I dreamed I saw a great wave… climbing over green lands and above the hills. I stood upon the brink. It was utterly dark in the abyss before my feet. A light shone behind me… but I could not turn. I could only stand there, waiting.

I startle and wake up from my dream. The Hall is arching over my head like a black cave; there is nothing between me and the emptiness than my pale blue cloak. It has been a gentle, almost not palpable touch that pulled me back just in time… someone draws the fur-lined velvet over my bare feet and my shoulder. When I open my eyes and gaze in confusion into the dim light, I see you.

"What time is it?”

You are already rising to move away, and without thinking I reach out and catch your hand. Slowly and hesitatingly you turn back to me again. I cling to the rough warmth of your fingers; they have guided your sword in Helm’s Deep, killing with deadly precision, but now they are gentle and soothing, am anchor in the midst of my somnolent fear.

“Not yet dawn.”

Your voice is soft and deep, a little hoarse. I remember the moment when you touched me for the very first time… Gandalf stood at the same place where we are now, threatening the power that had kept my uncle under it’s spell for such an agonizing long time, and giving him freedom at last. I saw the king double over, torn in the fight between light and darkness in his very soul and I wanted to run to his rescue… and you held me back with strong hands and that same soft voice, for you knew better.

I can hear the snoring of the men, wrapped in their cloaks on the floor. But still it seems as if we were all alone, you and me, and suddenly I hear the words tumbling over my lips, telling of the dream I had, of the great wave, the deep, black abyss and my inability to move. Your face changes as you listen, your gaze turns gentle and attentive, and you kneel down beside my bed, holding my hand safe between your palms. I feel a single tear running down my cheek, and with every fiber of my body I long for the touch of your fingers on my face to wipe it away. Can you not see that I love you? That I need you? That you were not only the salvation of my uncle, but also mine?

“Night changes many thoughts. Sleep, Éowyn…”

The moment is over. I close my eyes and you free your fingers gently from the grip of my hand. I sink back into another dream and night spreads it’s dark wings over me.

“Sleep while you can…”

I sleep, and I am alone again. You are gone.

******

Before I see you, I can hear the familiar creaking of the bridle. You are standing there in the middle of the night, preparing to leave with grim determination, and the realization that you are going away hits me like a blow in my stomach.

“Why are you doing this? The war lies to the east. You cannot leave on the eve of battle. You cannot abandon the men.”

My voice has a shrill, desperate sound, but I’m far beyond all shame now.

“Éowyn…”

“We need you here.” I need you here. Don’t go away from us. Don’t go away from me.

“Why have you come?”

“Do you not know?”

You turn to me, and the gaze in your eyes sobers me immediately and burns all my hope to ashes. I have lost you to this battle you won’t allow me to fight by your side. I have lost you to a fate you are not willing to share with me. And more than that… for a moment I can clearly look into your heart, and I find her… the woman I’ve never seen, unless in the changing of your face when I once asked you about the chain and pendant around your neck.

“It’s but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek…”

I stand there, arms hanging limp, my face frozen. Then, to my surprise, you come back for a moment and take my hands in yours for a last time. There is sadness in your gaze, and deep pity. Please, not. I could stand detachment from your side, rage or even disgust… but not pity. Do not do this to me.

“I have wished you joy since first I saw you.”

Strangely enough I believe you. But it doesn’t help. Still my heart breaks into pieces.

******

The next time we meet it is again the touch of your hands that I feel. Fresh, fragrant water cools my skin, banishing fever and agony. I can’t open my eyes, the way back to life has been far too long and laborious. But even so I recognize your fingers, your gentleness, your silent power. When my eyelids finally rise, I catch a short glimpse of your face, and then you’re gone… again.

But Èomer is there, and I see him weep for the first time since he was six years old, fell from his first horse and forgot that of us both he had to be the man. But these are tears of joy and we share a precious moment of happiness, for I may be lost, but at least my beloved brother is not.

******

I rise in the middle of the night, walking over the stone floor to the arched window. They have taken care for my arm, have washed my skin and hair, have given me a clean, soft bed. But they were not able to give me peace. I want to see the army that has left days ago, but the warriors are long gone, and you with them. I will probably never see you again, and my heart is pure ice. If only I could get away from here… to fight, to kill, to meet my fate and finally to die! Why did you call me back?

I don’t know why I turn around, but in the shadows outside my room I see the figure of a man, watching me in silence. Our eyes meet, and for a few moments I see compassion, gentle sympathy and tenderness. It feels like a warm hearth fire in the marble perfection of this ancient city, and a shiver runs down my spine.

Again I gaze out of the window into the darkness of the night. It must be spring soon… a sudden longing stirs in my soul, for endless, grassy plains and green, rolling hills. Will there ever be a place I can call home again?

******

The man I saw that night is Faramir, son of the dead Steward, and after a few days I understand that he constantly seeks my presence. I would have turned away and told him to leave me in peace, but there is a shadow of my own agony in his patient, grey eyes… he’s as betrayed by fate and as bereft as I am.

He strangely reminds me of you… you are both descendants from those ancient Númenoreans even my mother had some drops of blood of in her veins… and yet he is completely different. You are a warrior, he is a scholar, though his hands have guided a sword in many battles. While you were silent, he speaks and tells me stories… about the history of Gondor and Minas Tirith, about his mother and about his brother Boromir who lost his life protecting Merry and his cousin. He rarely speaks about his father… but Merry told me about what he has heard by Peregrin, and now I understand the darkness on his face, the long silence between his words and the painful expression in his eyes.

*****

And now we stand in front of the window together, and I feel the old fear in my heart, a frightening echo of the dream I told you about, and this time I am not left alone. The voice speaking to me reveals the same dream; it holds true comfort and I recognize what he feels for me as what it is… deep, overwhelming love. My heart wants to give him the answer he deserves. The ice around it starts to melt, and my head rests against his shoulder. Warm fingers close around my seeking hand.

The dream has become truth, and this man is no shadow.

He is reality. And more than that - I think he might be my home.

THE END