Nature vs. Nurture (PG-13) ![Print Preview Print](https://www.faramirfiction.com/files/69.gif)
Written by Susana03 April 2011 | 9076 words | Work in Progress
Title: Any Normal Man Would Just Get Drunk
Author: Susana
Series: Desperate Hours
Feedback: Please use the form below
Rating: PG
Warning: AU.
Disclaimer: All recognizable elements are Tolkien’s
Summary: Dervorin makes reasonable suggestions, which Faramir mostly ignores.
A/N: This occurs sometime during Year 5 of the Fourth Age, or thereabouts, later the same week as “But, I’ve,” 29310. Arwen and Eldarion are in Emyn Arnen in Ithilien with Éowyn, Theodwyn, and Elboron. Aragorn and Faramir are still in Minas Tirith, as the Haradrim Ambassador asked for a meeting with the King and the Steward during the few weeks when it is customary for the royal family to be away in Emyn Arnen.
Any Normal Man Would Just Get Drunk
The letter was written on parchment just thick enough for it to be possible to write on both the front and the back of a sheet. It bore the Queen’s seal, and some royal tot had evidently assisted her in writing some parts of the missive, as there were several multi-colored squiggles on the page, which looked like the work of Theodwyn, and a drawing of a blob with four limbs which was probably a horse or possibly a dog, and mostly likely a contribution of Eldarion’s. However, the end of the letter had evidently been written without the aid of son or young grandchild, and the Queen’s elegant handwriting was thicker, as if she had paused to think over what to say here and there, letting more ink run onto the page as she uncharacteristically hesitated.
Dervorin read on with unconcealed interest while he waited for his friend to finish reviewing other documents. The end of Arwen’s letter stated: “I love Éowyn, you know that, Faramir-nin. She is as a younger sister, or a grown daughter, to me. And I have the greatest respect for her, as well. However, on this one point, she is simply not rational. It is unfair, but sometimes you need to be rational for her. I would have expected greater restraint and wisdom from you, ion-nin.”
Lord the Captain Dervorin looked up from reading his best friend’s mail with wide-eyed sympathy. “So this is what has you frantically reviewing expense reports? A normal man would just go out and get drunk, you know, Fara.” Well, Dev amended mentally, any normal man whose stepmother was the Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and a daughter of a famous healer who happened to think that three pregnancies in three years was unsafe for her best female friend, and that her beloved stepson should have just said “no, dear,” when the witch-king slayer decided that she wanted husbandly affection. No, Dervorin decided, this was probably one of those things that just didn’t happen to most men, but only to Faramir.
Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, also son of the King and so a scion of the house of Telcontar, gave Dervorin a half-hearted look of approbation, before correcting, “No, this happened before that… I knew that Éowyn would tell Arwen she is expecting again, and I expected that Arwen would disapprove. Eru, Dev, I disapprove, but Éowyn was determined, and, well,” Faramir lifted one hand in the air in a ‘you know Éowyn’ gesture, while he used the other to lay a bookmark in some obscure volume recording rainfall averages in southern Gondor during the prior century.
Dervorin took the tome of facts and figures from his friend, and laid it just outside of Faramir’s reach. Faramir paused in his work, his whole attention now on his friend, and raised an eyebrow. Dervorin gave him another sympathetic look, before stating firmly, “Now it is lunch time. Your step-mother doesn’t approve of you and Éowyn having a third child in three years on the grounds that it is potentially dangerous to Éowyn’s health, but she also doesn’t approve of you skipping meals.”
Faramir rolled his eyes, but made a last few notes and then got up from his desk, stretching, “These numbers are troubling me, Dev. Éowyn’s deciding that now – well, several months ago, was the right time to try for a third child, I realized that my, ah,” Faramir stopped, fumbling for words as he reached for a light cloak, and donning it as they made their way out of his office and into the halls.
“Parents?” Dev offered, hiding a slight smile to no avail as the two took the path through the gardens to the great hall, despite a light drizzle. Faramir knew Dev well enough to know he was amused.
“Aragorn and Arwen,” Faramir corrected with a both amused and annoyed look and an aggrieved sigh, “would not approve. And,” again the uncomfortable, ‘what was I do to?’ gesture, this time with both hands.
Dev loyally repressed a chuckle. Faramir, at the best of times, was just a very modest soul. Not a prude, but not one to talk about what did or didn’t go on in his bedchamber, even with his best friend or his brother. Boromir, for instance, had not learned that his baby brother wasn’t a virgin anymore until some years after Faramir had lost that status. Dervorin could well imagine that Faramir had done his best to talk Éowyn out of having another child a mere handful of months after Elboron’s birth. Dervorin was fairly sure that Faramir’s resolve had lasted longer than that of most men faced with a determined witchking-slayer, but even Faramir had his limits, his weaknesses. Among them was that, when safe and not in the field, he was slow to awake in the mornings, whilst Éowyn was the most likely of all of Arwen’s ladies, and one of the most likely of all the citadel residents, to awake early enough to join the King and his guards for dawn practice. If Éowyn had instead spent the pre-dawn hours waking her husband just enough to have sex with him, Dev was fairly sure Faramir would not have been awake enough to employ whatever birth control measures he might have otherwise used, despite his wife’s disapproval.
Dervorin patted Faramir’s shoulder supportively, “You have my entire sympathy, dear friend. I’d not like to be the one to tell your wife “no” to anything, let alone something as near and dear to her heart as having a large family, and there are times when I’ve noted that your Éowyn listens to, “No, not now,” and hears only, “no.”
Faramir grinned ruefully, “You always were an observant one. Yes, the conversation went very much like that, and then a day of inattention on my part several weeks later, and… now baby number three is due just before Elboron’s first birthday.”
Dervorin whistled. Éowyn was not one to waste time once she had her mind made up. “Has your, ah, Arwen, told your Adar the King?” He asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.
Making a face, Faramir shook his head, “Nay, Arwen and I are on agreement on that point, at least. This was Éowyn’s idea; let Éowyn tell him. And Elladan, for that matter.” After pausing to exchange polite greetings with one of Aragorn’s secretaries, Faramir continued, “I’m not looking forward to those discussions- its really none of their business, anyway, nor Arwen’s either. But I understand that Arwen is – and Aragorn and Elladan will be – upset only because they care about Éowyn, and worry over her, as do I.” Faramir paused again, and Dev knew him well enough to read the fears he didn’t speak.
“Éowyn isn’t Finduilas, and she’s not Lord Erestor’s poor wife… what was her name… Lady Taminixe, either.” Dervorin pointed out kindly, “Your wife has borne two children with little more trouble than a mama cat, even though she fought ably and well during several skirmishes while pregnant with Thea. Éowyn’s own daernaneth had five children whilst serving on occasion as her husband’s shield maiden. I think Éowyn will be fine, Fara.”
Faramir smiled slightly in thanks for the encouraging words, “I hope so, Dev.” He said quietly, before closing the subject. Faramir afraid was Faramir quiet, and Dev just hoped that he was right, and Éowyn would be fine.
Both young men helped themselves to some of the fare laid out in the great hall, before sitting at a table apart enough from the other diners to carry on a private conversation. Anyone who really needed to speak to Faramir or Dervorin could easily find them, but third-day lunch was an informal affair. Everyone present knew that the Steward was also available in his office during the morning, and obeyed the King’s wishes that his eldest son and Steward be permitted to dine undisturbed, barring emergencies.
“My worry with the tax rolls came about before this… more personal… issue, was raised in Arwen’s letter.” Faramir related quietly to his trusted friend, “There is something wrong, off, with many of the numbers… from multiple demenses and over various years. I cannot discern a pattern and it is most disquieting.”
“Hunh.” Commented Dervorin, intrigued despite promising himself and Aragorn that he would discourage Faramir’s “obsessive” interest in this “matter that could be put off a few weeks or a season to no harm,” in the King’s words. “And neither your accountants nor the King’s could determine any commonalities in the erroneous entries?”
“They could not, nor can I, nor Aragorn.” Faramir related, worrying a loaf of bread into crumbs as he explained, “Aragorn’s answer is to wait for his big brothers to return, and share the problem with them. I am sure he is probably right, but it… bothers me. I’d like to get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later.”
“I understand, Faramir, really I do.” Dervorin said, buttering another roll and handing it to his friend, “and I’ll take a look at what you’ve got before I leave tomorrow, if you’d like,” though Dev would have to rearrange his entire schedule to do it, but Faramir’s peace of mind was worth it, and Dev was interested, now, too. Faramir’s obsessions usually had a point, after all, “but you’d best start sleeping and eating like a good Steward.”
Faramir gave Dervorin an aggrieved but grateful look, before his gray eyes flickered to rest on the King, across the hall. Returning his regard to Dev, Faramir protested quietly. “I’m fine, he worries too much. And provided that I am not too tired or ill-fed to fulfill my duties, how I spend my nights is really none of his business, anyway.”
Dev didn’t roll his eyes, but that was just because he didn’t want to start an argument. Personally, he thought that his best friend and the King were headed for another of their rare but always interesting confrontations over what was and wasn’t Aragorn’s affair as Faramir’s Adar. On this point, part of Dev was actually on Aragorn’s side, oddly. So Dervorin merely pointed out, “He’s your father, Fara,” you goose, Dev added silently, before continuing aloud, “And you can think whatever you like about what is and isn’t his business, but if I were you, I’d do as he says. Otherwise I expect he’ll be ‘getting to the bottom’ of this matter in a different manner, one that you won’t like at all but which,” Dev finished with a teasing grin, “You’ve become rather more familiar than you might like in the year since he learned you were his son.”
Faramir did roll his eyes. “He wouldn’t do that, not over this.” The Steward disagreed quietly, but firmly.
Dervorin sighed, and made a last attempt to save Faramir from the looming unpleasant confrontation with his father, “Oh, then, by all means keep pushing him.” Dervorin mockingly suggested, “Because that’s worked out so very well for you in the past, particularly in respect of his ridiculous position that you should have a care for your own health and well-being.”
Faramir didn’t rise to the bait, or seem to heed the warning, he just changed the subject, “While you’re away, perhaps we should make a few tweaks to the message network?” He suggested, “I think Kasim worked well last time, so perhaps let’s have him near the border again, in case you need to make contact unexpectedly…”
Shaking his head, and wondering if Faramir was perhaps testing his father, Dervorin turned to thoughts of how best to keep in touch with his friend and Steward (as well as Captain Ethiron) while he was off a’spying. When Faramir’s attention turned momentarily to an argument between two of the pages, Dervorin sought out the King’s eyes, and gave a helpless shrug, thinking, ‘I tried, Aragorn, really I did. But sometimes he just doesn’t listen.’
Elessar Telcontar, who encouraged most of his officers and all of Faramir’s friends to call him by name when the occasion was not formal, nodded in sympathetic thanks, before his gray eyes moved to his oldest son, a fond if exasperated expression on his noble face.
Dervorin, while glad the King was not going to hold this against him, was also glad that he’d be out of town by the time this confrontation reached a crisis point. “Do you ever wonder if you’re just testing him?” Dervorin asked Faramir absently.
“What?” Faramir blinked, confused, “Testing Kasim? Why would I do that? I trust him to be your contact, and part of your back-up.”
“Never mind, Fara.” Dervorin said, hiding a smile as Aragorn approached with his own Captain and mentor, Lord Ethiron.
The King put a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder, and the four men adjourned to discuss matters of state in the privacy of Aragorn’s office. A place where Dervorin rather suspected another conversation about obeying one’s father was soon to take place… although he supposed Faramir could always surprise him, and act like a reasonable man instead of an obsessed would-be archivist. As Faramir turned their conversation to the issue of the “funny” numbers, Dervorin shook his head and met Ethiron’s eyes, silently making the point, ‘See? He is worse than I am, sometimes. I told you that he was.’
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