"I, for one, would like to be able to eat this week."
"And who stops you? There is food aplenty here at the citadel."
"I have no more appetite," she said quietly, and rose. "Perhaps I will visit the library, and find something pleasing to read. A book of poems, or maybe I will continue learning the history of the line of ruling Stewards. If my own children are to join their line, I would like to know more about it."
A polite clearing of the throat. “Faramir would know where to find the books you seek, having studied every page.”
It would not do to exhibit such immature childish behavior, but he could not quench the jealousy that kindled in his heart. Faramir and he were the last of the line of stewards. How often he had heard the words and been proud to carry the weight of the title! Boromir could not bear to have some woman enter the citadel and seek to usurp his position. Not when he had fought so long and so hard to keep the city safe so that it would remain standing when he held the white rod of his father’s office.
"I wish you the joy of the day, my lady."
"I'll ask him if we meet, then."
If she noticed his discomfort, she didn't speak of it. It would do nothing to solve anything, and would no doubt drive a wedge deeper between them, and Eda had resolved to avoid any excess hard feelings between herself and her husband's sons (somehow, thinking of them as her stepsons hurt- they had, after all, made it abundantly clear that she was no mother to them, even a stepmother.).
"The same to you. I hope your wound heals quickly."
