hand. "I hope you have not forgotten the horsemanship I taught you, else it will be a long ride indeed." She had given a lot of thought to this. Politically, it made sense; if he was to have a probationary period, best for it to be far from his crew, and far from the sea. What seemed more important, though, was that Ithilien and Emyn Arnen were hers - her home, her realm. Given how off-balance she was in his presence, she would be glad for the reassurance of home.

Jack dips his head in a nod, attention turned back over to Eowyn.

"No need to worry," He has to stop himself short for a second, abruptly remembering her request not to use love, then continues, "I've not forgotten so soon." And really, he figures a long ride will pale greatly in comparison to desperately clutching to a horse with a hellish, hungry dragon breathing at his back.

"And what of me crew?"

"That you ask," Arwen says, with a small smile, "does you credit. But you need not fear. No harm will come to them."

"They are held elsewhere," Faramir clarifies. "And there they shall remain, until the King orders otherwise." He looks up at the royal couple, inclining his head a little before returning his attention to Jack. "No cruelty will be offered them, nor any great privation. Their guards are good men." He would tolerate no others. "When you are released, so shall they be, I do not doubt."

Jack taps a couple fingers to his temple, a somewhat faded smile pressed to his mouth. "I'm glad to hear of that. I certainly trust in your generous hospitality."

While he's confident that his crew won't suffer harm at their hands -- his imprisonment here, thus far, has been without any great incident or violence -- the notion that he'll be separated from them is disconcerting. It gives him less control over this entire situation, less power, fewer ways to figure out how to slip these damned bonds and disappear like he'd prefer to.

But like any other difficulty he's faced in life, he'll find a way to adjust, to adapt.

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