Faramir winced as Éowyn's arrow glanced off the edge of the target. She was not normally a bad archer, but with that miss tallied against her, it was impossible for him to not win their match. Warrior-bred, she would certainly spot it if he deliberately missed his shot.
Could he feign a pulled muscle or another sudden injury? No, she would see through that too.
Slowly, deliberately, he tensed his bow and took aim. Diplomacy be cursed. He would give it his best shot, and if that meant he would sleep in a guestroom for a week, so be it.
Originally written for the January 2010 Birthday Workshop for Imhiriel's birthday.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.