A/N: The last conversation between Eowyn and Eomer was reworked quite a bit--I'm hoping this will give a little more insight into his actions both here and in later stories I've written that he's featured in (namely, The Best Laid Plans).

And, for the record, the next new chapter is in the works, though real life has gotten in the way for a few weeks and I'm just now getting back to it. Thank you for your patience.

Reposted 8/10/07

I stayed in bed for the rest of the day; I felt too numb to do anything else. I did not even make an attempt to argue with the healers. The women who came to tend me exchanged worried glances when they thought I was not looking, but I cared not.

By the next day, I was feeling increasingly restless, especially since no one seemed to know any news regarding the company that had ridden out. By the third day, my shock and restlessness had turned into anger, especially at Éomer. But since he was not there, it did not take long for me to direct my frustration at every unfortunate person who dared to cross my path. When a young woman, who introduced herself as Idril, brought me a bowlful of thin porridge for breakfast, I asked her if she had heard any news of the fate of those who had gone to war. She looked surprised, then told me, “But they only left two days ago, my lady,” as if that were an answer. The glare I directed at her sent her hurrying off.

It seemed that Mithríel was the healer assigned specifically to me; at any rate, I had seen her the most over the last several days. She arrived shortly after breakfast, frowned to see how little I had eaten, then set about the task of unbinding my arm. “Mithríel,” I asked, “have you heard of any word from the men?”

She shook her head after sparing me a sympathetic look. “None, my lady,” she said. “Nor will any tidings arrive today, most likely. Why, I would be surprised if they have even reached the borders yet.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, though I felt no gratitude. I remained silent while she finished checking the splint and re-wrapping the bandages around my arm, then she left with the promise of returning later.

 So this is how it will end, I thought bitterly. Left behind again, helpless to do anything but wait. I could scarcely dare to hope that I would somehow find a way to meet my fate with honor. For a long while, I stared at what little I could see of the view outside the window. As the morning dragged on, I became increasingly bored and restless. The monotony was broken slightly when Idril returned with the noontime meal, but I quickly grew restless again. Finally, I tossed off the blankets and stood up.

The time of rest had done me good, I reluctantly admitted. Except for the chill I still felt, my strength had almost returned completely, and I had no difficulty in walking about my room. Knowing this only increased my desire to find something—anything—to do; I could not bear the thought of waiting in my bed for whatever doom would overtake the city. With this thought in mind, I began searching around my room for something to wear besides my cloak and nightshift. There had to be someone in this house whom I could speak with about this.

The door abruptly opened again. “What are you doing?” Mithríel asked, her grey-green eyes narrowing. “You should not be out of bed!”

“If I spend one more minute in that bed, I will surely go mad,” I retorted, slamming the still-empty wardrobe door shut in frustration. Where on earth am I going to find some decent clothing? I wondered. In spite of my eagerness to leave, I was hesitant to go walking about in naught but the shift. “Is there no one I can speak with?”

Mithríel gave me an exasperated look. “But my lady, you have not yet fully recovered!”

“I am recovered enough,” I said as I threw my cloak over my shoulders. It was not much covering, but it would have to do.

After a long moment, the dark-haired woman sighed in resignation. “Will you at least allow me to help you get properly dressed?” I nodded my assent, and she left the room for what seemed like an age. When she finally returned, she was carrying several garments draped over one arm, and, thankfully, my own riding boots in the other hand. She helped me into a blue-grey gown of the fashion that the women of Gondor wore. The dress was too short at my ankles and wrists, and Mithríel gave me an apologetic look. “It was all I could find on such short notice,” she said as she helped me lace up my boots. “We will have something to fit you better soon. Your brother gave us one of your dresses, and a seamstress who remained in the city is using it for measurements.”

“One of my dresses? But how?” Then I remembered stuffing my dress into my saddlebag at the last minute before leaving Dunharrow. “Oh…never mind,” I sighed. Even though it had been scarcely a week since I left, it seemed a lifetime ago.

Mithríel nodded but did not reply as she tied a wide strip of linen around my neck to serve as a sling for my arm. I shrugged in a futile attempt to make the accursed thing sit more comfortably around my neck, but Mithríel did not seem to notice. “Come, my lady, I will take you to the Warden now,” she said.  She led me down the hall, then knocked firmly on a heavy wooden door.

The door opened to reveal a room full of herbs and roots in various stages of drying. An elderly man was sitting at a table where he was packaging up the herbs. He turned slightly in his chair as he heard us enter, a look of slight surprise in his light blue eyes. “Daeron,” Mithríel said, “The Lady Éowyn wishes to speak with you.”

The Warden rose slowly, and the skin around his eyes crinkled in a smile as he looked at me for a long moment. “How may I help you, my lady?” he finally asked.

“Sir,” I said, “I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth.”

 The smile faded. “Lady, you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care,” he said firmly. I scowled. Why did Éomer have to insist on treating me like a complete invalid? Daeron continued, “You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back.”

“I am healed!” I insisted. “Healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease. But I shall sicken anew, if there is nothing that I can do.” He shook his head, so I decided to try a different approach. “Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing.”

“There are no tidings, save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief.” Aragorn, I thought sadly. If I gave any reaction, he did not notice as he added, “A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we should still have enough to do without them.” He sighed. “The world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them.”

Does everyone in Gondor ramble on so much? I thought, irritated. “It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them,” I said, fidgeting in place as I gestured towards the drying racks. “Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain.” My gaze drifted to the east window, and my hand involuntarily clenched as if I were holding a sword. “Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter,” I added softly. The Warden gave no reply, and after a moment I turned back to him. “Is there no deed to do? Who commands in this City?” I asked.

“I do not rightly know; such things are not my care.” I clenched my jaw in frustration; did these people not know anything? “There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan, and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City.”

Finally! I thought, hoping that perhaps he would be willing to listen to me. “Where can I find him?” I asked.

“In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know…”

“Will you not bring me to him?” I interrupted, not caring that I was being rude. “Then you will know.” Daeron looked exasperated but bowed slightly, then motioned for me to follow him.

As we walked, I tried to plan out what I would say. The name Daeron had given sounded somewhat familiar—probably some lord of Gondor that had been mentioned in passing in the court at Edoras. But if the people I had encountered thus far in the Houses were any indication, I would need to have a clear idea of exactly what I wanted to say in order to get past their flowery manner of speech. And though I had a fair idea by the time we reached the door, I was feeling more impatient than ever. I need to get out of this place, if it is the last thing I ever do, I determined. He pushed the door open, motioned for me to walk through, then followed me into the garden. It seemed a pleasant enough place, although after seeing nothing but stone for three days, any patch of weeds would have been a welcome sight. The grass was interrupted by neat beds of young plants—some of the herbs they used for healing, I guessed. A few short trees, still bare except for the buds swelling where leaves would soon grow, stood near the walls, offering some shade. The entire garden was encircled with a wall of the same white stone that the entire city seemed to be made of, with a broad walkway about waist-height below the outer wall. A narrow staircase led up to the top of the wall, with a narrow stone pathway between the wall and the door where I stood now.

But all my attention was focused on the man standing alone on top of the walkway. His back was to us as he looked out towards the east, one hand resting on top of the wall and the other bound up in a sling similar to mine. It seemed to me that there was something strangely familiar about him, I thought, though I could not quite place it.

“Lord Faramir,” he said. As the man turned towards us, I froze in shock, and everything I had been planning to say flew out of my head. It cannot be, I thought. That is impossible. He was tall, about the same height as my brother, and he did not look much older than Éomer. His face was clean-shaven, and his straight, raven-black hair cropped shorter than the men of Rohan wore theirs. And although I had not seen his face clearly before, there was no doubt in my mind that he was the man I had seen in my dream after the battle.

He glanced at the Warden briefly, then his eyes turned to me, and a combination of surprise and recognition crossed his face. He kept looking at me in disbelief as he quickly descended from the wall and moved towards us.

Daeron continued speaking, and the man’s piercing gaze finally turned from me. “My lord, here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak with the Steward of the City.” He could not keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice as he spoke.

“Do not misunderstand him, lord,” I blurted out. His eyes turned back to me, and for a minute I feared I had offended him by insulting the skill of his city’s healers, so I continued, “It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and the battle still goes on.”

Faramir looked at the Warden and nodded, and he bowed deeply and left. As Daeron was leaving, Faramir and I carefully studied each other for a long moment. The slight pallor to his face told me he was recovering from some recent illness, though he stood as one who was completely healthy. And although he still looked somewhat surprised, his expression had relaxed into a kinder one. Though his build was slighter than those of the men I grew up with, the man was obviously a warrior; I could guess that it was likely that he could evenly match any warrior of my own people in combat. For my part, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right through me as he gazed at me, almost as if he could read my thoughts. The look in his grey eyes, a mixture of deep sorrow and gentleness, left me strangely unnerved, yet at the same time there was something about it that made me believe that perhaps he would understand.

“What would you have me do, lady?” he finally asked softly. “I also am a prisoner of the healers.” I automatically opened my mouth to answer, but I had not been expecting such a reply, and so no words came. “What do you wish?” he asked again. “If it lies in my power, I will do it.”

“I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go,” I said, my words sounding more confident than I felt. I sound like a petulant child, I thought, feeling suddenly irritated at myself.

If he thought so as well, he showed no sign of it. “I myself am in the Warden’s keeping,” he answered, “nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need.”

“But I do not desire healing!” I exclaimed, feeling more certain of myself again. Why can no one understand this? “I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

Faramir looked surprised at the request, then sad. “It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength. But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the healer commanded.” He paused, then added in a tone that said he was as reluctant to admit it as I was to hear it, “You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting.”

I wanted to argue with him and opened my mouth to do so, but something in me broke at his words. Feeling suddenly helpless, my head dropped as a lump swelled in my throat. My eyes filled with tears, and one trickled down my cheek before I could stop it. I did not look back up at him as I desperately fought back the tears; I would not allow myself to be so weak as to weep in front of a man I had just met. “But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet,” I finally said softly. “And my window does not look eastward.”

“Your window does not look eastward?” he repeated. “That can be amended.” I raised my eyes to his, though my head was still bowed, and he smiled at me sadly, though kindly. “In this I will command the Warden. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, wither all our hopes have gone.” I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I would not be confined to my room any longer. I was about to thank him and leave, but his next words startled me. “And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.”

My head snapped up, my eyes locking with his. Looking closer, I could see now that there was a hint of blue in his grey eyes, filled with the pain of some recent grief. But they were also kind, and I could feel the heat rising in my face as I realized he was serious. “How should I ease your care, my lord?” I asked. “And I do not desire the speech of living men,” I added without thinking. Then I bit my lip, thinking that perhaps I had offended him.

If he was offended, he did not show it. “Would you have my plain answer?” he asked.

“I would,” I said. It is past time I got a plain answer out of anyone here, I silently added.

“Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful.”

The unexpected compliment brought the blood rushing to my cheeks, though I could see no insincerity in his face, and so I was completely unprepared for his next statement. “It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back.”

I stiffened at his last words, my eyes wide. There was only one way he could have known about that… But it was just a dream! I silently protested. I was sure my face was still several different shades of red as I stammered, “Alas, not me, lord! Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing; I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle.” Wormtongue was right about that one thing, at least. Faramir’s brow furrowed slightly as I added, “But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City.” With that, I gave a quick curtsey and turned to go. My cheeks were still burning as I reached the door leading back into the Houses. For just a moment I hesitated and looked back; he was still watching me, a thoughtful look on his face. I quickly whirled around and fled to the safety of the Houses.

-------

I stood at the window of my new quarters, looking out over the fields to the shadowy mountains of the East. Occasionally, I could see a flicker like fire beyond the mountains, interrupting the growing twilight and causing me to shiver. I knew I would not see the armies by this point; they would be passing through the mountains now, if not already past them. But still I watched, desperately hoping for any sort of sign that my brother was still alive.

And the Lord Aragorn, of course, I belatedly added. It was a shock to realize that this was the first time I had really thought about him all afternoon. My mind had been slightly preoccupied after my meeting with the Steward, as I could not help wondering why on earth he had expressed an interest in my company.

My head dropped a little at the thought, and I noticed that I could see the gardens from the window if I looked down. The early evening light was still enough that I could see two figures wandering slowly through the garden, one tall with black hair gleaming faintly in the fading light, the other a good deal shorter with golden-brown curls. Though I could not see their faces from above, it looked as if they were talking.

As I watched Faramir and Merry, for a moment I wished that I had someone to talk to, and almost went down to join them. Then, as if he sensed me watching, Faramir’s face turned to look up at my window. I quickly darted out of sight and sat down on the bed. Though I knew I was being a coward, I could not bear to see the pity that I knew would be in his eyes.

And so, for the rest of the evening, I remained alone with my confused thoughts. There was nothing else I could do.

-------

I was standing in a large room, the only light coming from a few torches standing by a bier at the far wall. The light flickered off the tall, dark marble columns that stood at regular intervals near the walls. The floors and walls were all also cold marble. Shadows filled every corner, giving me the feeling that I was standing in a tomb.

I slowly moved towards the bier. As I drew closer, I could see that it was my uncle who had been laid there, his unmoving hands resting on the hilt of his sword. He looked like he was only sleeping, and for a moment I could believe that perhaps none of this had really happened—that I could open my eyes, and find that everything that had happened since Théodred died had been some terrible dream. “Uncle?” I whispered tentatively, hoping against hope that he would open his eyes and smile up at me, as he had only weeks ago when Gandalf healed him.

He made no answer, as I knew in my heart he would not. I drew my cloak a little tighter, clutching at the horsehead pin until I felt the edges digging into my palm, stumbling back as the realization finally sank in that he was gone forever.

My vision blurred as a tear began to trickle slowly down my cheek, followed by several more. I had no strength left to hold them back. “I failed you,” I finally choked out. “I tried, but I could not help you. Not with Wormtongue, and not with…” my voice trailed off; I could not bear to mention the Witch-king aloud. Just the thought brought a chill to my fingertips, which slowly began to creep up my hand.

“It should have been me instead,” I whispered. “All I wanted was to find an honorable end. I would have gladly died beside you, Uncle…I would give anything to trade places with you.” My voice broke in a sob. “We still needed you; what hope do we have with you gone?”

And when he is gone, what then? There is no one left.

Gríma’s words came back to me as clearly as if they had been spoken anew. I whirled around, eyeing the shadows behind the columns, but I could see nothing.

You knew this was going to happen. The king is dead. Your brother will soon be dead. There is no one left.

“Éomer will return,” I whispered automatically. It was the only hope I had left to cling to. “He has to…I never got to say farewell…”

A cloaked figure stepped out from behind the column, a dark hood pulled low over his face. “This war cannot be won. Your brother will fall, Aragorn will fall, and the world of men with them.” The voice—Wormtongue’s voice, I realized, though the figure was taller—grew more malicious, and I suddenly realized that my arm was completely numbed. The chill was spreading quickly now. Still he continued, every word driving me deeper into despair. “The Shadow will cover all, and your end will come too, Éowyn daughter of Éomund. And you will have to face it alone, just as you have always been alone. You will be just as powerless to stop it as you have always been.” The hood fell back slightly to reveal only shadow where Gríma’s face should have been.

“No…” I stumbled back. “You are dead…I killed you…” I whispered. The figure reached for me, and I stepped back once more, falling back as I tripped over a step. He had me cornered, and I could feel him pulling me back into the shadowy land that Aragorn had called me back from. My sight dimmed once more as he reached his armor-clad hand towards me…

I sat up in bed, sweating and gasping for air. It was only a dream, but waking was no better. It took me a moment to realize that tears were running down my face unchecked. Feeling too broken-hearted to fight them anymore, I buried my face in the pillow and wept for the cousin I had lost, the uncle I had so utterly failed, and the brother who would not return. When the tears finally subsided, all I had the strength left to do was stare vacantly into the darkness, holding my still-numbed arm close in a vain attempt to warm it, and wait for dawn to come.

Eventually, the darkness gave way to the grey light of morning. As the room grew brighter, Mithríel came in to check on me. She checked over both my arms, looking concerned over the chill that still lingered in my sword-arm, then helped me dress and reset my arm in the sling. Thankfully, she did not comment on my appearance or how quiet I was being, though she did point me to the basin of water so I could wash my face. “You may break fast downstairs if you wish, my lady,” she said. “Master Merry has been inquiring after you.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, awkwardly trying to gather my hair up with one hand and looking around for something to tie it back with.

“Here, allow me,” Mithríel said, motioning for me to sit on the edge of the bed. She knelt behind me and began braiding my hair. After a moment’s silence, she said, “Pardon me for saying so, my lady, but you really should give Lord Faramir another chance.”

“What?” I asked, trying to twist my head around to look back at her. How had word of what had passed between us the day before spread so quickly?

“Keep your head still,” she admonished. Then she added more softly, “What I mean is, you have both lost a great deal in this war. I am sure that he could use a friend as much…” Her voice trailed off.

“As much as I could?” I finished for her as she tied off the end of the braid.

She released my hair and stood up, having the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Forgive me,” she said. “I am letting my mouth run away with me.”

I pushed myself to my feet and turned to face her. “Pardon me for asking,” I replied, “but why should you care? I have done nothing but give you grief since I arrived here.”

Mithríel hesitated, then began tidying up the room a bit. “It is more for Lord Faramir’s sake, my lady. My husband risked everything to help save him; I would not have that sacrifice be in vain.”

“Where is your husband now?” I asked.

“With the company that set out for the East,” she replied. I fell silent, feeling guilty for prying, even as I began to have a little more respect for the healer; at least she had been honest with me. Mithríel shook her head slightly, then said, “Come, my lady.” She led me to the hall and told me where to go to find Merry. I walked down the stairs and walked past a large room filled with beds, most of which were occupied with wounded men. Just past that was a small sitting area, with windows overlooking the garden. Merry was sitting in a chair near a fireplace made of the same brown stone as the ones in the rooms, a small table with bread and butter sitting in front of him. He looked up and grinned when he saw me.

“Good morning, Éowyn!” he said cheerfully. Then his smile quickly faded into concern. “Are you feeling well? You look terrible!”

I gave him a wry half-smile. “Thank you, Merry.”

His face colored a bit. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he quickly amended.

“I know,” I said, sitting down across from him. “I did not sleep very well.”

He nodded, and decided to change the subject. “Would you like some breakfast? I can toast this for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, that would be good,” I said absently. He nodded, speared a slice of bread on a toasting fork, and proceeded to move it closer to the fire. After a few moments of silence, I asked, “Merry, what do you know about the Lord Faramir?” He gave me a curious look, and I added, “I saw you speaking with him last night.”

“Most of what I know is what Pippin and Boromir told me,” he admitted, then added by way of explanation, “Boromir is…was…Lord Faramir’s brother. He was one of my traveling companions for awhile.” Merry fell silent for a moment, a look of grief crossing his face. My eyes widened slightly in realization. I could remember Boromir speaking of a younger brother now, during his stay—that was why his name had sounded so familiar. That was how I recognized him, it must be. He looks like Boromir. That is all, I tried to convince myself.

“And Pippin met him before we came here,” Merry continued.  “Faramir was wounded before the battle, and Pippin stayed with him for awhile. He was with him too, when his father died.”

“How did his father die?” I asked, suddenly remembering the conversation between my brother and Prince Imrahil that I had overheard, and wondering if Faramir had been the one of whom they spoke.

Merry shrugged. “Pippin wouldn’t talk about it, and I didn’t want to bring it up. He didn’t say much about himself anyway; he was much more interested in hearing about…me.”

I could not help catching the slight hesitation.  “Merry,” I asked, looking at him sternly, “was he asking about me?”

Merry looked suddenly nervous, and nearly dropped the bread as he pulled it off the toasting fork. “A little,” he finally admitted. “But we weren’t talking about you the entire time!” he quickly added, a defensive note coming into his voice.

A short laugh escaped before I could catch it. “’Tis all right, Merry, I am not angry with you. But you still have not answered my question.”

“Oh, right.” He had the grace to look embarrassed as he buttered the toast and handed it to me. “I know that he’s one of Gondor’s captains, in…” he paused, thinking, then finished, “Ithilien. I think that’s what Pippin called it. He did not say much—he hadn’t known him long. And Boromir always seemed reluctant to speak of his family, but I could tell he cared about his brother very deeply.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry that I cannot tell you any more.”

“It is not your fault,” I said, nibbling at the toast even though I was not hungry at all. “It is not important, anyway.”

Merry nodded, unconvinced, and we fell silent as he finished eating and I picked at my food, only occasionally taking a bite. Merry finally noticed, and asked, “Did I overcook it?”

I set the bread down with a sigh. “No…I am not very hungry. Forgive me, Merry, I am being terrible company today.”

“I don’t think you are,” he said, giving me a half-smile.

“And I think that you are a terrible liar, so I will spare you the trouble of keeping company with me for awhile,” I said, forcing a smile as I stood up and turning away quickly so I did not have to see the worry in Merry’s eyes.

I decided to go to the gardens for awhile. They were completely deserted, as it was still fairly early. I quickly went to the eastern wall and ascended the stairs. A chill still lingered in the air, and I was soon quite grateful that Mithríel had brought my own white dress for me to wear this day. It was much warmer than the Gondorian dress I had worn the previous day. But I still wished I had thought to bring my cloak.

Although I knew I would see nothing, my gaze was quickly drawn past the field, scarred by the fresh graves that had recently been dug, over to the mountains separating Gondor from the dark lands. I shivered at the thought that my brother was somewhere out there—if he was even still alive. And so many of my people had gone with him, and Aragorn, and Merry’s kinsman…

What is the use? I thought, my eyes stinging with tears once again. It is hopeless. All my thoughts of doing some great deed had turned out to be worthless, and now Éomer and Aragorn were going to throw their lives away in a battle where there could be no victory.

At least there is a chance that your brother might return. I bit my lip at the reminder, feeling slightly guilty. And again I wondered why Faramir would take any interest in me, especially now that I knew that he had lost much more than I had in this war. Why am I still thinking about him? Feeling rather annoyed with myself, I hastily pushed all thoughts of the Steward aside, though I could not help thinking that I wished Aragorn had expressed a similar desire for my company.

I turned my gaze from the mountains and looked down over the city. From where I stood, I could see the various levels of the city spreading out before me. The signs of the siege were everywhere; smoke still drifted from the lowest two levels, which had been the most badly damaged by the forces of Mordor. Hardly a building remained that had not been at least partially burned. On the higher levels, I could see rubble where buildings had once stood, as if a giant’s fist had smashed them. The outer wall had entirely fallen away in places, though I could still see the tiny moving figures of soldiers who had remained behind patrolling, guarding against any other possible attack. I briefly wondered if anyone I knew was there; from what I had heard, those of my people who had survived but were too badly wounded to ride to battle again had stayed in the city to boost the defenses. But I had seen no familiar faces in the few days I had been here, save Merry.

My vision blurred slightly as I wished yet again that Éomer had let me go with him. I had never felt so alone before; in Edoras, and even in Dunharrow, there had always been someone around that I had known well enough to speak with, if I wished. But I hardly knew Merry, and everyone else was gone.

“Lady Éowyn?” I quickly blinked away the tears still filling my eyes, then turned to see Faramir standing near the entrance to the gardens, his arm still in the sling. He was clad in a simple blue tunic and dark breeches, with a green cloak over all. “I apologize if I disturbed you,” he added.

“No, you did not,” I replied automatically. I almost turned back to look out over the city once more, but hesitated. Perhaps Mithríel was right, and Faramir felt as alone as I did. And, I reasoned, he had been much kinder than I had deserved when I had last spoken to him. With my mind made up, I slowly walked down the stairs leading from the wall towards him.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday, my lord,” I said, glancing up at him as my foot left the last step. “I fear that I was terribly rude.”

“Do not trouble yourself; I have spent enough time here to know how frustrating it can be,” he said with a small smile. “The healers are quite skilled, but seem unable to handle restlessness very well.”

I tentatively gave him a half-smile, grateful that he did not seem to think ill of me. “Thank you,” I said, then added, “And how do you fare, my lord?”

His face grew solemn again. “Well enough,” he said, then quickly changed the subject. “May I ask you something?”

I blinked in surprise, then slowly answered, “Yes, but I cannot promise that I will answer.”

He nodded, then asked, “Why did you come to Gondor, my lady?”

I studied him carefully. There was no accusation in his voice, but I was still hesitant to answer. “Why do you wish to know?”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face. “I must admit that I am a little curious, my lady. Never before have I met a woman who would willingly ride into battle.”

I could not help sounding a little defensive as I answered, “How could I stay behind when everyone I love was going off to die? And besides…” I suddenly cut off, not wanting to tell him that I had nothing left to stay behind for.

He did not press the issue, for which I was grateful, though I still found his level gaze rather unnerving. My face flushed slightly again, and to hide my embarrassment, I quickly changed the subject. “I fear that you have me at a disadvantage, my lord. You seem to know much about me, while I know almost nothing of you.”

“Very well, my lady,” he said, beginning to pace a little. “What do you wish to know?”

I fell into step beside him. “Considering I know nothing about you save what Merry and Lord Boromir told me, I hardly know where to start.” A stricken look crossed his face as he paused in mid-stride, vanishing just as quickly, and I silently groaned at my complete lack of tactfulness. “Forgive me, my lord,” I quickly added. “I did not mean to bring up a painful subject.”

“No…” He pushed away the dark hair that had fallen into his face, then looked back down at me. “You knew my brother?” he asked. I recognized the look in his eyes, the hunger for any knowledge of his departed brother. It was the same hunger that I had always had for any memory of my mother and father, what I felt now for any news of my brother.

Perhaps we are not so different after all, I mused. “Not well,” I said, beginning to walk again. “He passed through Rohan several months ago, and only stayed in Edoras for a night. He spoke very highly of you, though.” Faramir looked a little surprised as I continued, “I only spoke with him at length once; it was my duty to see that his quarters were suitable. The only thing he requested was some parchment and ink; he needed to inform his lord of his safe arrival in Edoras, and he wished to write to his brother as well. I assured him that I would see that the letters were delivered.”

Faramir pulled a wrinkled piece of folded parchment out of a small pouch on his belt, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out. “This is the letter that he sent me…it was the last word that I had from him.” A wistful look crossed his face as he quickly scanned the page. “He promised that he would try to write during the remainder of his journey, but that he did not know when he would be able to send any further message.” He glanced up at me then, a look of sad gratitude in his eyes. “You said he spoke of me?”

“Only a little. He said that he was seeking an elf-haven, and that you were much more suited to the task, that he almost wished they had sent you instead. He also thought that you would love the opportunity to speak with the Elves, if you were not spending all your time in some dusty old library,” I added, then winced as I realized that I had let my tongue run away with me yet again. With company like me, he would be better off alone! I thought, wondering how ill he must believe I thought of him.

Faramir looked amused, much to my relief. “He would say that,” he said with a smile. “Though he was always grateful enough that I knew my way around those ‘dusty old libraries’ whenever his studies required him to learn anything that could not be taught in the practice yards.”

I glanced up at him again, curious. “Do you spend much time reading then, my lord?”

“Not anymore,” he answered gravely. “My duty has kept me elsewhere for many years, and time for such pursuits was too costly a luxury.”

“Oh.” I was not really sure how to answer him, since books were a rarity at Edoras, and most of my people could not have been able to read them regardless. So we walked in silence for awhile, and though I still felt unsure of myself around him, it was not entirely uncomfortable. Finally, I looked back up at him and asked, “How is your arm?”

Faramir glanced down at the sling he still wore. “Ioreth says that it is healing well, and that if I do not overwork it too quickly, I should regain full use of it in time,” he said. “And yours, my lady?”

“It is fine,” I said. At least, my broken arm was fine. But I did not realize I had spoken the thought aloud until Faramir asked, “Is your other arm also injured?”

“No, my lord,” I said quickly, my face reddening as I turned away.

“Lady Éowyn,” he said, reaching out as if he were going to stop me. His hand brushed mine for just a moment, then his brow furrowed as he quickly withdrew it.

I just stared at him as he pulled his arm out of the sling, reached up and unclasped his cloak. “What are you doing?” I asked, surprised.

He simply settled the cloak around my shoulders, then pulled the sling back over his arm. “Are you not cold, my lady?” he asked. “Your hand is like ice.”

“That is very kind of you, my lord,” I said softly as I reached up and pulled my braid out from underneath the cloak, “though I doubt it will help. It has been like that ever since I…since the battle.”

“I see.” I wondered if perhaps I had told him too much, or if I should return the cloak even though I could not deny that the extra warmth did feel nice, when he added, “I believe that perhaps you still need it more than I at the moment.” His eyes were kind, though touched with a hint of pity.

I clenched my hand slightly; I did not want his pity, nor anyone else’s. But I forced my voice to stay even as I said, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Please, do not address me so,” he requested.

“How, then, would you wish me to address you, my lo…I mean…forgive me,” I finally finished lamely.

He smiled again. For a moment I thought perhaps he was laughing at me; compared to the ladies of Gondor he was accustomed to, I was certain that I was presenting myself as a complete rustic. But then he said, “My name will suffice, my lady.”

I almost smiled at his response. “Then why must you address me so formally?”

An innocent look crossed his face, touched with a bit of humor. “How else should I address you, my lady? You are a daughter of kings, and I merely a simple Steward. And I owe you a great debt on behalf of my people, as your deeds played a great part in saving my city.”

My eyes narrowed a bit. “Do you mock me?” I asked indignantly.

The smile faded as he answered, “Nay, my lady, I do not.” He gave me another one of those piercing looks that left me both convinced of his complete sincerity and completely unnerved, though I could not think of why it should have such an effect on me.

“Very well, Faramir,” I finally said. “But you must call me Éowyn.”

“Agreed.” He smiled again, a more gentle one this time. He looked as if he was about to say more, but Ioreth entered the garden.

She quickly curtsied before saying, “My lord, my lady, the noon meal is ready.”

“Thank you, Ioreth,” Faramir said, then turned to me. “Shall we?” I nodded and followed them inside the Houses.

-------

I felt someone shaking my shoulder, and heard a familiar voice saying, “Éowyn, wake up.” I opened my eyes, blinking groggily before I was able to focus on the hobbit kneeling in front of me. As I sat up, I realized I had been leaning against the trunk of one of the trees in the garden, with my own cloak wrapped around my shoulders and a thick green cloak draped over me like a blanket. I quickly recognized it as the same one Faramir had lent me that morning.

It took me a moment to realize that I must have fallen asleep. I could remember returning the cloak to Faramir and getting my own before we had returned to the garden after eating, then sitting under the same tree and exchanging a few stories about our brothers. But we had fallen silent after a time, and now the shadows were stretched much further over the ground than I remembered. Faramir was nowhere in sight.

I looked back at Merry again. “How long have I been here?” I asked.

“A few hours, I think. Mithríel sent me to wake you; she said that if you slept much longer you’d never sleep tonight, and anyway, it is time for supper.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish for having fallen asleep. “And Lord Faramir—where is he?”

A grin flashed across Merry’s face, but disappeared just as quickly. “He did not wish to disturb you, so he is inside visiting some of his men that were wounded.” A mischievous twinkle was in his eyes as he added, “Why do you ask?”

I pushed myself to a crouching position with my unbroken arm, then straightened up and began awkwardly trying to fold Faramir’s cloak. “I need to return this to him.”

“Here, allow me,” Merry said, taking the cloak. I could barely contain my laugh at watching his attempt to fold a piece of material that was nearly twice as long as he was tall.

“Perhaps if we work together, it might go a little smoother,” I suggested, and after a few moments, we had it folded somewhat neatly and back in my arms.

“I suppose that was a little easier,” Merry admitted, grinning sheepishly. “Will you come into supper then?”

“Yes, I will. Will you be joining me?” I asked.

“I already ate a little while ago, but I do believe I could manage a bite or two more,” Merry said.

“And Lord Faramir?” I asked, shifting the cloak so I could hold it pinned between my sling and my body and free up my other arm.

“I believe that he already ate,” Merry said. I could not help feeling a little disappointed; he had been surprisingly pleasant company that day. But I quickly shrugged it off, reasoning that I would find him later. Merry took my arm to lead me inside, much as he had in Dunharrow. He gave me a slightly startled look that quickly turned grave.

“What is it, Merry?” I asked.

He looked up at me and simply said, “My arm is still cold too.”

So it is not mere coincidence then. The thought filled me with a strange combination of nervousness and relief. I looked down, and Merry’s brown eyes briefly met mine as we walked inside with the unspoken agreement that neither of us wanted to think about what that could mean. And yet, it was a little comforting to know that someone understood.

-------

After supper, Merry and I parted ways for the evening, after I made him promise that he would come out to the garden the next day. I did not wish for him to sit alone in the Houses either. Then I went in search of Faramir.

I found him in the sitting area where Merry and I had eaten that morning. I watched him for a few moments, unsure how to approach him. He held a well-worn leather-bound book in his hands, but he was only reading half-heartedly at best. Occasionally he would gaze into the fire with a troubled expression on his face, then shake his head as if to clear it or push his dark hair away from his eyes and look at his book again. Finally, I hesitantly knocked on the doorframe.

He looked up and immediately stood to his feet when he saw me, nodding his head politely as he closed his book and set it on the chair. “Good evening, Éowyn,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Good evening,” I echoed, then looked at the book. “I thought you did not read much.”

“No, but I do enjoy it when I have the time,” he answered.

“I am sorry if I disturbed you,” I said.

“Not at all, my lady,” he quickly reassured me. A shadow briefly crossed his face as he added, “I must confess that I am having difficulty concentrating.”

“I will leave you in just a moment,” I replied, holding out the still-folded cloak. “I just came to return this. And to thank you,” I belatedly added. “That was very kind.”

“It was no trouble,” Faramir said. “As I said, you seemed to need it more.”

I nodded, feeling strangely shy around him, then turned to leave. I took two steps, then turned back and asked, “Why are you having trouble concentrating?”

Faramir did not answer for a long moment, then he finally said, “I believe that it is the fire. Ever since the retreat…I keep having these terrible dreams about fire. I know it sounds foolish,” he added, his eyes darting up to mine for a moment. “I do not know why it disturbs me so.”

“No, that does not sound foolish,” I said. “Strange, but not foolish.” We stood there in silence for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say next. Finally, I curtsied quickly and said, “I should go.”

Faramir nodded, then took my hand and kissed it lightly, bringing the blood rushing back to my face. What is it about this man that unsettles me so? I wondered; I was certain I had blushed more in the last two days than the previous two years of my life. As he released my hand, he said, “Good evening, Éowyn.”

“Good evening, Faramir,” I said, forcing myself not to look down at my hand. His hand had felt so warm compared to mine, and I could still feel traces of that. It was a polite gesture. Nothing more, I firmly told myself.

This time I had reached the door before he stepped forward and said, almost as an afterthought, “Éowyn?” When I turned to look back at him, he asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

A small but genuine smile slowly spread across my face. “You shall,” I said, then curtsied once more. “Until tomorrow, then.” I had just enough time to catch his smile before leaving.

The traces of a smile still lingered on my face as I climbed the stairs to go to my room. Perhaps I had found a friend in Gondor after all.

To my surprise, I found myself actually looking forward to seeing Faramir the next morning. I was again looking out over the walls when he entered the gardens, and he quickly climbed the stairs to stand next to me.

“Your arm is better?” I asked, noting his sling was missing this morning.

“’Tis my shoulder that was injured, but yes, it is well, though I had to swear to Ioreth that I would wear the sling again the moment it began to ache.” He shook his head with a slight grin, then asked with a pointed look towards my unbound arm, “And how is yours?”

“A little better. Thank you,” I said.

We fell into a comfortable silence for a time as I looked down over the city and he looked out across the Pelennor. Neither of us wanted to speak of the shadow in the East, which had seemed to grow darker overnight, so he finally said, “You seem fascinated by the view.”

The corner of my mouth twitched in a wry smile. “I am not accustomed to cities this large, nor built in such a fashion. How can you avoid getting lost? All the buildings look the same!”

Faramir laughed, and my face colored yet again as I silently cursed my inability to think before speaking. He must have noticed my discomfort, because he quickly reassured me, “It can be quite difficult for a stranger to the city. Sometimes it can also be a challenge for those who live here,” he added. 

I did smile a little this time. “You speak as if you know this from experience.”

He looked down at me with a rueful smile. “Alas, I lost my way quite frequently as a child, though usually from a lack of attention on my part,” he confessed.

I smiled a little, looking down upon the city again. “It all still seems so strange to me, but I have never been to Gondor before. Tell me of your land, Faramir,” I asked, then listened silently as he began pointing out various locations in the city and the surrounding areas. As he spoke, I could clearly see his love for his homeland on his face, especially as he spoke of the lands of Ithilien beyond the Anduin. As he described the land of thick forests and waterfalls that he had been stationed in, his grey-blue eyes sparkled like the faint sunlight on the river in the distance.

“You describe it beautifully,” I said softly. I could almost see the sunlight filtering through the leaves in the forest, so vivid were his descriptions. “It sounds like a lovely place.”

“It is,” he said, a far-off look on his face. He shook his head slightly, then requested, “Would you tell me of your home, Éowyn?”

“You have never been there?” I asked.

“I traveled through your lands once, with my brother, but it was long ago.” He did not elaborate any further on it, so I tried to describe Edoras and the mountains and plains that surrounded my home. Although I could not depict it as eloquently as he could, he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and I was grateful for his questions since they helped me to know what to speak of.

The sun had nearly reached its peak, though its light was still filtered through a thin layer of cloud, when Ioreth walked out, carrying a tray of food and with Merry close behind her. “I thought perhaps you would wish to eat the noon-meal out here,” she explained after we left the walls.

“I hope that you don’t mind if I join you,” Merry added.

“Not at all,” Faramir said, smiling kindly at the hobbit. “We would be honored to have your company.”

I nodded my agreement, adding, “I would not have asked you to come if I thought otherwise.” Merry smiled gratefully as Ioreth set the food down on a nearby bench, bowed and exited.

Faramir spread his cloak out on the ground, and I sat upon the edge of it as Merry began to divide up the bread, cold roasted meat and hard cheese that we had been given. Faramir stood a moment longer, silently looking westward. I glanced over at Merry, who shrugged. When he finally sat down, Faramir noticed our confused looks and explained, “It is custom in these lands, before a meal. We look towards Númenor that was, to Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be.”

I nodded silently, once more feeling rather uncouth in his presence. Merry and Faramir began taking their food, and I pushed aside my awkwardness and picked up a crusty piece of bread. A screeching cry overhead startled me, and I dropped it as I looked up, half-expecting to see one of the winged beasts from the battle. Merry looked nervous too. “What’s that?” he asked, looking around wildly.

“It is a gull—a seabird,” Faramir said, barely glancing up. “They come to Minas Tirith often during the colder months, or they follow the ships that sometimes come up the Anduin. See?” He pointed towards the sky, where several white birds soared overhead. I let out a breath I had not even known I was holding. He then picked up the bread, which had fallen back onto the cloak, and handed it back to me. “You have never heard them?” he asked.

“We have no such birds in Rohan,” I said softly, embarrassed at being frightened by a mere bird.

“I have never seen the sea,” Merry added, looking rather embarrassed himself. “Until several months ago, I had never even left the Shire.”

“That reminds me; you still owe me an explanation, Merry,” I said, glad to change the subject.

“I do?” he asked.

“You never did tell me how you came to Dunharrow.”

His eyes lit up as he remembered. “You really want to hear it? I know you heard a good deal of the story already, my lord,” he added apologetically, nodding to Faramir.

“Your tale was told rather quickly, and I am certain that there is much I have not yet heard,” Faramir said before gently reminding him, “And there is no need for you to address me so formally.”

Merry grinned sheepishly, then started, “All right. It all started with Bilbo Baggins’s birthday party…” The Halfling turned out to be a natural storyteller, and I was soon so absorbed in his story that I had to remind myself to occasionally take a bite. If I had not seen so many strange things in the last few weeks, I would have thought he was making a good deal of it up. He told of being chased to Bree by the same Black Riders that we had faced on the Pelennor, then having to face them again at a place he called Weathertop. I could not help shuddering at the thought, and Faramir’s jaw tensed slightly as if thinking on them disturbed him too.

As Merry continued, Faramir began asking him questions about the places he mentioned, such as Rivendell and Moria. I was impressed at his knowledge of places that were no more than passing legends to my people. The names became more familiar to me as he spoke of Lothlórien and the Anduin. He seemed a little reluctant to continue after this, glancing over at Faramir uncertainly. As Faramir pressed him for details, I quickly saw why, as Merry told of his last minutes with Boromir. Though the anguish in the man’s eyes was plain to see, he insisted on hearing everything. When Merry finished, I looked up at Faramir questioningly. “I am fine,” he said quietly, though I could see that his expression was carefully controlled. “Please continue, Merry.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he continued and spoke of his and Pippin’s capture by the Uruk-hai. I quickly realized that the Riders who had attacked the raiding party in the night were none other than my brother and his men; Merry had not known this, and smiled grimly as he said that he would have to remember to thank Éomer later. Then he told of their escape into Fangorn Forest and the later attack on Isengard, and it was my turn to ask questions about the places I had heard so many stories about when I was a child.

I could not help smiling, in spite of the all-too-familiar lump in my throat, as Merry told me of his first impressions of my uncle when they first met at Isengard. Then he told of their encounter with Saruman. I had heard little of the tale from Éomer and Théoden, so I listened intently, until Merry mentioned in passing that a man who called himself Gríma had come to the tower, then about some object he called a palantír being tossed out of the window, presumably by the same person.

I froze, my hand unconsciously clenching around the fabric of my skirt until my knuckles whitened. Faramir’s thoughtful look grew more anxious as he noticed. “Éowyn?” he asked quietly. “Are you well?”

“I…I am fine,” I stammered, forcing a smile and deliberately smoothing my skirt back out. “Truly, I am.”

Faramir gave me a skeptical look, but thankfully did not press the issue as Merry continued to tell about how Pippin had looked into the palantír, then had been taken to Minas Tirith, then their other companions had chosen to leave for Dunharrow early, and he had been left with the Rohirrim. “And your uncle graciously allowed me to ride with them,” he said to me, “and we came to Dunharrow. And, well, you know what happened after that.”

I gave Merry a grateful look, as I was yet unwilling to speak of the battle. Merry nodded slightly, indicating he understood perfectly. Faramir glanced at me, then Merry. “That is a remarkable tale, Merry,” he finally said.

Merry shrugged. “Perhaps. I suppose my part in this tale is over now,” he said sadly. I could see the shame in his eyes at being left behind.

“Perhaps,” Faramir said. “But that does not lessen the honour you have already earned.”

Merry glanced up and tentatively smiled at Faramir. “Do you really think so?” Faramir nodded, and Merry quickly brightened up as he jumped to his feet. “I’m going to take this inside and see if there is anything else to eat lying around; tale-telling is hungry work.” I could not help smiling as he picked up the tray; it seemed that more often than not, food was the foremost thing on Merry’s mind. As he turned to go, Merry looked at Faramir one more time and said solemnly, “I can see why Pippin spoke so highly of you.”

Faramir seemed slightly embarrassed by the compliment as he pushed away the dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, but he met Merry’s gaze steadily. “Thank you, Merry,” he said softly. Merry nodded, then went inside.

Neither Faramir nor I spoke for a moment. Finally, I said, “He is quite remarkable, is he not? To endure a journey such as that, and still have such a resilient spirit.”

“Remarkable, perhaps, though it appears to be a peculiarity common to the Halflings,” Faramir said thoughtfully, brushing off his green tunic. Then he stood up and extended a hand to me. I only hesitated a moment before placing my hand in his and allowing him to help me to my feet. “That, and an unusual fondness for frequent meals,” he added with a slight grin.

I burst out laughing. “If he leaves a bite to eat in all of Minas Tirith before the week is out, I will be surprised.” Faramir smiled at that. “Tell me, Faramir, what other peculiarities are common to the Halflings?”

“I do not think that I would be the best judge of such matters, my lady,” he said. “Merry is only the fourth hobbit to cross my path.”

“You have met the other two he spoke of then, Frodo and Sam?” I asked, surprised.

“While I was patrolling Ithilien, not too long ago.” A shadow fell over his face.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. Faramir looked over at me, and I quickly added, “I did not mean to pry. If you do not wish to speak of it…”

“No, I…” he interrupted. “I hope I made the right decision. I wonder sometimes,” he finally added, glancing up towards the innermost circle of the city, where the Citadel towered above us. I remained silent, and he finally continued, “I let them go. The Enemy’s weapon within my grasp, and I let them go. I cannot help but wonder if the cost of my choice will be a weight too heavy for my people to bear.”

We were standing on the walls again by now, and I watched Faramir’s face as he gazed out over the walls, his jaw clenched slightly. I could almost see the weight of responsibility on him as his shoulders slumped a little, and wondered what trials he had been made to endure that led him to this end. And for the first time, I realized that he was stronger than I had originally thought, though in a different way than I was accustomed to seeing among the men of my own people. “If you had to do it again,” I asked hesitantly, “would you still make the same choice?”

Faramir did not answer for awhile, never looking away from the shadow in the East. The corners of his mouth pulled back in a humorless smile. “I have asked myself that same question countless times since then, wondering how things might have been different had I chosen differently. Every time I come to the same conclusion: that had I done differently, Gondor’s destruction would be certain. I know it sounds like madness, or folly. Perhaps both. My father certainly thought so.” He hesitated, closing his eyes in pain for a moment, then added, “Perhaps he was right, but my heart still tells me I made the right choice. At least this way, there is still hope.”

As I looked towards the mountains to the East, I could feel the malice in the darkness shrouding them as clearly as if the Nazgûl was standing before me once more. “Tell me, my lord,” I asked, clenching and unclenching my numbed fingers to try to bring some kind of feeling back to them, “what hope do you see?”

Faramir looked at me until I finally returned the gaze. His eyes softened as he motioned to the battle-scarred field stretching before the city. “We both sought death on that field, and yet we still live. Can you not see any hope in that?”

I turned away, staring out over the field. “The only hope remaining to me was to find an honorable death. That hope was lost when I was brought here,” I said softly.

“Éowyn…” Faramir said.

I interrupted him with a shake of my head, whispering, “Please, do not make me talk about it.” He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line, and rested his hands on the parapet.

The silence soon grew heavy and awkward, and I soon began to miss the easy camaraderie that had started to form between us. Finally, I could not stand the silence anymore “Faramir,” I began at the same time that he said, “Éowyn…” He paused, then nodded for me to speak first. “Forgive me. I should not have said those things,” I said, fumbling for words before they began tumbling out. “I…it is…everything that happened since I left Rohan has gone so horribly wrong. I failed my uncle, and I am certain that Éomer thinks I am no less than a traitor, and…” I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that were becoming all-too familiar now, and turned away, letting my hair fall over my face. I did not want him to see me like this. “Forgive me,” I said again. “I…” I could say no more, as I choked back a sob.

“Éowyn,” Faramir said gently. “Éowyn, look at me. Please.” I finally looked up, and though his face was blurred through my tears, I could still see those grey-blue eyes looking at me intently. “There is nothing to forgive, Éowyn. There is no shame or weakness in grieving for the loss of those you love. And I cannot believe that your brother thinks ill of you, either,” he softly added.

I turned away from him and closed my eyes again. A moment later, I could feel his hand on my cheek, brushing away the tears that had managed to escape. Instantly my mind took me back to Théodred’s graveside, and Gríma’s cold hand on my cheek. I stiffened as my eyes flew open, then swatted his hand away, crying, “Do not touch me!”

Faramir jerked his hand back as if he had been burned, and I immediately wished I could take the words back. “I am sorry,” he said, eyes widening. “I should not have been so forward.”

“It…it is not you…I…excuse me,” I stammered, unable to bring myself to look at him as I quickly whirled around and ran down the stairs leading up to the walls.

I rushed past a startled Merry, who had just re-entered the gardens. I barely registered his cry of “What happened?” and Faramir’s bewildered reply that he did not know, then I was inside the Houses. I went to my room as fast as I could, yanked the door open and ran inside. Then I pushed the door shut and dropped heavily onto the bed, breathing hard and shaking.

What is wrong with me? I shook my head at myself in disgust as I fumbled with the clasp to the brooch holding my cloak closed.  Wormtongue cannot find me here. And Faramir is nothing like him. The thought briefly crossed my mind that perhaps I would not have shied away had it been Aragorn instead of Faramir. But as I pulled the brooch free of my cloak, I wondered if I could have reacted any differently. I allowed the silver horsehead to sit in my palm, absently rubbing the smooth metal with my thumb, thinking that I must be going mad, and wishing more than anything that Faramir had not seen how weak I had become.

A knock on the door caused me to jerk my head up. I quickly scrubbed at my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my hand, then called out, “What is it?”

“Éowyn?” I heard Faramir say quietly, then Merry added, “May we come in?”

I sat there for a moment in silence, then answered, “Come in.” At least Merry had come as well; I did not think I could face Faramir alone after my outburst.

The door opened, and Merry entered, his anxiety written all over his face as he climbed up next to me on the edge of the bed. Faramir followed, and while his expression was calmer than Merry’s, the concern in his eyes was no less deep. He sat down on the wooden chair across from me, then said, “If I offended you or caused you grief, my lady, I truly am sorry. It was not my intent at all to hurt you.”

“I know.” I suddenly realized how sharply the edges of the brooch were digging into my palm, but it still took a conscious effort to relax my hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merry asked. I shook my head. I could not talk about it. Not yet. The hobbit glanced down, then exclaimed, “You’re bleeding!”

“What?” I looked down at my hand; sure enough, a little red was now visible on the edges of the brooch. “It’s nothing,” I quickly said.

“May I?” Faramir asked. I hesitated, then nodded, opening my hand a little more. He took my hand in his, then wordlessly picked up the brooch and handed it to Merry. “Merry, could you look for some cloth or a bandage?” he asked, not looking up from my hand.

“They are in the drawer in the table with the pitcher, I think,” I answered. He glanced up at me, then pulled the drawer open. He released my hand long enough to tear off a wide strip of bandage cloth, then briefly soaked the cloth in the basin and began gently cleaning the blood off. “The cuts are not deep; they should stop bleeding soon,” he said, holding my hand between his and pressing the cloth over my palm to speed up the process.

I glanced up, briefly meeting his gaze. For just a moment, the look in his eyes made me catch my breath—strength mixed with gentleness, and there was something else that I could not quite put my finger on. But just as quickly, it was gone, and I decided it had been nothing more than my imagination.

“This looks like the brooch the Riders wore,” Merry said, turning over the pin in his hands.

“It is,” I said, grateful for the distraction. “My uncle gave it to me just before we left Edoras.” The tears pricked my eyes again, and I looked down at my hand, still in Faramir’s, and whispered, “I miss him so much.”

“So do I,” Merry said softly. “I wish I had known him longer.”

“I wish I could have actually done something to help him.” I closed my eyes and took a ragged breath; I was not going to start weeping like a child again.

“You did more than anyone else could have,” Faramir said softly. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, wondering what he meant. “And I am certain that he would not blame you for what happened, Éowyn.”

“That does not make it any easier,” I murmured.

“I know.” My eyes met Faramir’s again, and I could see that he truly did understand. He broke the gaze first this time, looking down at my hand again and pulling off the cloth. All I could see were a few faint reddish marks where the brooch had dug into my skin. He added, “I do not think that it will start bleeding again.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. He nodded and released my hand, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded to tell him that I held no grudge against him for what had happened on the wall, and he visibly relaxed.

Merry handed the brooch back to me. “Will you be staying in here then?” he asked.

“No,” I said, offering him a faint smile. “I think that I would quickly grow bored without your fine company, Merry.” The hobbit grinned and slid off the bed, and I followed him to the door. “Faramir, are you coming?” I asked, looking back.

“Of course,” he answered, pushing the chair back slightly as he stood and followed us out of the room.

-------

I spent the remainder of the afternoon in the garden with Merry, listening to his often-amusing stories of life in the Shire. One of the lords of the city, who introduced himself to Merry and I as Húrin, came to see Faramir shortly after we had returned to the gardens in order to discuss the affairs of the city and the surrounding countryside; apparently he was governing while Faramir was recovering. Faramir rejoined us just in time for supper, but had been rather quiet since his return. After supper, Merry had opted to stay inside by the fire, but I was still feeling too restless to spend the remainder of the evening sitting, so Faramir and I were walking on the walls once more, watching twilight fall over the city.

He seemed troubled; his eyes had taken on a far-away look, and he kept brushing his raven locks away from his face in what I was quickly coming to recognize as a nervous gesture. Hoping to draw him out of his silence, but uncertain how to proceed, I decided to pick a neutral topic and asked, “What is the sea like, Faramir?”

Faramir paused, looking out over the fields as if deep in thought. Finally, he answered, “Have you ever seen a river on a windy day? The way the wind disturbs the surface?” I nodded. “It is similar to that, only the water stretches as far as your eye can see. And the colors are constantly shifting; sometimes it is as grey as storm clouds, and often when the sun shines, it is all ever-changing shades of blue and green and silver.  If the sun is rising or setting, the water looks as if it were made of gold; I think that is my favorite time to watch it,” he said with a small smile.

“It sounds lovely,” I answered. “Have you been there often?”

“When I was a boy, Boromir and I would often spend our summers with our mother’s kin in Dol Amroth. It has been years since I have been allowed the time to visit there, but I would like the opportunity to see it once more.” He rested his hands on the parapet and looked out towards the east, a faraway look on his face. “The first time I ever truly saw the sunrise was on one of those visits. Boromir woke me up before the dawn—I think I was about six years old at the time—and insisted that he wanted to show me something. So he brought me down to the dunes on the eastern side of the city, and then he sat down. I asked him what we were looking for, and he told me to wait.” Faramir smiled wryly. “I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is Boromir shaking me and telling me that it was time. When I opened my eyes, I could see the sun just starting to come over the horizon and reflecting off the water. I had never seen anything like it.”

I looked at him, surprised, and he said, “The mountains in the East have been shrouded in shadow since long before my birth. It has grown darker in recent years, but it was always there, dimming the sunrise. We could never clearly see the sun until it rose past the peaks of the mountains, and even then it turned the sky blood-red until it had risen past the ash and smoke. I will never forget what Boromir said to me that morning; he said that someday, we would be able to look out from our city and see the sunrise just as clearly. I have always hoped he was right, but now…” he dropped his head a little.

I wanted to say something, to reassure him, but how could I offer him hope when I had none myself? I was spared from having to answer when a child’s voice called out, “Lord Faramir?”

Faramir turned towards the Houses; I followed his gaze to where a dark-haired boy stood, clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle to his chest. “Good evening, Bergil,” Faramir said with a faint smile.

“I have your things that you asked to have brought here, my lord,” the boy said politely as Faramir left the wall and I followed. I then recognized him as the same boy who had been with Merry the day that Éomer left.

“Thank you,” Faramir said, taking the bundle. “And give your mother my thanks as well.”

“I will, my lord,” Bergil said with a bow. Then he looked over at me and asked, “Did you really kill a Nazgûl?”

“Bergil!” Faramir exclaimed, shooting me an apologetic look.

“I…um…” My face reddened. “Merry helped,” I finally blurted out.

Bergil looked slightly awed as he smiled at me. “I think you’re the bravest girl ever.” My face reddened even further as Faramir tried rather unsuccessfully to hide a grin.

I was spared any further embarrassment as the silhouette of a woman appeared in the doorway and called out, “Bergil, come inside. It is getting late.”

“Mother, can I please stay out here a little longer? He tells the best stories!” Bergil protested.

“I am sure that the Lord Faramir has much to do, Bergil,” she said. I recognized the voice now as Mithríel’s, to my surprise. I had not known she had a son, especially one who had remained in the city; Faramir had told me that most of the women and children had left before the siege began.

“Let us make an arrangement, Bergil,” Faramir said, kneeling down before the boy and lowering his voice so that only the three of us could hear. “Do what your mother says now, and if you come back tomorrow, I will tell you any story you want to hear.”

“Really?” Bergil’s face lit up. “Even one about the Rangers?”

“Even one about that.” Faramir smiled, and I could not help smiling myself as Bergil grinned widely, bowed and called out a good-night before running back to the house.

“You are good with the boy,” I said. He would make a good father someday. My face colored yet again at the thought, but Faramir did not seem to notice. His smile faded, and his eyes took on the faraway look again. “What did he bring you?” I asked, gesturing towards the bundle, hoping to take his mind off of whatever was troubling him.

“A few things from home, mostly books and such,” Faramir said absently, brushing his raven-colored hair away from his eyes. 

I decided to change the subject as we went inside. “Your mother’s kin is from Dol Amroth? Where Prince Imrahil is from?”

“Yes; he is my mother’s brother. You have met him, then?”

“A few days ago, yes. He was with my brother.” I eyed Faramir suspiciously. “Are you well? You seem somewhat… distracted.”

“Yes, I am fine—I just remembered that I have some things I need to take care of tonight,” he said.

“I will take my leave then; I would not wish to hinder you. Good night,” I replied, then added, “And thank you; I know I have not been the best of company. I do not know how you have managed to be so patient with me.”

“I have enjoyed your company these last two days,” he said, then paused and added, “I wish I could help you, Éowyn.”

“I know, my friend.” I wish you could too, Faramir, I could not help thinking as I left.

I could not sleep that night. Merry’s news that Gríma was still near Rohan had shaken me more than I cared to admit, and every time I closed my eyes, I could almost feel him watching me again. Though I kept telling myself he could not find me here, it was much more difficult to believe alone in the dark. And I was cold. The chill that had been in the air when I was in the garden that evening seemed to have seeped into my very core, and though I had wrapped my cloak around myself and painstakingly piled all the blankets in the room on the bed, I could not seem to get warm. I could not help being furious with myself for being so weak. As fragile as a lily touched by frost, he said. Perhaps Wormtongue was right about me after all, I thought in despair.

I rolled onto my back and stared up towards the ceiling, though I could hardly see a thing. A slight glimpse of the fireplace revealed that the embers had nearly burned out completely; perhaps if I could revive the fire, I might warm up a bit, I thought. So I pushed the blankets off, shivering as my feet hit the cold stone floor. After a little fumbling in the dark, I found the heavy iron poker that had been left to tend the fire, and began to prod at the charred firewood as I held my cloak tightly around myself. It did not seem to have any effect, so I picked up a small bellows that had laid next to the poker. It soon became obvious to me that my shield-arm lacked the strength to allow me to work it with both hands, and resting it on the floor and pumping it with my unbroken arm did little to help; the only effect was to scatter the ashes. I cannot wait to have the use of both my arms again, I thought crossly as I stood up again, rubbing irritably at the bandages they had wrapped around my hand to keep the splint in place.

There was a fireplace in the small sitting-room, I remembered; the room was not a great deal larger than mine, and I was almost certain that the fire would have been left burning later. Perhaps that room was warmer. With this thought in mind, I struggled into one of the dresses that Mithríel had brought in for me that day; I knew that several of the wounded soldiers were in the rooms downstairs, and I had no wish to possibly be caught by one of them while walking around in the thin nightdress that the healers had given me to wear. Without the sling, I was able to maneuver my left arm with a little more ease, though the time of disuse combined with the motions of pulling the lacing in the back of the dress tight enough soon caused my arm to ache. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to pin my cloak about my neck, but my hands rebelled completely when I tried to pull on my boots—my broken arm burned in pain and lacked the strength to hold on to the shoe, while my other hand was completely numbed from the unnatural chill that refused to relinquish its hold on me. I kicked one of the boots across the floor in frustration, then decided that I would just tuck my feet under my skirts to keep them warm, if I could find a warm place. With that, I quietly opened the door, then padded down the hall. The stone floors felt icy to my bare feet, and I could not help wondering how Merry could stand walking around like that all the time.

I crept past the rooms with all the beds where most of the Houses’ patients were staying, running my hand along the wall to help keep me from missing the room. I soon felt the smooth wood of a doorframe, with the door slightly ajar, and I glanced into the near-darkened room. The faint glow by the hearth drew me to the fireplace as I entered, and I quietly picked up the poker to see if stirring the embers would coax the dying flames to burn brighter. It seemed to be working, and I knelt by the fireplace, trying to warm myself as I continued to work at the fire.

I was startled to hear the sound of the door opening a little more. “Éowyn?” a familiar voice said from behind me. Reflex took over, and I tightened my grip on the poker and jumped up, ready to defend myself if necessary. After I whirled around to face whoever was behind me, I nearly dropped the iron bar in surprise.

“Faramir?” I asked as I lowered my arm. “What are you doing here?” The question came out harsher than I intended, but he just glanced up at me for a moment, then looked away. Even in the dim light, I could see that he looked paler than usual, his expression a terrible mixture of shock, grief and bitterness. I was surprised to see the faint sheen of moisture on his cheeks, as if he had been weeping. “Forgive me,” I finally said, drawing the cloak closer around myself. “I was startled; I did not expect to find anyone here at this hour.”

“Nor did I,” he said flatly.

“Is something wrong? You look unwell,” I said.

He looked down silently for a long moment, then finally said, “I apologize if I disturbed you, my lady,” and turned and left.

“Faramir, wait,” I called out, moving towards the door, but when I looked out in the hall, he had already vanished into the shadows. I stared down the darkened hall for a minute, but since I had no idea what direction he had taken, I turned and went back into the sitting room.

It took an effort, but I was able to shove one of the larger, cushioned chairs closer to the fire, and I wearily sat down, curling my legs up to cover them with my skirt and letting the fire warm me as I tried to sort out my bewildered thoughts. I knew that Faramir was obviously deeply troubled about something, but I could not force him to talk about it, especially since I had been so reticent in sharing my own troubles with him. Still, I had this nagging feeling that I should have done something. Nothing came to mind, so I finally pulled my cloak closer and let my eyes drift shut as I gazed into the flames.

-------

I ran my hand over the familiar carvings that adorned the wooden columns running the length of the main hall in Meduseld, feeling reluctant to take my usual place by the throne. That feeling of reluctance had been growing steadily as of late. But my uncle needed me, and I could not abandon my duty because of my own misgivings. I needed to be strong, for his sake. So I took a deep breath and walked towards the throne with my head lifted high.

“Good morning, Uncle,” I said, sounding more cheerful than I felt. He lifted his head for a moment, and I felt the all-too-familiar knot in my stomach twist as I saw how distant his gaze seemed to be, and how much older he seemed to have become overnight.

“Éowyn,” he murmured almost inaudibly.

“Yes, my lord, I am here,” I said, taking his hand, grateful that for once, Wormtongue was nowhere in sight. “I am going to help you.” He dropped his head again and did not reply.

“And what makes you think you can?” a mocking voice behind me said. I clenched my jaw as I turned. “Your uncle is weary. He is growing old, Éowyn. I know that this is hard for you to accept, but you must.”

“I will not,” I said, letting go of my uncle’s hand and straightening up. “I will not give up hope that he will recover.”

“But you are too late,” Wormtongue said with a leering grin. “Do you not remember? He is already dead.”

I looked back at the throne to find it was empty, the hall behind me falling into shadow. A sick feeling settled in my stomach, along with the all-too-familiar numbness in my arm. “When Éomer returns to take the throne, you will regret the day you ever set foot in this hall, Gríma,” I said defiantly.

Wormtongue laughed. “And what can your brother do? You know that he will not return either.”

“He might,” I protested. He has to. “Why are you still here? Can you truly find nothing better to do with your time than to torment me?”

He stepped closer, and I stepped back, surprised to feel the wall behind me. “I could never leave you, my dear Éowyn,” he said, reaching out and running his hand down my cheek. I tried to reach out and push his hand away, only to find that I could not lift my arm; it felt cold and leaden. So I tried to shrink back from him, but I may as well have been frozen in place. His hand moved down my neck, lingering for a moment on the thin scar that his dagger had left, then down to my collarbone. “You know that you will never be rid of me.”

My breath was coming quicker now as I began to panic. I felt as if iron bands were holding me in place, and the more I struggled to get away, the tighter they held me. “Éowyn,” he said again, reaching out with his other hand and gripping my arm tightly.

“Get away from me, Wormtongue,” I cried desperately, struggling even more wildly as I shut my eyes to block his face from my vision.

“Éowyn!” His voice was changing now, and I could feel him shaking me lightly. “Éowyn, wake up! It’s me, Merry.”

My body jerked forward as my eyes flew open to see the hobbit standing beside the chair, shaking my arm. The flickering firelight illumined the welcome sight of the sitting room and cast rich golden highlights in Merry’s curls. It was only a dream. He is gone, I frantically reminded myself. “Merry,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry, and decided to go to the kitchen to see if I could find something to eat, and I saw that the door was open here. I heard you crying out, and I came to see what was wrong.” He looked at me steadily, his eyes filled with concern. “You kept shouting at someone named Wormtongue. What did he do to you?”

I closed my eyes again and let myself slump back into the chair. For a moment, I struggled with whether to tell him. I had kept my silence for so long that I did not even know how to begin. “You must swear to me that you will tell no one,” I said slowly.

“I promise,” Merry said solemnly. “Not a word.”

I regarded him for a moment, still wondering whether I should tell him. But I thought I could trust Merry. And Gríma was gone, I reminded myself again. I no longer needed to stand between him and my family. I took a deep breath, then slid off the chair to the floor in front of the hearth. Merry sat down next to me. “You have met him before, at Isengard. His true name is Gríma, but we called him Wormtongue because his words poisoned my uncle’s mind and nearly handed my country over to Saruman’s keeping. He turned my uncle into a dotard before his time and imprisoned my brother. And he… he attacked me…once. I was able to escape before anything happened, but…”

Merry’s eyes lit up in sudden understanding. “Then this afternoon, when you got upset… oh, Éowyn, I’m sorry! I would not have mentioned it if I had known…”

“There was no way you could have known,” I said softly.

“If it helps, I don’t think he will ever be able to go anywhere near Rohan again. I think he’s too afraid of the Ents to even think about leaving Isengard,” Merry said with a shaky grin.

I laughed in spite of myself, though it sounded halfway between a laugh and a sob, feeling strangely better now that I had finally told someone. “Thank you, Merry.” I paused, then added, “And please, tell no one of this. Not even Faramir.” A frown crossed my face again as I thought of the man of Gondor. Had I somehow offended him when he found me here earlier? Or was it something else?

“I won’t,” he said again. “Do you wish me to leave you here to rest again?”

“No,” I said firmly. Weakness or not, I would not take the chance of falling back into those dreams again. “You were going to the kitchens, were you not?” Merry nodded. “You may need some help to reach some of those higher shelves.”

The Halfling grinned widely. “Just because you’re taller than me…” I laughed again, a more genuine one this time, then stood up and followed him to the kitchens.

We quickly found some bread and preserves, then sat down at a rough-hewn wooden table and began talking. Merry seemed to have determined to drive all thoughts of my earlier nightmares out of my head as he ate, and told me story after story of pranks he and his cousins, especially Pippin, had pulled when they were younger. My heart was slowly lightened from hearing his tales, and by the time Ioreth found us in the kitchen, I was laughing almost as heartily as the hobbit.

Merry spotted her first, letting his expression fade to an innocent grin.  I looked back too, and was surprised to see that the darkened sky had faded to a grey morning light. “Good morning, my lady,” he said cheerfully.

Ioreth shook her head at us. “It is a little early for you two to be up, is it not?”

Merry shrugged. “I was hungry.”

The healer then turned to me. “What is your excuse? And how did you get dressed, my lady? You should not be using that arm!” Ioreth gave me a stern look, though the effect was weakened by the amusement on her face from Merry’s reply.

“I thought that perhaps the sitting room might be warmer than my room,” I said innocently.

She shook her head. “Let me see your arm,” she ordered. I did not feel like arguing for once, and held out my bandaged arm obediently. She ran her hands down the length of my arm. “It seems to be all right,” she said. “Do you feel any pain?”

“It is merely a little stiff. But I was cold,” I said.

“And no wonder, walking around here barefoot like that,” Ioreth admonished. “Meaning no offense to you, of course,” she added to Merry. She felt my forehead, apparently to see if I was feverish, then took my unbandaged hand. As she did, her eyes widened slightly. “This is strange,” she said.

“What?” Merry asked curiously.

“Your arm is still cold! In all my years, I have never seen anything like this,” she exclaimed, then turned to Merry. “And you, Meriadoc, what of your arm?”

“It is still a little cold, but…” he cut off as she took his hand too, then shook her head.

“I suppose you will still want breakfast,” Ioreth said with a pointed look at Merry, “but then I want to see both of you upstairs to see if we can do something to help.”  I looked at Merry, who shrugged, then nodded. Ioreth left the room, muttering about needing to find some herb.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. One of the kitchen staff cooked sausages for us. Merry toasted some more bread for us, and we stayed in the kitchen to eat. As we walked up the stairs afterwards, Merry whispered, “What do you think Ioreth will do to us, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” I answered, just as she appeared in the hall and waved us into my room.

“I took the liberty of using your room, my lady,” Ioreth said as she motioned for me to sit down on the bed and for Merry to sit in the chair. The basin had been filled with steaming water, and a young woman with dark brown hair and grey-green eyes, whom I did not recognize, dropped a few crushed leaves atop the water. “Merry, roll your shirt sleeve up. Aredhel, help Lady Éowyn with hers, and help her to put her stockings and shoes on.”

As Aredhel rolled the sleeve of my dress up until most of my right arm was exposed, I looked over at the water basin curiously. The herbs she had dropped in there gave off a strangely familiar aroma, reminding me of the crisp air in the mountains of my homeland. “Ioreth, what did you put in the water?” I asked as Aredhel tugged my well-worn boots onto my feet and pulled the laces tight.

“The plant is called athelas, my lady—kingsfoil in the Common tongue. It seemed to help your arm before, after the battle. Though I daresay I would never have guessed it to be such a powerful healing herb, had not the Lord Aragorn instructed us to use it,” she chattered.

I felt a pang at the mention of Aragorn, but did not answer. Instead, I focused my attention on what the healers were doing with the herb-infused water; though I knew some of the basics of healing from years of binding up soldier’s wounds, the herb-lore of the Gondorians was altogether new to me, and I could not help being a little fascinated with their methods. Aredhel took a clean cloth and soaked it in the still-steaming water, then carefully squeezed out most of the excess and began to bathe my arm with it. The warmth of the water on my cold skin soaked in gently, like the warmth of sunlight, and the cold, dull ache in my arm abated somewhat; the surprised look on Merry’s face seemed to indicate that the herb was having a similar effect on him. I flexed my fingers gingerly, in wonder that they did not feel as stiff as they had.

“Is your arm feeling a little better, my lady?” Aredhel asked shyly.

“It is,” I said, giving her a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Merry echoed, looking at Ioreth.

“Very good,” the older woman said, beaming. “I have sent Mithríel’s boy in search of some more of the herb. Now, Aredhel, if you could help me take this downstairs…” she waved a hand towards the water basin. “I would like to see if the herb will aid some of the wounded as well; we must not let this go to waste. I will send someone to check on you two later,” she said as she left the room, Aredhel following slowly so as not to spill the water.

I turned to Merry. “What should we do now?”

“I suppose we could go out to the gardens,” Merry answered. “I am sure that Faramir will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

“I hope so,” I said softly, feeling uneasy as I remembered how pale his face had been during the night. Nevertheless, I followed Merry down the hall, putting on my cloak as I went, and out the door into the deserted garden.

“That’s strange,” Merry said, looking around. “Faramir is usually out here by now.”

“Perhaps he will come soon,” I replied, though I knew in my heart that he would not.

Sure enough, though Merry and I waited in the gardens until after the noon-meal, Faramir did not come. “This isn’t like him at all. At least, I do not think it is,” Merry wondered aloud.

I frowned. “Something is wrong.” I told him of the strange mood that the Steward had been in when I had seen him in the sitting room during the night, and in the gardens the evening before.

Merry frowned as well as he said, “That does not sound like him either.”

“I know,” I said. “Whatever is troubling him must be quite serious.”

“We should go talk to him then,” Merry replied.

“And if he wishes to be alone?” I asked. “We cannot force him to tell us what is wrong.”

“I think that he might talk to you,” Merry said softly, a somewhat strange look in his eyes, which disappeared as he added, “Anyway, we have to try.” I reluctantly nodded agreement, and we went back into the Houses.

“It is no use, Ioreth,” I could hear Mithríel saying as we climbed the last few stairs to the upper hall. “He has not even touched any food today, and he has barely said two words since…” her voice trailed off as she saw Merry and I.

“Is something wrong with Faramir?” I asked. The two healers looked at each other uncomfortably.

“He is not ill, is he?” Merry added.

Ioreth looked at Mithríel. “Perhaps he will speak to one of them,” she said slowly. Mithríel nodded.

Merry boldly walked up to the door and knocked. “Faramir? Are you all right?” he asked.

There was a pause, then I could hear Faramir’s voice, quiet but firm, saying, “Go away, Merry.” Merry looked surprised and a little hurt.

I clenched my jaw, unable to help feeling a little angry with Faramir for being so uncharacteristically rude. “Is the door unlocked?” I asked Mithríel.

“It is, my lady. But I am not certain that he will wish to see you,” she reluctantly answered.

“If I can kill an orc, I think that I can handle talking to your Steward,” I said, lifting my head proudly.

“I must warn you, he can be quite stubborn when he gets a notion in his head,” Ioreth cautioned.

“And I can be just as stubborn, if not more,” I retorted, knocking on the door. “Faramir?” I asked.

“Please, just leave me alone,” he said, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

“I am sorry, but I cannot,” I replied. I glanced back at the others as I laid my hand on the door latch. Mithríel and Ioreth nodded, then left.

“If you need me, I will be down the hall,” Merry whispered. I nodded and gave him a grateful smile, then opened the door and entered the room, not bothering to close the door behind me.

The small room was much like mine, with simple furnishings and a window facing towards the mountains of the East. I could see that the fire had completely burned out—quite some time ago, if the chill in the room was any indication. I did not see Faramir at first; it took me a moment to find him sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall on the far side of the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, with his head slumped heavily against the wall. His unshaven face looked haggard, as if he had not slept at all; he wore the same clothes as he had the day before, but much more rumpled, and his dark hair fell haphazardly into his closed eyes. I sat down on the ground next to him, smoothing my skirt and resting my broken arm in my lap. As he heard my skirts rustling, he opened his eyes; his gaze was nearly lifeless. “You do not listen very well,” he muttered, not even looking at me.

“The healers have said nothing else,” I said in a pitiful attempt to lighten his mood somewhat. He made no reply, as I expected, so I asked, “Faramir, what is wrong?”

“Why should you care?” he asked, and I was surprised at the bitter undercurrent in his voice.

“Because,” I said firmly, “You are my friend, Faramir. Or has everything that you have said to me this week meant nothing?” My jaw clenched slightly at the thought; I truly wanted to believe that I could trust him.

His face softened slightly, and he finally glanced over at me out of the corner of his eye. The raw pain in his gaze was almost overwhelming. He finally shook his head slightly. “No…I meant every word of it.”

The relief I felt at those words made me release a breath I had not known I was holding, and I unclenched my jaw. “I truly am sorry if I was harsh with you before. But you have been saying all week that you wanted to help me, Faramir. Please, give me the same opportunity to try to help you.”

“You cannot,” he said softly. “No one can.”

The despair on his face grieved me. “Faramir, about what I said earlier… if you do wish me to go…I do not wish to trouble you,” I stammered. He still did not answer. “Do you wish me to leave then?” I asked more gently.

He stared into nothing for awhile, seeming to be having some sort of silent debate with himself. “No,” he finally whispered.

 “Then I will not,” I assured him. Neither of us spoke again for a time, until, finally, I could stand the silence no longer. “Do you wish to talk about it?” When he did not respond, I asked, “Was it something that Lord Húrin said to you? You have been so quiet ever since he came last night.”

Faramir lifted his head a bit. “We only spoke of how things stand within the city, particularly the defenses. The gates were destroyed in the siege, so if we have need to defend ourselves against another attack, it will be much more difficult this time. We also spoke of what tasks must be accomplished once I can begin fulfilling my duties as Steward.”

I just looked at him, unconvinced. “I do not think that this is what is troubling you.”

Faramir sighed, staring out listlessly into the room once more. “No,” he finally admitted. “After he left, I was thinking of how I came to this office. Every attempt that I have made to speak with anyone who might know the truth of my father’s death has only gotten me vague answers, if those I question do not attempt to lead me to other matters in the conversation. I had to know the truth…” His voice trailed off.

I reached out and turned his face towards me, then dropped my hand to my lap. His eyes were filled with such intense pain that it hurt me to look at him, but still I kept my gaze steady. “Faramir,” I said, “If you do not wish to speak of this, I will not force you to. But if you do want to talk, I will listen.”

Faramir glanced down, then took a deep, shuddering breath and began. “We…we parted on very ill terms. He thought that I had erred in my dealings with Frodo, that I had failed him and all of Gondor by letting him go. And with Boromir gone… he sent me to attempt to keep Osgiliath from falling. We both knew that all hope of keeping the city was lost, for the forces of the Dark Lord were too many, but he would not be moved. I asked him to think better of me if I returned; his response was to say that it would depend on the manner of my return. That was the last thing I ever heard him say to me.”

How could anyone say that to his own child? I wondered, feeling angry. Though I could hardly remember my own father, I had never had any reason to doubt that he cared for me. And even during the darkest days of my uncle’s illness, deep down I had always known that he loved Éomer and I as his own children. Then I was struck anew with fear for my brother—what if he died, and the last thing I had said to him was to berate him for his stubbornness in refusing to let me accompany him? I bit my lip, then forced my mind back to the present as Faramir continued softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I cannot remember being brought back to the city, nor can I remember anything else that happened until Lord Aragorn called me back. When I awoke, the lord of Dol Amroth informed me of the Steward’s death, but neither he nor anyone else would tell me how. I knew all along in my heart that it had to be a terrible end, but…I ordered Daeron to tell me. I had to; he would not speak of it otherwise. I wish that I had not…”

“What happened, Faramir?” I asked gently.

Faramir’s breath was ragged now, and he looked like he was struggling hard to maintain control of himself. “He believed that I was dying, and the city was under siege. We were losing the battle, and no word had reached us of your people coming to our aid. He…he decided that there was no hope, and he…” He closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing hard, then finally took a deep breath and finished, “He built a pyre…he died there, in the fire.”

I fumbled for something, anything to say to him. “Faramir, I…I…”

“That is not all,” he interrupted. His voice was a choked whisper, and I suddenly realized that I was holding his hand as it trembled slightly. I almost pulled away, startled, but one look at his face was enough to keep my hands steady.  He refused to meet my gaze as he said, “He tried to burn me as well.”

All I could do was stare at him in horror; no words would come. Faramir’s jaw tightened as he said, “We rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything. I knew that I was a disappointment to him, that he held my brother in much higher esteem, but…” I could see the last remnants of his self-control crumbling as he let his head fall into his free hand; the pain in his eyes was unbearable. I could barely hear him as he said, “Perhaps he was right…perhaps it would have been better if I had taken Boromir’s place. I was prepared to die at Osgiliath; if my death was needed to save my people, it would have been worth the sacrifice. I tried to ensure that as many of my men would return as possible, though I was certain I would not return myself. Perhaps it would have been better to have died there than to have been party to my father’s madness and awaken to this…dishonor.” Faramir swallowed hard, and I could the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes as he opened them. He abruptly reached up and pushed his hair away from his face, wiping his hand against his eyes slightly as he did so. “Forgive me… I should not…” he stammered, looking ashamed. “I should not have burdened you with this.”

Something in me softened as I watched his struggle to regain his composure. I genuinely wanted to help him, if I could. But what comfort could I possibly offer him? I wondered; I certainly had not been able to find any for myself. But somehow…perhaps it was from the years of fighting Gríma’s effects on my uncle; perhaps it was my own grief over those I had recently lost. Either way, I felt as if I could understand, if only a little, what he was going through, and so I had to try.

“A wise man once told me that it is not weakness to grieve for those you loved,” I said softly, looking down at his hand in mine. “There is nothing to forgive, Faramir. And, I do not know how much this is worth,” I added, feeling suddenly shy as I lifted my eyes to his face, “but I am glad that you came back.”

After a long moment, he finally glanced up at me. Through the tears that still gleamed in his eyes, I could see a faint glimmer of—something. Gratitude, perhaps, I finally decided. “Thank you,” he whispered. I nodded and squeezed his hand a little. What would drive a man to such madness that he would slay his own son? I wondered. And what was it about Faramir that drove his father to hate him so, that made him so desperate to prove himself to him that he would throw his life away?

But did you not do the same thing, when you resolved to ride into battle? The thought startled me, but I could not deny that I too, would have gladly traded my life for a chance to prove my worth. For a moment, I wavered on my resolve not to tell him what had brought me to Gondor, thinking that perhaps it might ease his pain to know that I understood, if only a little. But as I looked at him, still struggling not to completely succumb to his grief, I realized I could not burden him with the shadows from my own past now. So instead, I continued to sit by him silently, still holding his hand, hoping that somehow the gesture would convey what I could not in words.

After awhile, a tentative knock on the door sounded, and I could see Merry’s curly head poking into the room. He gave me a questioning look, then asked, “Faramir?”

Faramir’s head jerked up. “Merry,” he said hoarsely. “Forgive me, I should not have spoken to you in such a manner.”

“It’s all right,” Merry said. “What is wrong, Faramir?”

“Could I speak with you about it later?” he asked weakly. “I need some time…”

“Of course,” Merry interrupted. “I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“I believe that I am a little better,” he said.

Merry smiled half-heartedly. “I will talk to you later then.” He bowed his head quickly, then left me alone with Faramir once more.

He looked away from me again, as if he were embarrassed. “Faramir?” I asked tentatively.

“I wish that you had not seen me like this.” His voice was soft, and he sounded as if he were speaking half to himself.

As much as I wish I was not always at my worst when I am near you? I wondered. But I kept those thoughts to myself. “I do not think any less of you for grieving for him,” I replied.

He looked a little relieved at that. “I should not keep you here any longer,” he said.

“I will stay if you wish,” I replied. His eyes lifted to mine, and I was suddenly aware of how warm his hand felt in mine. I could feel my face grow hot. “Forgive me, that was terribly forward of me,” I quickly amended.

He almost smiled at that. “Thank you for the offer. I…I think that I would like to be alone for now,” he said slowly.

“I understand. If you want to talk about it any more later, I will be in my room.” I moved to stand up, releasing Faramir’s hand. Before I was halfway to my feet, however, he caught my hand in his once more.

I froze, unable to pull my eyes away from his. “Thank you for listening,” he said softly.

“How could I do any less? You have been so kind to me.” I squeezed his hand slightly again, fighting the impulse to wrap my arms around him to offer him what comfort I could. But the impulse passed, and I let go as I walked to the door.

I paused at the door, then turned and looked back, reluctant to leave him there. But though I could still see the grief in his eyes, he seemed to be a little more at peace than when I had first entered. He met my gaze steadily this time, and once again I was the first to turn away, taking a deep breath as I walked back towards my room.

Once I left Faramir, the lack of sleep the night before combined with the effort of trying to help him through his grief left me feeling suddenly very weary. I headed back to my room and pulled off my sling, then lay down on the bed, thinking that just a little rest before supper might make me feel better.

I woke again with a start, covered in sweat and with my limbs tangled in my skirts and a blanket that I did not remember pulling over myself. As I extracted myself from the blanket, I tried to figure out how long I had been asleep; my room was completely darkened. I shivered violently as I rose from my bed; I had no desire to attempt to sleep again.

Images from my nightmares still tumbled together in my mind. I shook my head to try and clear it, but every time I closed my eyes I could still see the shadowy face of the Witch-King and Gríma’s leering smile, almost as clearly as I could see my brother desperately fighting, even though he was surrounded and horribly outnumbered. I poured some water from the pitcher into the basin with trembling hands, and splashed some onto my face, then wiped it off with the edge of my sleeve.

The room still felt like it was closing in on me. I hurried out to the hall, closing the door softly behind me, then leaned against the wall as I tried desperately to calm myself. It did not work, so I decided to go outside and get some air. I returned to my room, grabbing my cloak and throwing it over my shoulders, then closed the door once more and went down the stairs.

The sky seemed unnaturally dark—it reminded me of the perpetual twilight that we had ridden under on our way to Gondor. Not even the light of a single star could penetrate it. I quickly climbed the stairs leading up to the wall, shivering and holding my cloak closed as tightly as I could while still trying to support my broken arm; I had forgotten to put my sling back on. I had not expected it to be so cold, and even my thick woolen cloak did nothing to ward off the icy edge of the wind.

The sky to the east over the mountains seemed even darker, if that was possible, interrupted only by the occasional red flicker of fire. It was like looking into the shadowy facelessness of the creature that had haunted my dreams ever since the battle, and my heart told me that if I had to face that darkness again, I would not escape a second time. I felt afraid, suddenly, more so than I had ever been. It was not so much for myself—I was not afraid to die. Far from it. But I was afraid for those who had ridden into Mordor—if I could feel the Shadow so keenly from where I was, how much more those who had gone into the very heart of it?

“Éowyn?” I heard Faramir softly calling my name, and turned to see him standing in the doorway of the gardens. He stepped a little closer. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could not sleep,” I said, wondering how long I had been standing there alone. The sky gave me no indication; if anything, the darkness had grown thicker. “Is it morning yet?”

“I believe so,” he said uncertainly. He paused, then said, “Perhaps you should come inside, Éowyn.”

I could not help feeling irritated, even though I knew his intentions were good. “I will remain here,” I said stubbornly. He nodded, and retreated back into the Houses. I turned my attention back to the lands beyond the Pelennor, absently trying to warm my right hand with my bandaged left hand. Though the herb Ioreth had used on it the day before had seemed to help at the time, now it felt completely lifeless again.

A sudden, slight weight on my shoulders startled me, and I turned with a gasp to see Faramir standing behind me, now wearing his own heavy green cloak. I had not even heard his footsteps to warn me of his approach. He stepped back to stand on my right side, leaving a thick, deep blue cloak on my shoulders and gently pulling my hair free of the neckline; I wondered if I had only imagined the feel of his hands lingering slightly longer than necessary.  “Forgive me for frightening you, my lady,” he said apologetically. “You looked cold; I thought that perhaps this might help.”

“I was not frightened, just startled; I did not hear your return. And thank you,” I belatedly added, feeling the soft velvet brush against my fingers as I pulled it tighter about myself. Even in the dim light, the silver thread that had been intricately worked into tiny stars around the edge gleamed faintly.  “It is beautiful,” I said. “Where did you get this?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he looked at me. “It once belonged to my mother,” he said, almost shyly. “It was one of the things I had Bergil bring; it was always comforting to have it around.”

I looked up at him, stricken; I could not bring myself to take what was perhaps the last remaining heirloom he had of her. “Faramir, I cannot take this from you!”

“Just for today,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “You need it more than I.”  After a long moment, I nodded assent and murmured my thanks once more as he helped me to clasp it closed at my throat, silently vowing that I would return it as soon as I could. He nodded and looked out towards the East.

“How did you find me here?” I asked.

“I could not sleep either,” he said without looking at me. “I was walking, and saw you from the window.”

I looked up at him, concerned. Although he had shaved and his hair was less disheveled at this point, he still looked exhausted and grieved. “Faramir, are you… I mean, how are you…” I fumbled for words, wishing I were better at expressing such things.

“I am well enough,” he answered, glancing over at me and hesitantly adding, “That was not the reason that I was awake.”

“What is it then?”

He looked out steadily towards the mountains. “Something is happening, or will happen soon. I know not what, but my heart tells me that today is going to decide the outcome of this war.”

His words strengthened my apprehension that had been growing as I had kept my silent vigil. As my eye was slowly drawn northward, towards where I thought Éomer had gone, I shivered as the cold wind hit me full in the face, whipping strands of my hair about wildly and making me grateful for the extra warmth that Faramir’s cloak provided. Still, I could not turn away.

Though I fervently hoped that Aragorn would return from this battle, my thoughts were turned more towards my brother. For so long, he had been my closest companion, even when the demands on him as the Third Marshall kept him away from Edoras much of the time. I could not accept the very strong possibility that I would never see him again, especially when we had parted so badly. Please, Éomer, be careful, I prayed silently. Please come home…

“What do you look for, Éowyn?” Faramir’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?” I asked in return, gesturing towards the north. “And must he not now be come thither? It is seven days since he rode away,” I added softly as I wondered once again if he regretted our parting as deeply as I did.

“Seven days,” Faramir murmured. “But think not ill of me, if I say to you, they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “Joy?”

“Joy to see you;” he explained, “but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed.” He paused, and looked down on me tenderly. “Éowyn,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found.”

“Lose what you have found, lord?” I asked. As I looked up at him, my heart began to pound under the intensity of his gaze. I looked away, afraid of what I thought I saw. “I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose,” I quickly added. “But come, my friend, let us not speak of it. Let us not speak at all! I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet,” I said, my eyes pleading with him to understand. “I wait for some stroke of doom.”

He looked down on me steadily, then finally nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “We wait for the stroke of doom.”

He turned back, looking towards the mountains again. The sense of foreboding weighed heavily on me, and in spite of my wish for silence, I could not hold my tongue. “Promise me something, Faramir,” I said softly.

“What is your wish?” he asked, turning towards me.

The look in his eyes was almost enough to make me keep my silence, so I turned my eyes back towards the mountains so I would not have to look at him. “If the battle should come to Minas Tirith again, promise that you will not try to keep me out of it.”

When I glanced at him again, he looked completely stunned. “How can you ask such a thing of me?” he finally asked.

“Would you stand by and do nothing?” I asked in return. “Would you simply wait for them to come and slay you?”

“Of course not,” he answered. “But…”

“Then why should I wait passively for death to find me? Because I am a woman?” I asked bitterly.

“No, but…” Faramir said, turning away abruptly.

“Then what?” I interrupted. I could feel my temper rising, but made no effort to stop it.

“If something happened to you…” he started.

I felt like screaming. “I do not need you to protect me, Faramir!” I exclaimed. “Besides, the chances of something happening would be greatly reduced if I actually have a way to defend myself.”

He stood straight, his face smoothing into the carefully controlled expression he so often wore, a slight tension in his jaw the only visible indication that anything was wrong. “As you wish, my lady,” he finally said, not looking at me.

“Thank you,” I said, once I was sure I could keep my voice calm. But in spite of my satisfaction at winning the argument, I could not help feeling like it was a hollow victory when I saw the pain I had caused him.

I began to deeply regret what I had said, but could not find the words to alleviate the tension that had so quickly come up between us, and so we stood there silently as the wind died down and the sky grew darker, the clouds almost black. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet, and I could not even feel my own heart beating. It seemed to me that all was frozen, waiting. I could not think; I could not be certain I still breathed.

Though I would not have believed it possible, the sky towards the East grew even more black, a rising mountain of darkness relieved only by the occasional flickering of lightning. My jaw tightened, and my hand clenched of its own accord as a cold, stabbing pain shot up my sword-arm. To my surprise, I realized that my fingers had somehow become intertwined with Faramir’s, though I could not remember reaching for his hand, nor him taking mine. He glanced over at me, looking just as surprised, but neither of us was willing to let go.

Suddenly, the stone wall began to tremble beneath my feet, throwing me off-balance. Faramir’s hand pulled out of mine as he reflexively moved his arm around my shoulder to help steady me, gripping the parapet with his other hand. For a moment, I had a horrible mental image of the wall collapsing and us falling with it, but just as quickly the earth grew still once more.

I looked up at Faramir, wide-eyed, afraid to pull away lest the ground start shaking again. He was still staring out towards the mountains, an uncertain look on his face. “It reminds me of Númenor,” he said.

“Of Númenor?” I echoed.

“Yes,” he said, sounding as if he were speaking to himself. “Of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness inescapable.” He shuddered involuntarily as he added, “I often dream of it.”

 “Then you think that the Darkness is coming? Darkness inescapable?” I asked, shivering as I unconsciously stepped closer to him.

Faramir looked down at me, leaving his arm about my shoulders. “No…it was but a picture in the mind.” His face relaxed, a strange light in his eyes as he added, “I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen, and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay, and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny.” I still shivered, and he drew me a little closer; I made no movement to resist. “Éowyn,” he said. As I looked up at him, I could see the hope shining in his grey-blue eyes, making him look more at peace than I had ever seen him. “Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!”

I looked down, unconvinced. I suddenly felt him press a light kiss against my temple and jerked my head up in surprise. Though I was almost certain it was merely a comforting gesture, almost brotherly, I still felt a slight shiver. As my eyes met his, he gave me a half-smile, then turned his gaze eastward once more as he dropped his arm. I dropped mine as well, still wondering why he had done that, but my hand quickly found its way into his once more as we continued watching the mountains.

I felt a cool breeze on my face, which quickly picked up and blew my hair away from my face. Still, neither Faramir nor I made any move to release the other’s hand. Finally, Faramir nodded towards the sky. “Look, Éowyn,” he said, a hopeful look on his face, and I followed his gaze until I could see a break in the clouds, through which golden beams of sunlight spilled. As we silently watched, the wind scattered the clouds, and the darkness to the east dissipated until large patches of blue sky could be seen. In the distance, I could see the river sparkling in the sun, while the scarce patches of green grass that remained on the Pelennor swayed gently in the breeze. The air seemed to have grown slightly warmer as well. I realized, to my surprise, that the pain in my arm had completely vanished, and I pulled my hand away from Faramir’s and rubbed at it experimentally with my other hand, surprised that it was beginning to feel warmer. Faramir looked at me, concerned. “Is your arm troubling you?” he asked.

“No,” I said, amazed. “It is fine.” I paused, looking down. “Forgive me, Faramir. I just… I mean…” I did not know how to explain that I could not bear to be caged up again. Especially not by him.

“I know that you can fight. I never intended to say otherwise,” he replied.

“I know.” I relaxed a little more at that, but still felt the need to ask, “You really would not have kept me from the battle?”

Faramir finally looked at me, an intense look in his blue-grey eyes. “Would I have been able to prevent you from fighting?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Had the battle come here, I would rather fight alongside you than spend what time remained to me wondering what your fate had been. But I…”

“Lord Faramir,” a voice behind us interrupted. We both turned to see Daeron standing in the doorway. He quickly bowed, then added, “The Lord Húrin is here to see you.”

A regretful look flashed across Faramir’s face, then disappeared just as quickly. “I must go,” he said.

“Of course.” He nodded, his gaze holding mine for just a moment, then he turned and walked back to the Houses. I looked back over the city again, biting my lip as I cradled my right hand in my left, rubbing at it absently. I could hear the sounds of celebration starting to rise from the lower levels, and wondered why my heart still felt so heavy.

-------

Not long after Faramir left, I went back inside as well, and found Merry sitting on a bench, looking out the window. He looked over as I entered the Houses. “Oh, hello,” he said half-heartedly.

“Hello, Merry,” I replied, echoing his greeting as I sat down next to him. The hobbit looked unusually downcast, so I added, “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They are saying we won, and that’s why the Shadow is going away. But I’m really afraid for Frodo and Sam, and for Pippin. I don’t know if they’ll…” his voice trailed off.

“I know,” I said softly, looking down. “If anything happened to Éomer, I will never forgive myself.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault though,” Merry protested.

“I know, but...” I sighed. “I wish I knew that he is well.”

We both fell silent as we kept our vigil at the window, looking for any word from Mordor, even though we both knew that the news could not arrive so quickly. I could scarcely dare to hope that somehow they had escaped whatever had happened beyond the mountains, and Merry, too, seemed to lack his usual optimism.

I looked up as the door opened, and Bergil practically ran into the room, an excited look on his face. “Bergil? What’s happening?” Merry asked, plopping down into a sitting position.

“We won!” the boy exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. “The Eagles just came and said that we won!”

“But what about Éomer? Or Aragorn? Is there any word about them?” I blurted out.

Bergil’s smile faded a bit. “Well, no, my lady, but I am sure that they are both fine,” he said, brightening up again. “I need to go find my mother.” And he quickly left the room.

I rested my elbow on the windowsill, then propped my cheek on my hand as I turned back to the window. Merry put a hand on my arm. “If anyone could make it out of there, Éowyn, I’m certain that Éomer could.”

“Thank you,” I said automatically, swallowing hard past the lump that was rising in my throat. I wanted to believe him, but I was still too filled with doubt. When he saw that I would make no further reply, Merry got back to his knees and looked out the window once more.

-------

Merry and I finally decided to go back to our rooms, as it had become painfully obvious that no further word would come from the company that day, and went to the hallway in the upper level of the Houses. We paused outside an open door as we heard Ioreth saying in a lecturing tone, “And if that shoulder bothers you again in the slightest, you must come straight back here, my lord. I will not hear of you permanently injuring yourself or making yourself ill again because you refuse to take the time to look after yourself.”

Merry and I peeked around the doorframe to see Ioreth and Húrin in the room with Faramir, who was tightening the laces at the front of his tunic. “Of course, Ioreth,” he said, an amused sparkle in his eyes in spite of the serious look on his face.

“Faramir?” Merry blurted out. All three occupants of the room turned towards us, and the amusement faded from Faramir’s face. “Are you leaving?”

“Please, excuse me,” Faramir said to Ioreth and Húrin before stepping into the hall. He looked down at Merry before adding, “I am to take up my duties as Steward in the morning. Ioreth says that I am healed enough to go home.”

I blinked, stunned. I had never considered that Faramir would be leaving eventually—truthfully, I had never believed in the possibility that our peoples would be victorious in this battle. Feeling stupid for not having thought of that sooner, I finally managed to choke out, “You are… leaving tonight, then?”

Faramir looked at me, and for a long moment neither of us spoke as he held my gaze. “Tomorrow morning,” he said softly. I broke the gaze first, looking down at the floor.

“But you’ll come back and visit, right?” Merry prodded.

“There is much that needs to be done, so I do not know how often I will be able to get away. But I will come back to see both of you as soon as I can,” he promised. I could not think of anything to say, but I could feel him looking at me, and finally raised my eyes to his grey-blue ones. He looked down at me warmly, although I could see traces of sadness on his face. I dropped my gaze, biting my lip. “I must gather my things,” he finally said.

“We’ll see you at supper then,” Merry replied, and Faramir nodded and retreated into his room. I turned and quickly walked towards my room; I was about to close the door behind me when Merry appeared in the doorway, preventing me from shutting it. For a long moment we just looked at each other, then Merry said, “Is something wrong?”

“No, I am fine,” I quickly answered.

“No, you’re not.” Merry crossed his arms and looked up at me stubbornly. I turned my back on him and unclasped the blue cloak, tossing it onto the bed, then repeating the action with my own cloak. “He said he’ll come back, you know.”

“I told you, I am fine,” I said, glancing back just long enough to glare at him; his words hit a little too close to the mark for my comfort. “Things will be rather…different...without him here. That is all.”

“It won’t be for long though; everyone will be coming back now that the war’s over.”

“I know,” I said softly.

Merry nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “I’m going to go see how long it will be until supper.”

“Let me know when it is ready,” I said absently. He nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room.

I walked over to the window and stared out at the darkening sky; I could see the faint twinkle of the first stars of evening. It felt strange to see them; I had been certain that their light had been veiled forever. A long time ago, perhaps, the sight would have brought me hope. But now it just left me feeling strangely empty.

It made no sense. The Shadow had departed; perhaps my people and the people of Gondor would finally know a time of peace. If my brother had not fallen in the battle, he would be returning soon. And Aragorn…

No, I would not think of him. Though I was beginning to realize that he had not meant any ill in healing me and then leaving me here, I knew he did not love me, nor would he. And the thought of facing him again once he returned, knowing what a fool I had been to believe something that so clearly was not there, was nearly unbearable.

Thinking about Faramir, strangely, left me just as unsettled as thinking about Aragorn. I reasoned to myself that I was just upset that he would be leaving. I had never expected him to become such a good friend so quickly, and I truly would miss his company. But he had his duty to his people; I could not begrudge him that.

And what would you know about duty? I shivered as the night grew darker. What would I do now? The stars seemed to mock me as much as my own thoughts; their very presence was a painful reminder that I had missed my opportunity for death with honor. I would return to my homeland and, if I were not imprisoned or banished for failing to obey a direct order from the king, would return to my place in the court. But even if Gríma never returned, I could still see no hope of anything being different—I would still be spending my days waiting on the king and his guests, and staying behind watching for their return when they rode out to battle. How could I go back to that?

For a moment, though I knew full well that Éomer would never allow such a thing, I allowed myself to entertain the thought that perhaps, now that I had proven myself in battle, I might at times be allowed a place among the Riders. But I could see no good that had come out of my attempt to fight to defend my people; my king and uncle had still fallen, I had estranged my brother, and more likely than not lost the trust of my people completely.

I took a ragged breath and leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the window frame, closing my eyes. I could still see no clear path out of the darkness that surrounded me, nor could I see any hope for me in the day’s victory.

A knock on the door made me jerk my head up. “Éowyn?” Merry said through the door. “Supper’s ready.”

“I will be down shortly,” I replied, looking up at the stars imploringly for a final moment, then taking a deep breath as I walked towards the door.  With hope or without it, I would go on as I had for this last week. There was nothing else I could do.

I did not sleep much again that night, and finally rose from my bed as the room began to lighten. As I glanced out of the window, cradling my broken arm with my other hand, I could see a lone figure standing out on the wall, looking towards the east. Faramir, I decided. As the grey pre-dawn light brightened a little more, I could see that my suspicions had been correct. I leaned against the window-frame, watching Faramir as he watched the sky. He never turned towards the window, but as the first rays of the sun crept over the edge of the mountains in a shadowless sky, I could almost see the soft smile that I knew would be on his face. The light breeze ruffled his dark hair, making his cloak billow out slightly behind him. For a moment I considered going down to the gardens and joining him, but then decided that I would leave him be. He had waited his entire life to see this, and I would not spoil it for him by interrupting. So I turned away from the window and lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Mithríel soon came and helped me to dress for the day, then unwrapped and bathed my broken arm. As she felt along the length of my forearm, she gave me an encouraging smile. “It is healing well,” she said as she began to re-wrap it. “In another week or so you should be able to go without the sling.” I nodded, then thanked her and went downstairs.

After a quiet breakfast, during which neither Faramir nor I really felt like talking and even Merry was quite subdued, Húrin came to tell Faramir that everything was ready for his return home. Faramir replied that he would be ready to go shortly, and Merry and I waited with Húrin while he went back up to his room for the last time.

He returned a few moments later, his cloak clasped loosely about his neck. “There is no need to look so glum, Merry,” Faramir said as he knelt before the hobbit, giving him a half-smile.

“Sorry,” Merry said apologetically, tentatively smiling back. Faramir clapped him lightly on the shoulder, then straightened up to face me.

I could not hold his gaze for long, and I let my head drop as I bit my lip slightly. “Éowyn,” he said, “Please, look at me.” I reluctantly looked up again; the gentle warmth in his eyes was almost overwhelming. “Will you be all right?” I nodded mutely. I will miss you, I wanted to say, but the words just would not form, nor would any others. “I will come back to visit you, if you wish.”

I ventured a tiny smile. “I would like that,” I finally managed to say.

He dropped his hand to lift mine to his lips, brushing a light kiss on the back of my hand before saying, “Goodbye, Éowyn.”

“Goodbye,” I echoed. I could still feel his kiss burning into my hand, and my face grew warm at the thought. He stood there, silently looking at me for a moment longer. Finally, he nodded his head to me respectfully, glanced over at Húrin, and opened the door. I kept my gaze steady until the door quietly closed behind them, then my head dropped a little. I felt Merry’s hand on my arm, and forced a half-smile onto my face as I looked down at him. At least I still have him here, I thought, determined to at least try to be cheerful for the Halfling’s sake.

------

No word came from Mordor that day, and though I tried to act as if everything was fine, even Merry could not distract me enough from my anxiety over my brother long enough for me to maintain a conversation with him. As a result, I spent most of the afternoon and early evening pacing the walls alone, looking for any messenger from the East.

When Merry and I sat down for breakfast the next morning, I was still too anxious to eat. Merry was also quiet, as if he had finally given up any effort to draw me out again, so it was a welcome distraction when we heard Bergil protesting in the next room, “But Mother, why can I not go?”

Merry jumped down from his chair first, and walked towards the doorway. I followed just in time to hear Mithríel’s weary-sounding reply, “I cannot take you, Bergil. There are still many soldiers here who need to be tended. And you are not going by yourself.”

“Going where?” Merry asked.

Bergil looked at us sullenly as Mithríel replied, “He wants to go see the ceremony for Lord Faramir to take his office.”

“I have to, so I can tell Father about it when he comes home!” Bergil complained.

“I could go with him,” Merry offered. “I am of age.”

“That is very kind, Meriadoc, but…” Mithríel started to say. A disappointed look crossed Bergil’s face.

“What if I accompanied them as well?” I interrupted.

Mithríel considered this a moment, then nodded slowly. “I suppose that would be all right,” she finally said. Bergil’s face lit up in a wide grin. “You do know how to get there, Bergil?”

“Of course,” the dark-haired boy said indignantly. “Come on, we must go!” I looked over at Merry, and he shrugged as we followed Bergil out of the room.

-------

“People who are not of the court are allowed to go see the ceremony, right, Bergil?” I asked as we walked through the streets of Minas Tirith, feeling suddenly uncertain in spite of my gratitude for the chance to leave the Houses, if only for a little while.

“Of course,” he said cheerfully. “And I am certain that Captain Faramir will be quite happy to see you there, my lady. Both of you, of course” he added hastily as he glanced over at Merry. Merry grinned mischievously, though he quickly tried to hide it, then began asking Bergil about the buildings we passed, and I fell silent as we continued walking.

The Citadel of Gondor made me catch my breath as we approached it. Never in my life had I seen a building so large. It towered far above our heads in gleaming white stone, surrounded by a large paved courtyard in which a tree unlike any I had seen before stood. The bark was a strange, almost silvery-white color, and it appeared to be completely dead. Why would they not just cut it down? I wondered. I did not realize that I had spoken aloud until Bergil answered, “That is the tree of the Kings. The stories say that it will come back to life if the king ever returns.” The thought of something so obviously dead coming to life seemed completely absurd to me, but I kept my silence.

The inside of the hall seemed even more immense than the outside. I could almost see my reflection in the polished marble floors. Imposing statues of what I assumed were former rulers of Gondor alternated with columns of black stone lining the white walls, stretching up towards the tall ceiling. There were people everywhere; apparently word of the morning’s events had spread quickly throughout the city, and it seemed that everyone who had not evacuated the city had come to this place.

Merry strained to see over the crowd, standing on his toes. “Can you see anything, Éowyn?” he asked.

I scanned the crowd, and finally spotted Faramir talking to Húrin. It was a little bit of a shock to see him wearing more formal clothing, since he had worn simple breeches and tunics during his entire stay at the Houses. The look of the more formal over-tunic, in silver-embroidered black, suited him surprisingly well, I thought, then quickly forced the thought out of my mind as my face grew warm again. “Yes, he is over there,” I said, motioning towards him.

Bergil frowned. “We will never see anything back here!” he complained.

“We will simply have to move closer then. Come on,” I replied, and the three of us began slowly weaving through the crowd until we were standing slightly off to Faramir’s side, just out of his line of vision. I motioned to Merry and Bergil to stand in front of me so that they could see better, just as Húrin held up his hand to signal to the crowd.

Once the room had fallen silent, he called out, “People of Gondor! We have come here today to raise Faramir, son of Denethor, to the office of Lord and Steward of the realm.” A group of soldiers clad in green and brown cheered a little, though it was subdued, and the corner of Faramir’s mouth twitched as if he were trying to suppress a smile. The soldiers must have been under his command, I decided, as Húrin continued.  “This office is given to him by right, as a descendent of the House of Húrin, Steward to King Minardil. However, if there is one here with reason to believe he is unfit for office, let him speak now.”

The room remained silent. After a moment, Húrin asked, “Lord Faramir, are you prepared to take this office?”

His gaze was steady as he replied, “I am.” Then, to my surprise, he knelt down before Húrin. The older man seemed to have expected it, however, and listened as Faramir said,    “Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world ends…” a bright, hopeful smile crossed Faramir’s face as he finished, “…or the king returns.  So say I, Faramir son of Denethor.”

“So hear I, in the name of the people of Gondor, and we will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given,” Húrin said. Faramir looked as if he were expecting more to the oath, but Húrin shook his head almost imperceptibly, at which a faint, grateful smile crossed Faramir’s face. He nodded towards one of the men standing off to the side, who walked forward with a white rod that he handed to Húrin. “And I now present you with the token of your office,” Húrin continued, passing the rod to Faramir. I was close enough to hear his soft addition, “Forgive me, my lord, but there was no time to have a new signet ring made.”

“My days as Steward are already numbered, Húrin. There is no need,” Faramir replied smoothly. Húrin nodded, then turned back to the crowd.

“My people, I present to you your Steward!” Húrin called out, amongst cheers from the crowd.

I looked down at Bergil and Merry. “We should go back.”

“Can we please stay longer, Lady Éowyn?” Bergil pleaded.

“I think we should. We haven’t had the chance to properly congratulate him. And anyway,” Merry added when I raised an eyebrow at him, “I am older than you, Éowyn, so you have to listen to me, right?”

The thought of taking orders from someone half my height made me laugh out loud. “Very well, Merry, we will stay until you give us permission to leave.” Merry smiled and nodded, satisfied, and we moved off to the side to wait for an opportune moment to speak with Faramir.

We had to wait longer than I expected; as I watched, he was being greeted with smiles and congratulations on recovering his health and on his new office everywhere he turned. It was obvious the people of his city loved him. He returned the greetings kindly, but though he hid it well, it seemed to me that he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the attention. When he finally turned towards us, Faramir looked genuinely surprised to see us there, but smiled. I nodded slightly, smiling back. After many more greetings and congratulations, the crowd finally began to disperse some, and Faramir finally made his way over to us.

“Éowyn!” he said with a warm smile. “What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

“You should thank Bergil, my lord. It was his idea; Merry and I were only allowed to come in order to chaperone him.”

Faramir looked over at Bergil, who grinned proudly.  The boy’s grin grew wider as Faramir nodded and said, “Then I am in your debt, Master Bergil.” He then glanced over to Merry.

“Congratulations, my lord Steward,” Merry said with a solemn bow, though the effect was somewhat broken by the wide smile on his face.

“Thank you, Merry,” he replied, smiling back as he knelt down to face the boy and the hobbit, though I could still see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It is wonderful to see both of you as well,” he said. “And thank you for coming.” He stood back to his feet and added softly, “It is good to have some friends here.” Then he glanced at Bergil and I and added, “Will you be returning soon?”

I gave Merry a sidelong glance, waiting for his nod. When Faramir gave me a questioning look, I smiled sweetly and said, “Merry is in charge today, since he is the eldest.”

Faramir quickly stifled a laugh, but decided to play along. “Very well then. Merry, might I have your permission to accompany your party back to the Houses of Healing?” he asked formally.

“Of course, my lord,” Merry answered, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I wondered at that, though I did not have to wonder for long. Shortly after we left the Citadel, Merry and Bergil scampered off, with Merry saying that since he was of age he was perfectly suited for keeping an eye on Bergil, leaving me alone with Faramir. They stayed just close enough to be in sight, but out of earshot.

I shook my head with a smile. “Perfectly suited for getting the boy in trouble seems closer to the truth.”

A smile flashed across Faramir’s face, though I could still see a trace of sadness in his eyes. “He means well, though,” he said.

“How are you doing?” I asked more softly, concerned.

“Relieved, now that that is over with,” he said with a rueful smile, gesturing back towards the Citadel. “I am grateful that Húrin decided to keep the ceremony informal.”

“That was informal?” I asked, surprised.

Faramir laughed a little. “And what would informal be in Rohan?” he asked.

“Hand over the rod, then break out the ale,” I replied, making him laugh harder. “No, we have our traditions—the lords of the land must swear fealty to the new king, and any opposing claims to the throne must be dealt with before he is crowned. And we have others. But it seems that my people do not stand on ceremony as much as yours do.”

“I see,” he said.

We walked in silence for awhile, until I asked, “Was it hard for you, taking that oath?”

He looked down. “I wish that Boromir had been here today. This would have been easier if he were. Especially since this office should have been his,” he added with a rueful look.

I laid a hand on his arm. “I am that certain he would have been happy for you, and that you will do your duty honorably.”

“I hope so,” he said, pausing before adding. “At least it is only for a short time.”

“You do not wish to be Steward then?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I never have.” He looked down. “I know that it was foolish of me, but I always assumed Boromir would be here to fulfill that duty when the time came. I would have been perfectly content to aid him however I could, but…” his voice trailed off as he glanced down.

I nodded, understanding completely. “Faramir?” I asked. He looked up at me again, and I hesitated before asking, “What will happen to you after Lord Aragorn returns to the city?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “I will ease the transition as much as I can, of course, but after that…” A small smile crossed his face as he added, “Perhaps I will return to Ithilien for awhile.” I nodded, remembering how enthusiastically he had spoken of that land, but did not comment. After a moment, he asked, “And what about you?”

I furrowed my brow; my thoughts on the matter were no clearer than they had been before, and I was certain they would not be at least until I heard some word from Éomer. “I do not know either,” I finally said, glancing over at Faramir. He nodded thoughtfully, but dropped the subject, and so we walked in silence until we reached the doors of the Houses.

Merry and Bergil were already waiting there for us. “Finally! It took you long enough!” Merry exclaimed with a wide grin.

“Yes, I suppose it would take a little longer when you manage to refrain from running through the streets like a wild stallion,” I retorted, a small smile playing at the corner of my mouth.

Merry snickered, then turned to Faramir. “Can you stay and visit any longer?”

Faramir shook his head regretfully. “I must go back. But I do have a question for you first, Bergil,” he said, kneeling down in front of the boy. “I may need someone quick to run some errands for me over the next few weeks, and I know that you have been a great help to the healers recently. If it is all right with your mother, would you be willing to assist me in this?”

Bergil’s green eyes widened. “Really?” he asked, the excitement obvious in his voice.

“I do need to check with your mother first,” Faramir reminded him. “But yes, really.”

“I will go get her now,” Bergil said, pulling open the door and running into the Houses.

After Faramir, Merry and I followed him inside, Merry announced that he was absolutely famished and needed to go to the kitchens to find something to eat. As he left, Faramir turned to me and asked, “What troubles you, Éowyn?”

I dropped my gaze, embarrassed that he could read me so easily. “How long would it take a messenger to get here from the East?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he admitted. “All our efforts have been to defend our borders. We have never sent anyone into the Dark Lands in my lifetime, not until now.” He paused, then asked, “Your brother?”

“He is all the family I have left,” I said softly, still looking at my feet and fighting back the tears that suddenly pricked at my eyes. There was no point in giving in to weeping again, I told myself firmly. Not until I knew for sure what Éomer’s fate had been.

I felt a light, warm touch on my chin, tilting my head up. When I raised my eyes to Faramir’s, he replied, “I am sure that Éomer will send word as soon as he can, Éowyn.”

Though my mind still raised the question of whether he would have survived to send any word, the calm reassurance in Faramir’s voice set me more at ease. “Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

A light knock on the doorframe sounded, and Faramir’s hand abruptly dropped as we both turned to see Mithríel in the doorway, Bergil close behind. “Forgive me for interrupting, my lord,” she said politely. “Bergil says you wished to speak with me?”

“I should go,” I said, a strange mixture of relief and disappointment welling up within me. “Good day, Faramir.”

“Good day, Éowyn,” he echoed, bowing his head before turning to Mithríel. “Yes, I did wish to speak with you,” he said to her as I left the room. I paused at the doorway and glanced back; for a moment, our eyes met and the briefest smile flashed across his face. I could not keep a tentative smile off of my own face, though I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I quickly whirled around and walked away. 

Merry and I decided to spend our afternoon in the garden once again. While he was content to sit under one of the trees, looking up at the sky, I spent the time pacing the walls again, looking out over the Pelennor. Finally, as the sun began its final descent for the day, washing the battle-scarred field in gold, I could see two tiny figures crossing the field from the east, heading towards the city. “Merry!” I called out.

“What is it?” he said, quickly getting to his feet and climbing the stairs up to the top of the wall.

“Over there,” I said, pointing.

Merry stood on his toes, straining to see over the parapet, his eyes widening when he finally spotted the riders. “Do you think they’re from Mordor?” he asked.

“They have to be,” I said. “Come on!” I ran down the stairs, Merry quickly following, and into the Houses.

I had almost reached the door leading to the street when Ioreth stepped in front of it. I stopped short, Merry stumbling in an attempt to keep himself from running into me. “Where do you think you are going?” Ioreth asked sternly.

“Messengers are coming to the city. I must go…” I started to say.

“And if there is any message for you, you will get it much sooner if you stay here,” Ioreth interrupted.

“But…” I protested.

Ioreth crossed her arms. “If your brother sent any message for you, he will send the messenger here. If you go wandering through the city looking for him, it will just take that much longer. And yes, this is the only door leading out of the Houses,” she said in a tone that indicated she would not be argued with. For a moment, all I could do was glare at her in frustration, even though I reluctantly had to admit that she was probably right. Then I abruptly whirled around and stalked back out to the gardens. When I looked back a moment later, she was still by the door, looking as if she were standing guard to ensure I did not try to sneak out after all. I sighed and went back to my vigil atop the walls.

The riders had nearly reached the barricade that stood where the gate had been, and I could see a flurry of activity on the first few levels; apparently word of the messengers had spread quickly. They crossed under the shadow of the wall and I could no longer see them for a moment. “What’s happening?” Merry asked, coming up beside me.

“They are entering the city,” I answered, still straining to see down to the lower levels. “It looks like they are coming this way.”

“They probably have to go see Faramir,” Merry pointed out.

“But if there is a message from Éomer, he will send it here,” I said impatiently as I descended the walls and began to pace around the gardens again, suddenly wishing that Faramir had stayed longer after all. Merry did not answer, but I could tell that he was thinking of his own kinsfolk from the anxious look on his face.

We did not have to wait as long as either of us expected; Ioreth soon came out to the gardens, followed closely by a tall, broad-shouldered Rider, his sun-bleached blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, carrying his helm under one arm and with his sword still strapped to his waist. “Your messenger, my lady,” she said, not quite able to keep the smug look off of her face as she turned to go.

The Rider bowed politely before speaking. “I bring word from Lord Éomer, my lady,” he said to me.

“And how is my brother? Is he well?” I asked, unable to hold back my impatience any longer.

“He is alive and unhurt, my lady,” he replied. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, almost overwhelmed with relief.

I opened my eyes again when I felt a slight tug at my sleeve, to see Merry looking up at me with a concerned look on my face. “Éowyn?” he asked.

I smiled slightly, remembering that Merry could not understand Rohirric. “He’s fine, Merry,” I said.

The messenger’s gaze rested on Merry then. “You are the holbytla?” he finally asked in the common tongue, his speech smooth but slightly accented. “Meriadoc?”

“I am,” Merry replied.

“I have a message for you as well,” he said. “I am to tell you that Frodo, Samwise and Peregrin are alive…”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Merry exclaimed.

The messenger seemed amused at the hobbit for a moment, then his face grew more serious again. “But they are all injured and will be remaining with the company at Cair Andros while they recover. Gandalf says it would be best for you to come join them.”

“Of course,” Merry said, the anxiety apparent on his face once more. “When should I be ready to go?”

“In the morning,” the Rider replied. He then looked over at me and added, “And Lord Éomer requests that you come as well, of course.”

I bowed my head, and he took this as an affirmation. “With your leave, my lady,” he said, bowing once more, then departing.

Merry looked up at me. “I suppose I had better start packing,” he said.

“As should I,” I replied. We entered the Houses together, climbing the stairs up to the hallway where our rooms were. After saying goodbye to Merry for the moment, I walked into the room and opened the door to the wardrobe, pulling out my white dress and laying it on the chair. After a moment’s hesitation, I then found a second dress that I thought might be good for traveling. As I began to pull the dress out, the back of my hand brushed against soft velvet. I let the dress fall back into place as I gingerly felt the embroidered neckline of the dark blue cloak, feeling guilty that I had forgotten to return it to Faramir. 

I heard a quiet knock on the door and pulled my hand back as the door opened. Aredhel entered the room, bowing her head slightly. “Good afternoon, my lady,” she said softly. “Mistress Ioreth has asked me to come pack your things for you.”

“I can pack myself, but thank you,” I replied politely.

“She does not wish you to overtax your arm before the journey, my lady,” Aredhel admitted, her cheeks flushing a bit.

I opened my mouth to argue, but then decided there was no reason to take it out on the young woman. Besides, I reasoned, I would be gone the next day, and the incessant coddling from the healers would cease. “Very well,” I said, reaching for my cloak. “I will be in the gardens then.” A surprised look crossed Aredhel’s face, as if she had expected an argument, but she nodded her head and helped me clasp my cloak around my neck.

Twilight was rapidly falling, though the garden was still well-lit by the light from the nearly-full moon, as I entered the gardens once more. Feeling restless, I began wandering aimlessly around the garden to try to calm my growing apprehensions. It made no sense; all I had wanted since I had first come to Gondor was to leave the Houses of Healing, and now I had my opportunity. And I would not truly be able to rest until I could see my brother and know for certain that he was safe. But I could not be certain of how he would receive me, after our argument.

And, I suddenly realized, going to Cormallen would also mean I would have to face Aragorn again.  How could I do that, knowing what a fool I had been? If I closed my eyes, I could still see that look of pity he had given me as he had walked away; I could not bear to see that again, nor did I wish him to think ill of me.

“Good evening, Éowyn,” I heard behind me, and turned to see Faramir standing in the doorway.

“Faramir! What are you doing here? I thought you had work to do,” I said, genuinely surprised to see him so soon.

“I did. I mean, I do. But I heard that you and Merry were leaving Minas Tirith tomorrow,” he explained, pushing his hair away from his face.

“Oh,” I said. “Merry is still in the Houses, but…”

“Do not trouble yourself over it,” he interrupted, his eyes looking nearly silver in the reflected moonlight. “I will go see him shortly. May I walk with you?”

“Of course,” I said, and he fell into step beside me. Neither of us spoke for awhile; it reminded me of the first few days I had been allowed out of my room after the battle. I glanced over at Faramir; he seemed rather deep in thought, as if he was unsure what to say, so I remained silent as well. 

I reached up and touched the silver horsehead clasped at my throat thoughtfully. Faramir noticed the gesture and asked, “Is something troubling you?”

“’Tis nothing; I am a little nervous, I suppose,” I quickly replied. His eyes softened a bit, and he looked as if he were about to speak again, when Merry burst into the gardens.

“There you are! Ioreth said that you were here,” he blurted out, then stopped in mid-stride and grinned. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No,” he hastily replied at the same time that I said, “No, of course not.” We looked at each other for a moment, embarrassed, then Faramir continued, “’Tis good to see you again, Merry.” He and the hobbit began talking, and I stood by silently for awhile and half-listened. It was strange to think that, since all I had wanted to do since I arrived at the Houses of Healing was to leave them, I would miss anything about this place. But I realized that I would truly miss the odd fellowship that I had shared with Faramir and Merry. And, as I watched them, I suddenly realized how much I would miss Faramir’s company when I went to Cair Andros; even though Merry would be there, I knew, it would not be the same. I could not help wondering if I was truly doing the right thing after all.

-------

My doubts grew stronger as the evening wore on.  Sleep did not bring me any answers, and when Mithríel came to help me dress in the plain brown linen dress I had decided on for the journey, I still had not come to any decision. So I stared out the window, wishing I knew what to do, torn between my desire to see my brother and my fear of what I would find when I arrived.

I jumped when I heard a knock on the door, but did not reply when Ioreth said that Merry was waiting for me downstairs. I listened as the footsteps retreated down the hall, then a few minutes later returned. A heavier knock sounded on the door. “Éowyn?” I heard Faramir’s voice on the other side of the door. “Are you all right?” I looked back towards the window, unsure how to answer. There was a pause, and then he asked, “May I come in?”

“You may,” I finally answered without turning back again. I heard him open the door and could sense him coming closer, moving to stand beside me. Still neither of us spoke, until he finally asked, “Is something wrong?”

I looked out of the window for a long moment, finally whispering, “I cannot do this.”

“Why not?”  he asked. I thought for a moment, but could not come up with a clear answer, so I remained silent. “Éowyn?” Faramir tried again.

I shook my head, unable to look at him. “Please, do not ask me to explain.” How could I, when I could not even explain it to myself?

Faramir remained silent for a long moment, deep in thought. Finally, he said softly, “You do not have to go if you are not ready. I will speak to the Warden, if you wish; I am certain that they will allow you to stay here.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as I glanced up at him, feeling strangely relieved. Faramir nodded, then turned and left. I turned back to the window, looking out silently until I felt a slight pressure on my hand. I jumped and bit back a gasp, then looked down to see Merry looking up at me. “Do not do that!” I exclaimed. Merry’s face fell further, and I took a shaky breath. “Forgive me, Merry. I was just startled,” I apologized, sitting down on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, sitting down next to me. “Faramir said that you’re not going to Cormallen.”

“No, Merry, I am not,” I said with a sigh.

“Why not?” he asked, looking rather forlorn.

I shook my head. “I know not how to explain it, Merry. I simply cannot.”

“Is it because Faramir is not going?” he asked innocently.

“What?” My head jerked up. “No, he has nothing to do with it!  It is merely… I do not know....” I took a ragged breath, wondering why such a simple question would leave me so shaken.

Merry nodded, then looked down. “I’m going to miss you,” he finally replied.

“Oh, Merry, I will miss you too.” I gave him a sad smile.

We both looked up as Faramir re-entered the room. “Daeron says that you are welcome to stay as long as you wish,” he said.

“Thank you, Faramir,” I said. His eyes softened as he looked down at me and nodded. For a moment, I held my breath, wondering how much of my conversation with Merry he had heard. But he really has nothing to do with it! I mentally protested. Still… I did not want to hurt him. But he said nothing about it, and I finally relaxed a little.

“Are you ready to go, Merry?” Faramir asked, turning to the hobbit. Merry looked at me sadly, then nodded.

“Wait… I will accompany you as far as the gate, Merry,” I said. Merry brightened up a tiny bit at that, and jumped up. Faramir reached out a hand and helped me to my feet, and the three of us headed down the stairs. Merry grabbed his pack, and Faramir also paused to sling a well-worn saddlebag over his uninjured shoulder, then we left the Houses.

None of us spoke a word as we slowly made our way down through the levels of the city. I was too concerned with wondering if I had made the right choice to notice my surroundings, save that most of the buildings in the city seemed to be constructed from the same white stone that I had seen everywhere. Merry trudged along beside me, looking both sad and anxious, while Faramir seemed lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally he glanced over at me thoughtfully, as I carefully avoided catching his eye.

Finally, we reached the first level. A path had been cleared to the gap in the wall where the gate should have been, but I could see the piles of charred rubble everywhere where stone buildings had once stood. Just outside of the gate, big wooden wagons stood hitched to sturdy plowhorses, piled high with supplies to bring to the soldiers. The wain drivers milled around, along with the messenger whom I recognized from the day before. Merry looked at them uncertainly, letting his pack slip off his shoulder to the ground, then looked back up at Faramir and I.

Faramir knelt down and clasped his hand; though his hand was not exceptionally large, it completely enveloped the Halfling’s. “It has been an honor to know you, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” he said. “I will look forward to seeing you again when you return to Minas Tirith. And send my greetings to Frodo, Sam and Pippin.” He paused, then added, “I am certain that they will be fine, Merry. Your people are much stronger in spirit than they appear.”

“Thank you, Faramir,” Merry said, giving him a sad smile. “I hope so.”

I knelt down too. “Have a safe journey, Merry,” I said softly, unable to keep the unhappiness out of my voice. The hobbit had been my near-constant companion since Dunharrow, and I truly would miss him.

Merry looked at me for a moment, deep sadness in his brown eyes, then abruptly hugged me. I returned the hug just as hard. “Merry, if you see Éomer, tell him…” I hesitated, searching for the words. “Tell him that I am sorry,” I lamely finished. Éomer would understand what I meant. At least, I hoped that he would.

Merry nodded. “I will.” He stepped back, glancing up at Faramir again with an uncertain look on his face. Faramir nodded almost imperceptibly, and Merry’s eyes turned back to me. “Goodbye, Éowyn.”

“Westu hál, Merry,” I whispered past the lump in my throat. No, I would not weep. Not in front of everyone like this. I straightened up, and he picked up his pack, smiling at us bravely even though I could see anxiety clearly written on his face.

“It’s a pity…I should have told Bergil to keep you out of trouble till I get back,” he said to me. A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth, followed by another wave of sadness.

Faramir seemed to sense my dark mood; his hand lightly squeezed mine for a moment, then released it. Though I did not look at him, I was still comforted a little by the gesture. Finally, he quietly offered, “Éowyn, are you certain about this? If you have changed your mind, I can send someone back up for your things.”

I looked down and shook my head. “That will not be necessary,” I said, “but thank you.” Besides, I cannot face him yet, I silently added, unsure whether I was talking about Éomer or Aragorn.

Merry walked through the gate to speak with the Rider who had come to us yesterday. The man directed him towards one of the wagons, and he slung his pack onto it before climbing up. After he was seated, he looked back towards the gate as the drivers climbed onto the wagons and began to drive them out. Merry raised his hand in a final gesture of farewell, then reluctantly turned as the wagons went further away. Faramir and I continued to watch silently until Merry had completely disappeared from sight.

After the last of the wagons had gone too far away to see them clearly, I shifted my weight awkwardly. “I suppose I should return to the Houses,” I said reluctantly. “I know that you have a great deal of work to do; I do not wish to keep you from it.”

Faramir glanced down and pushed his hair away from his face. “Actually, I was wondering if perhaps you could help me with something...”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I need to buy a horse. I lost mine during…on the way back…” his voice trailed off as a shadow crossed his face; he still did not want to talk about the retreat, apparently.

“And you were wondering if I wanted to help you look for one?” I finished hopefully.

His eyes cleared and he gave me a half-smile. “Yes. I thought that perhaps a lady of the Rohirrim might be a better judge than I.”

I smiled, a genuine one this time; it would be good to be around horses again. And the prospect of spending some time outside of the Houses of Healing again lightened my spirits considerably. “Then, my lord Steward, I will do my best to assist you in this task.” He politely offered me his arm and began to lead me through the crowded streets. “Where are the stables?” I asked as we walked.

“The third level,” he said. “The largest stables were on the first level, but since part of the stables collapsed in the fires, the remaining horses were moved to the higher levels until they can be rebuilt.”

“Do you know if any of my people’s horses are there as well?” I asked. Faramir’s brow furrowed slightly, and I glanced down. “I know that it is a ridiculous question, but I would like to find my horse if I can. I am almost certain that he was brought here after the battle, but...” my voice trailed off.

“If your horse is here, we will find him,” Faramir promised. I smiled, feeling a little better.

As we walked, I heard many of the people who remained in the city shout out greetings to Faramir, along with cries of gladness that his health was returning. He seemed rather embarrassed by all of the attention, but bore it with a smile. He also seemed to be very intent on his surroundings, as if he were mentally taking notes. As I glanced around me, I saw a great deal of damage; entire rows of buildings had been smashed or burned in the siege.  Faramir saw me look around, and explained, “This level is mostly shops, but many of the homes on the second level were destroyed. There is so much that needs to be done.” I could almost see the weight of responsibility falling on his shoulders again, and squeezed his arm lightly in reply.

We finally reached the stables on the third level—not soon enough for me, as I was becoming painfully aware of the strange glances I was receiving from the townspeople, particularly several of the women.  Faramir noticed my discomfort and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Why is everyone looking at me so strangely?” I asked.

“Perhaps they are merely struck speechless by your beauty, my lady,” Faramir said with a soft smile.

I was grateful for the shadows as we entered the warmth of the low stone building, since they hid my burning cheeks. “I wish you would not tease me so, Faramir,” I said softly, forcing myself to take a deep breath as I released his arm and pulled my other arm out of the sling, stuffing the offending piece of linen underneath a nearby bale of hay. The familiar smell of horses, hay and leather was soothing, and I quickly changed the subject. “What kind of horse are you looking for?”

 “I am not certain, to be honest,” he answered.

I was about to reply, when a sharp whinny caught my ear. I hurried towards the end of the row of stables, smiling in recognition when the stallion’s head poked over the door of the stall. An old man who was mucking out a nearby stall looked up, eyes wide in horror. “No, my lady! That horse has gone completely wild! He will not let anyone near him since they brought him in after the battle.”

Faramir looked over, alarmed. “Éowyn,” he said.

“Do not worry about me, Faramir,” I replied with a laugh, rubbing the stallion’s sleek grey nose affectionately. “He is my horse.” Windfola responded by butting his head into my chest, and I began speaking to him softly in my native tongue.

Faramir was clearly relieved as he walked over. “A fine animal,” he said admiringly.  “What is his name?”

“Windfola,” I said. “He was a gift from my uncle, long ago. I could not ask for a better horse.” Windfola kept nudging at me, and I finally laughed. “No, I do not have any food for you! You have done nothing but lounge around your stall and eat all day for too long as it is.”

“Would this help you win back his favor?” I looked back to see an apple, slightly wrinkled from being stored through the winter, in Faramir’s hand as he pulled it out of the saddlebag that he had slung over his uninjured shoulder.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. “Very well-prepared of you,” I said.

He grinned in response. “I thought I might have to bribe one of these fine steeds to allow me to ride him,” he answered, proceeding to pull out a knife and cut the apple into several pieces.

“And how will you win over the horse now if I take your bait?” I teased.

“I have more apples,” Faramir replied with a smile. He placed about half of the apple pieces in my hand; his fingers lightly brushed mine as he pulled away, and though I quickly glanced up at him, he did not seem to notice that anything had happened. Windfola whickered at the sight of the treat, and I turned away, grateful for the distraction. I let my hair fall in such a way that it blocked off my peripheral vision and hid my slightly reddened face as I began to feed the apple pieces to Windfola. He quickly devoured them, then began nosing around for more. I laughed. “He knows that we are holding out on him,” I said, glancing over at Faramir.

“That will have to be remedied then,” he replied, smiling as he moved to give me the rest of the apple pieces.

“Would you like to feed him some?” I asked as I took a few more.

“I could try,” Faramir said. I smiled as he tentatively stretched his palm forward.

“You seem nervous,” I teased.

“I am not certain that a horse of Rohan would tolerate a man of the South,” he said, only half-jesting.

“What, you have never ridden one?” I asked, surprised. He shook his head. “That will also have to be remedied then.” I then turned to Windfola and said softly in Rohirric, “Windfola, this is Faramir. He is my friend, so behave yourself.” An amused look flashed over Faramir’s face, and was gone so quickly that I thought I had imagined it. Windfola stretched his neck forward, nosed at the apple pieces, then began eating them. Faramir rubbed his nose, and Windfola snorted. “I believe that you have made a new friend,” I said with a grin, quickly feeding him the remainder of the apple. “I will come back, I promise,” I whispered to the horse before brushing my juice-covered hands off on the front of my dress and turning to Faramir again.

“Do you know if there are any more of my peoples’ horses here?” I asked.

“No, but I can find out,” he said, and went over to speak to the old stablehand. I stayed with Windfola while I waited for him, and a few minutes later he returned and reported, “After the battle, the Rohirrim rounded up as many of the riderless horses as they could find, and had them brought here. They took most of the remaining horses into the battle, but they did leave some behind—mostly the ones that were injured enough for them to not want to risk riding them into battle, but not so much that they would not recover. The men here are having trouble managing them—they say the horses have all gone wild—so most of them are in a paddock in the back. The only reason Windfola was stabled inside was because Lord Éomer insisted that particular care be taken with your horse.”

I felt a guilty pang as I thought of my brother, and glanced down for a moment, biting my lip. “Let us go then.”

As we walked out back, I explained to him, “In my country, there is a special bond between a horse and a Rider. They are not just beasts to us—they are part of the family. It is not uncommon for a horse whose master has fallen to go wild and not allow anyone to touch him. Eventually, most of them will accept a new Rider, but some never recover.”

“Then why are you taking me to find one from there?” he asked.

“If you can win over my horse, I think you can manage. You are the first person outside of my family that he has allowed to touch him. Except for Merry, of course,” I quickly added, frowning slightly. My sadness over missing the Halfling quickly dissipated as I saw the large paddock in the back of the stable, filled with horses of all colors. I hurried over, and Faramir joined me by the fence a moment later. I leaned my elbow on the fence and rested my chin in my hand as I quietly watched the horses. Finally I asked, “Do you see any that you like?”

“What do you think about that one over there?” he asked me, pointing towards the left side of the paddock. There were two horses standing there, a bay gelding and a chestnut stallion.

“The bay?” I asked.

“No, the chestnut,” he replied.

I looked at the horse a little more critically. He was a little on the small side for a stallion, but had a good build to him. As if he was aware that we were watching him, the stallion snorted and tossed his head wildly. A lopsided white streak ran down his nose, and I could see the thin line of a fresh scar on his front right shoulder, which I assumed was from the battle. “He looks very spirited,” I finally said, “though I am a little concerned about that shoulder. How well can you ride?” I asked, suddenly wondering if Faramir would be able to handle such an obviously spirited horse.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Faramir answered. “Although, you do have a point about that shoulder.” He signaled to one of the nearby groomsmen; after the man came over, he asked, “Forgive me if I was interrupting anything. That horse over there—I noticed he seems to have been injured recently. Is it serious?”

“No, my lord. The cut was not very deep at all, and he seems to have completely healed since then,” the man said, running a hand through his dark hair, which was heavily streaked with grey.

“I would like to have a look at him, if it is not too much trouble,” Faramir said politely.

“Are you certain, my lord? Injury or not, he is one of the wildest beasts those horse-lords brought in, in my opinion.” He glanced over at me as if noticing my presence for the first time, his face paling slightly as he saw my golden hair. I merely raised an eyebrow at him as he quickly added, “Begging your pardon, my lady, I meant no offense to your people.”

“None taken,” I replied, trying to keep my tone cool in spite of the laugh that threatened to bubble up.

“I am certain, sir,” Faramir said, giving me an amused look when the man turned to enter the paddock. “I think you frightened him half out of his wits,” he whispered, and this time I did laugh, quickly covering my mouth with my hand in an attempt to muffle it as I looked back towards the horses.

The man seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the horse, who kept shying away. “Stubborn beast…” I could hear him grumbling as he fought to put a halter over the stallion’s head to lead him out of the paddock.

“Excuse me…what is your name?” Faramir asked.

“Beleg, my lord,” the man said, glaring at the chestnut, who tossed his head contemptuously as he reared up.

“Beleg, may I try?” Faramir finished.

I looked up at him, suddenly nervous, as I did not want to see him get hurt. “Are you certain, Faramir? There are plenty of other horses here; we could find one that would be easier to handle.”

“Do not worry, Éowyn. If I am to ride him, he will have to get used to me at some point, right?” he pointed out, giving me an endearing smile as he went to the paddock gate.

Beleg handed him the halter and lead rope, looking a little relieved to be done with them, then came over to me and bowed his head. “Do not fret over him, my lady. Lord Faramir has always had a way with horses.” I shook my head, then watched as Faramir walked over towards the stallion.

The chestnut snorted and shied away from him. Faramir began speaking to it calmly, though the words were too low for me to hear. The horse once again snorted, pawing at the ground, but Faramir kept calmly speaking to him. It reminded me somewhat of the way I had seen horse trainers of my own people soothe a nervous horse. Eventually, the horse calmed down enough to allow Faramir to stroke his nose a bit. After a few moments of that, the horse allowed him to slide the halter over his head, though he kept tossing his head somewhat as Faramir led him to the gate, still speaking to him softly. Beleg went over and opened the gate for him as I stared at him in disbelief.

“He seems to be walking fine,” Faramir said.

“What did you do?” I asked. “I did not know that men of the South could tame a horse so easily.”

“I did not tame him,” Faramir said with a shrug. “Truthfully, it is a technique I learned from watching the men of your people, long ago. Some horses were brought here from Rohan as part of a trade agreement, and the men who delivered the horses calmed them in such a manner.” I nodded, still surprised as he asked, “Would you hold the rope for a moment?” I took the lead rope from him, speaking to the horse softly to keep him calm as Faramir ran his hand along the injured shoulder, then began checking him over for any other problems. The stallion snorted and stamped a hoof from time to time, as if to remind us that he had not lost his spirit completely, but it did not seem to bother Faramir. He finally straightened and turned to me. “Now that you have seen him closer, what do you think?”

“I think that he is a very fine horse. He has a fiery spirit; I like that,” I said, rubbing the stallion’s neck after Faramir took the lead rope back. And he certainly seems to know what he is doing, I silently added, feeling a great deal more respect for the Steward.

“I think I will take this one, Beleg,” Faramir called back.

“What, without riding him?” I asked, horrified.

“You said yourself that he was a fine horse,” Faramir argued.

“No man of my people in his right mind would think of purchasing a horse without riding him!” I protested. “How else would you know if the horse is right for you?”

“My lord,” Beleg timidly spoke up, “if you wish to ride him first, that can be arranged.” I flashed him a smile, grateful for his aid.

Faramir considered this a moment, then turned to me. “I do not wish to leave you here by yourself,” he said, a somewhat guilty look on his face.

“Then I will go with you,” I replied with a smile.

“But your arm…” he started to protest. I raised my hand to silence him.

“I will be fine, really. Please reconsider, Faramir,” I said, not even caring if I sounded like I was close to begging. My eagerness to get back on a horse and out of the city was too strong.

His face relaxed into a smile. “It would be nice to have some company,” he finally admitted. “But if Ioreth finds out, she will have my head, Steward or not.”

“Thank you!” I cried, impulsively hugging him, then quickly stepping back once I realized what I was doing, my face growing hot. “Forgive me—I should not have…”

Faramir ducked his head briefly, his face also reddening slightly, then said, “’Tis fine,” giving me a reassuring smile. “Come on—I do have to get some work done today, but if we leave soon we could get a decent ride in.”

-------

“I do not care if proper ladies of Gondor only ride side-saddle! I am not of Gondor, and undoubtedly, no one of your city would accuse me of being a proper lady,” I growled at the stablehand who had been asked to tack up Windfola for me. I had reluctantly been forced to admit that my broken arm still lacked the strength to allow me to perform the task myself.

“But, my lady,” the grey-haired man protested.

Faramir re-entered the stable; he had left the chestnut outside while he saddled him. “What is the matter?” he asked.

“I cannot ride with that…thing… on my horse’s back!” I exclaimed, gesturing contemptuously towards the side-saddle.

An amused twinkle lit up Faramir’s eyes as he said to the man, “Sir, if you would give the lady a different saddle, it would be greatly appreciated.”

He sighed reluctantly. “As you wish. Do you have any particular saddle in mind, my lady?”

“Was there tack on the horse when he was brought in?” I asked.

“Aye, there was.” The man left for a moment, then returned with my familiar-looking saddle. “Is this the one you wish to use?”

“It is, thank you,” I said, satisfied. As he went to exchange saddles, I turned to Faramir and asked, “Do any of the women of your people know how to ride?”

“Not with a regular saddle; if they ride at all, they ride side-saddle. The only exception that I have ever known is my cousin, Lothíriel. My uncle and cousins taught her to ride in a traditional saddle, and now she refuses to use anything else,” he admitted, smiling fondly. “You would like her, I think.”

“I like her already,” I declared. Faramir grinned at that as the man led Windfola out of the stall.

“Is this more to your liking, my lady?” he asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

“Much more so. Thank you, sir,” I said politely, trying to make up for my earlier belligerence. He handed me the reins, bowed and departed, and Faramir followed as I led Windfola out of the stables.

One of the stablehands fetched a sturdy wooden box, to allow me to mount without assistance in spite of my arm. As I mounted Windfola, I suddenly realized that my outfit was going to cause a bit of difficulty. I was used to riding in breeches or divided skirts, and while the skirt of the brown linen dress I wore was rather full, it still took me longer than I wished to arrange the fabric in order for me to sit comfortably and still cover most of my legs. As it was, I could still see the tops of my boots peeking out from under the coarse fabric, and tugged self-consciously at the hem of the skirt.

“Are you ready?” Faramir asked, walking the chestnut over to stand beside Windfola. I nodded, and he nudged the horse into a walk. I followed him through the streets once more to the large gap in the walls where the gate had once stood.

 “Where do you want to go?” I asked, looking over the fields around the city and feeling suddenly rather reluctant to travel those paths again so soon.

He looked around for a moment, then decided, “Perhaps that way, towards the river,” he said, pointing a little south-east. The field looked as if it had been mostly cleared there, and I nodded my assent.

Faramir kept the horse to a walk, and I was content to stay back with him at first. But, although I had never ridden with a half-healed broken arm before, it did not take me long to adjust, and so I quickly grew tired of the slow pace. Windfola also grew restless, prancing and pulling at the bit. “I know exactly how you feel,” I whispered to him, then looked back at Faramir, smiling mischievously. “I think that it is time to see what that horse is capable of,” I called back to him, spurring the stallion into a run.

I heard a choked sound behind me, as if Faramir could not decide whether to laugh or call out in protest. “Very well,” he called out, finally laughing. “I will see you at the river.” I glanced back to find that the chestnut was quickly catching up. I smiled to myself. Good, I thought, glad that he was not going to simply let me win.

“How far do you want to go?” I shouted, nudging Windfola to signal for him to begin running slightly faster.

“Perhaps that tree over there? That will give us enough time to slow the horses before they run into the Anduin,” he called ahead, gesturing with one hand.

 “That sounds good,” I shouted back, giving Windfola a little more rein as I bent low over his neck. I was unable to help laughing as I rode, enjoying the feel of the wind rushing past my face and feeling freer than I had in a long time. I finally took the chance of looking back, and saw Faramir’s horse inching up towards mine. “Aernan, Windfola!” I called out, and Windfola strained at the bit as he stretched his neck out, but the chestnut was still gaining.

“You look like you are enjoying this,” Faramir shouted, smiling as he pulled ahead momentarily.

I grinned back at him. “The women of your people do not realize what they are missing.” With that, I nudged Windfola slightly faster so that I was riding neck-and-neck with him. I became fully focused on the race after that, losing myself in the rhythm of my horse’s pounding hoofs, but I still could not pull ahead of Faramir’s horse, nor was he able to gain any more ground.

We passed the appointed place at the same time, and I turned Windfola away from the river as I gradually slowed him down, laughing breathlessly. Faramir did the same, and finally trotted the horse over towards me with a smile on his face. “You ride well, for a man of Gondor,” I teased.

“A high compliment, coming from a Rider of the Mark,” he retorted, rubbing the chestnut stallion’s glossy neck affectionately. “Though I think the credit belongs to him.” The horse snorted and tossed his head proudly, as if in agreement.

“Do not tell him that; you will make him so proud that he will never listen to you again,” I said with a laugh, smiling at Faramir as I turned Windfola around. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the White City, towering over the field and shining in the sun. Though I could still see signs of the damage caused by the battle from where we stood, it was still a magnificent sight.

“Should we give them a chance to cool down?” Faramir asked, snapping me from my reverie.

“That sounds good,” I replied. Faramir quickly descended from his horse, and I carefully started to swing my leg back over the saddle, trying to figure out a way to dismount that would not put too much strain on my arm, but my skirt got tangled over the pommel. “What I would not give for a real riding skirt right now…” I muttered under my breath as I attempted to disentangle myself, then added so Faramir could hear, “On second thought, I think I that would prefer to keep riding.”

Faramir appeared at my side, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. “May I be of assistance, my lady?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“What about your shoulder?” I asked, still feeling embarrassed over the situation, and not wishing to cause him to re-injure himself.

“It is fine,” he assured me as I finally managed to disentangle my skirt. “It has not pained me in several days.” I finally nodded my assent, resting my hand on his shoulder as lightly as I could, as he lifted me free from the saddle by my waist. As he did so, Windfola moved slightly, sending me practically falling into his arms with a cry of alarm as my arm slid around his neck, my other arm slamming against his chest. The sudden movement made him lose his balance a bit, and he stumbled backwards as he tried to regain his footing, his arms tightening around my waist. Then my feet were touching the ground lightly, my skirt swirling around my legs as it settled back into place. I couldn’t keep myself from laughing, as much from relief as from exhilaration, as I looked up at him.

I could not help noticing that his eyes looked more blue than usual. Undoubtedly the color of his shirt, a deep blue much like the star-embroidered mantle he had lent me, brought it out. I marveled again at how they sometimes seemed to shift colors even as I looked at him; it reminded me of his description of the sea. And I was afraid of drowning in those blue-grey depths.

I suddenly realized just how close I was standing to him. My broken arm was still resting lightly against his chest, my other hand on his shoulder, and his face was only a breath away from mine. Faramir’s smile faded a little, his gaze growing more intense, and I became all-too aware that his arms were still encircling my waist. “Éowyn,” he murmured.

I could not look away. Nor, to my surprise, did I want to. What is wrong with me? I desperately thought. “I…I should see to my horse,” I stammered, dropping my hands and pulling away a little.

Instantly he released me and stepped back, looking startled. “Of course,” he said. His face flushed slightly.

I mumbled a quick thank-you for his help, but it still took all my willpower to turn away and walk over to Windfola. After removing the bridle so he could graze, I began fumbling with the leather straps that would loosen the saddle’s girth, determined to do it myself in spite of my arm. As I worked, I muttered, “You better not have done that on purpose,” to the grey stallion. Windfola just shook his mane out, blinking as if he were trying to give me an innocent look, then began grazing. I shook my head slightly and forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to sort through my muddled thoughts. There had been something too familiar about whatever it was that had just happened…

Then I remembered. The field, the city, even the color of the horse—I had seen it all before, in one of those dreams about Aragorn that never quite seemed to fit. It is merely a coincidence, I firmly told myself. So what if it was Faramir instead of Aragorn? It meant nothing. At least I did not think it did. But even if it was coincidence, it was a strange one…

Stop it! I told myself sternly. I would not make the mistake of seeing something that was not there again; somehow, I knew that it would be much more painful to lose Faramir’s friendship than it had to watch Aragorn walk away. Faramir is just a friend. Nothing more. I picketed Windfola, then turned back to Faramir and asked, “Is the horse to your liking?” Horses were a safe, neutral topic.

“Very much so. That was the most enjoyable ride I have had in quite some time,” he said, smiling as he finished picketing his horse. He looks much more handsome when he smiles, I mused in spite of my sudden annoyance that he had managed to compose himself so quickly while I still felt so flustered by…whatever had just happened. Then I started silently lecturing myself again for even entertaining thoughts about his smile. Even as I did, the smile faded as he added, “Of course, it is the first ride that I have been able to take for pleasure in quite some time.”

“It is for me as well,” I confessed. “It has been a long time since it was safe to ride alone in Rohan, and after Grí…after my uncle fell ill, he could not spare me very often.” I still could not bring myself to tell him about Wormtongue, although the thought briefly crossed my mind that perhaps Faramir would be able to understand, after what he had been through with his father. I decided to change the subject and asked, “Why do the women of your people not wish to ride?”

The amused look returned to his face as we walked towards the water. He sat down on the riverbank, and I sat down next to him as he said, “Perhaps some of them do, but I do know that among the nobility, at least, it is not considered proper for a woman to ride as a man would.” I choked back a laugh, which Faramir must have thought was indignation, because his face sobered as he added, “I meant no offense—I know that is not the way of your people.”

“I am not offended,” I said, smiling. “So I suppose the ‘proper’ women of your people sit around and do embroidery all day.”

Faramir laughed. “I fear that I am not the greatest authority on such matters. It has been awhile since I have spent any significant amount of time in female company—yours excepted, of course.” My face reddened a bit; growing up surrounded by warriors who were as brothers to me and often treated me as one of their own made it difficult for me to understand how anyone could see me as a woman. “I take it that embroidery is not one of your favorite ways to pass the time,” he added.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste, making him laugh again. “I can sew when I need to. And it has proved to be a useful skill, although I’ve probably had to sew up as many wounds as holes in my clothing. Éomer and Théodred insisted I was better at it then the men were, though I think that they were just trying to tease me. But embroidery just seems like such a waste of time.” I rolled my eyes and added, “I am certain that your people would consider me a barbarian for saying that, but…”

Faramir laughed. “Perhaps so, but whenever Boromir and I had to spend time among the noblewomen, I always found them rather dull.” He looked as if he were going to continue, but paused, then asked, “Is it common for the women of your people to be trained in combat?”

“It is a tradition among the women of the royal family, though we are not expected to actually fight,” I answered. “And it is not uncommon for women to be taught basic use of a sword. It is almost a necessity in some places, where the orcs frequently raid; if the men are out fighting or in the fields and a village is attacked, the women are the only ones left to defend it.” I looked down, smoothing out the wrinkles in my skirt with my hand as I continued, “We lived in a town about a two day’s ride east of Edoras when I was a child. Besides being used as a base for my father’s éored, Aldburg was one of the main places where horses were raised in the Eastfold. Just before my seventh year, our town was attacked. It was during foaling season, and most of the men were out in the fields with the mares. Mother grabbed a sword and sent Éomer and I down to the cellar and told us not to come out until she or my father came back for us. I could not see what was happening outside, but we could hear it…I know that she was fighting alongside my father.

Sometime during the battle, she was wounded…it was no more than a scratch, and when the attackers were finally routed, there were others who were wounded much more badly, so she did not have it taken care of right away; she was too busy helping the others. It was not until she fell ill later that night that we knew that the blade was poisoned.” I closed my eyes for a moment, then finished, “We thought that she was going to get better; she seemed to be growing stronger every day after her fever broke. But then my father was killed about a month later…the grief was too much for her in her weakened state. My uncle brought us to Edoras to live, hoping that the healers there could do something for her, but she just got worse…she died too, a few months later.” It was all I could do to choke back a sob, and I let my head drop a little further. “I do not know why I am telling you all this,” I said softly, feeling foolish.

Faramir stared out over the river, as if lost in thought. “I was five years old when my mother died,” he finally said. “She was ill for almost as long as I can remember…the rumors around the Citadel said that she was pining for the sea, that she wasted away shut up within the city walls. I can hardly even remember what she looked like, only that she was beautiful. Boromir always said her eyes looked like mine…” He idly picked up a twig and tossed it into the water, watching as the current carried it away. “After she died, Father withdrew completely. He had her rooms shut up and all her things taken away; he refused to even speak of her. Boromir was the one who gave me her cloak; he hid some of her things so we would have something to remember her by. She often read to me in the evenings…she would wrap that mantle around both of us to help her keep warm.” A sad smile touched his lips at the memory. I bit my lip, remembering that I still had not yet returned the blue cloak like I had promised, and vowed that I would give it back to him before the end of the day.

We sat by the river for some time after that, each of us lost in our own grief for those we had lost. The sound of the water was soothing, as was watching the sunlight dance across the rippling surface. Though neither of us spoke, the silence was comfortable; he understood, I knew, and somehow that made the pain easier to bear.

“I should probably return to the city soon,” Faramir finally said, looking over at me reluctantly.

I nodded. “By this time, the healers might think that I decided to run away after all,” I said, standing up and brushing my dress off. Faramir got to his feet, then walked over towards the horses. As he began tightening the girth on the saddle, I added, “Are you going to give him a name?”

“What?” He turned towards me, pushing his raven hair away from his eyes.

“The horse. If you are going to keep him, he needs a name.”

“How do the Rohirrim name their horses?” he asked.

I rubbed Windfola’s neck fondly. “Sometimes we name them at birth. Other times, we wait to see what kind of horse he or she is. My uncle named Windfola; we knew early on he would run fast—like the wind, he said.” I smiled faintly.

The stallion snorted as he finished tightening the girth. “What about this one?” Faramir asked, walking over towards me as I struggled to tighten the girth on the saddle. “Do you need some help with that?”

“Yes,” I reluctantly admitted, stepping back and allowing him to tighten it. “As for your horse…” I observed the chestnut, watching him toss his head proudly and prance around while Faramir finished checking Windfola’s tack. Faramir would never be able to tame the horse completely, I realized; there was too much fire in him. “Wildfire,” I finally said. “That is what I would call him.”

Faramir looked over at the horse, then turned to me with a smile. “It suits him very well.” I smiled back, feeling almost shy at the compliment as he handed me the reins and took Windfola off the picket line. Faramir went to get his horse, and I managed to pull myself into the saddle while his back was turned and took the opportunity to arrange my skirts while he was otherwise occupied. “Cuman, Wildfire,” he said to the chestnut, patting his flank once he was mounted. Then he looked over at me, noticing my incredulous stare. “What is it?” he asked.

“You spoke Rohirric,” I said in disbelief, quickly trying to remember if I had said anything potentially embarrassing in my native tongue around him.

Faramir shrugged nonchalantly. “Both my brother and I learned to speak it long ago, in case of any dealings with our Northern allies.”

I just shook my head in wonder as we began our ride back to the city.

A/N: Aernan, Windfola = Run, Windfola

Cuman = Come

Our return journey was much slower; we alternated between keeping the horses at a fast walk and a slow trot, and spent most of the time talking about various misadventures with our brothers.

“…so Éomer, Éothain and Elfric decided to take the cask of ale into the stables, and set me as the guard when my brother realized that I would not leave,” I said as we drew closer to the city. “They had just opened the cask when I saw that my uncle was walking near the stables, along with several of the lords of the Westfold who were taking counsel with him. When I ran back and told Éomer, they were unable to figure out how to close the cask again, and so he panicked. They poured the entire cask into an empty water trough just outside of the back of the stables, and no one noticed that anything was amiss until later, when one of the lords went to get his horse and found that every single horse in the stableyard was intoxicated.” Faramir unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh, and I grinned. “Éomer was mortified, of course. He was so relieved to learn that the horses would not suffer any permanent ill effects, but it was quite some time before he tried the ale again. And he, his friends and I had to muck out the stalls by ourselves for an entire week—I had to share in the punishment since I was the guard.” I shook my head in mock annoyance, though I smiled at the memory.

Faramir laughed heartily. “It seems that he caused you a great deal of trouble as a child.”

I gave him an innocent smile. “If I were to be honest, I would have to say that I got him into trouble just as often.” My smile faded as I added, “I hope that he will forgive me for not coming. He seemed so upset with me when he left.”

“Then why did you decide to stay?” Faramir asked gently.

I shook my head. “I would rather not talk about it.” Especially since I still have no answer to give, I added silently.

“Very well,” he replied. We fell silent as we rode through the gates of the city and up to the third level. With the aid of the mounting block, I was able to dismount by myself this time while Faramir spoke with Beleg again, saying he would be back later to make all the arrangements for purchasing Wildfire. “May I walk you back to the Houses?” he asked, turning to me once more.

“Of course.” He politely offered his arm, and we began the walk back up to the sixth level.  I quickly grew weary of the silence, and asked him, “What will you be doing now?”

“I hardly know where to begin,” he said. “Rebuilding is a priority, of course, especially for the people who lost their homes in the siege. We have set up some temporary shelters, but I am hoping to get something a little more organized set up soon in order for meals to be distributed to those who need them. I also need to have some tallies of the damage before Lord Aragorn comes to the city. And then I must research all of the traditions for the actual coronation…” he sighed. “Needless to say, I do not think that I will be lacking for ways to keep myself occupied anytime soon. I cannot help but wonder if I am fit for this task.”

“But you have been a captain of Gondor for some time now, have you not?” I replied. He nodded silently. “Then you are accustomed to leading men. And I do not doubt that you would only do what you deem best for your people. I think you underestimate yourself, Faramir. You are not a fool, and I know that you can do this.”

He looked surprised, but grateful for my confidence in him. “Thank you,” he finally said.

The Houses of Healing came into view, and I slowed my steps a bit, suddenly reluctant for this time to end. “I enjoyed the ride a great deal, Faramir. Thank you for letting me go with you.”

“I should thank you for convincing me, my lady,” he replied with a smile. “I would not have enjoyed it nearly as much without your company.” He paused thoughtfully, then added, “It was good to see you smile, Éowyn.”

My face colored slightly, and I could not think of a response. I was saved from answering, however, when we reached the door to the Houses. Faramir opened the door and allowed me to enter first, and I quickly found myself face-to-face with Mithríel.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. She looked me up and down, smiling knowingly as she glanced at my dress; despite my best efforts, I had not been able to fully smooth out the wrinkles nor remove all the horsehair. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

Faramir and I looked at each other, a little embarrassed. “How did you know?” I finally answered, suddenly fully aware that I must smell like a stable.

She grinned in response. “Bergil saw you two ride out from the walls. Fortunately for you both, he had the good sense to tell me when neither Ioreth nor Daeron were in earshot. Perhaps you might also enjoy a hot bath, my lady. I can make sure that dress is cleaned, and neither of them will be the wiser. Especially Ioreth,” she said, winking at Faramir.

“Oh, thank you, Mithríel!” I exclaimed, feeling relieved. She curtsied quickly and left, with a conspiratorial smile on her face.

Once Mithríel had left the room, Faramir turned towards me again with a grin on his face. “I am glad that she is willing to keep her silence. Ioreth is much more formidable a foe than she appears, and if she knew that I allowed you on a horse with a broken arm…” his voice trailed off as I laughed, then his smile faded a bit as his gaze grew more intense. “Éowyn…”

“I nearly forgot! Wait here, I will return shortly,” I interrupted. I barely caught his confused look before hurrying up the stairs to my room. Mithríel had already had a wooden tub brought in, and was setting up a screen for privacy.

“Lady Éowyn? Are you ready so soon?” she asked, looking a little surprised.

“Not yet, Mithríel,” I said, opening the wardrobe to find that my things had already been put away again. As I pulled out the blue mantle, I let my fingers brush over the star-embroidered velvet for a moment, suddenly reluctant to give it up. No, I firmly told myself. You have no right to keep this. With my mind firmly made up, I went back down the stairs.

When Faramir saw what I was holding, he looked surprised. I thought I also saw a trace of hurt in his eyes, but he smoothed his expression so quickly that I could not be certain if I had only imagined it. “Forgive me, Faramir…I meant to return this before,” I said, “but I forgot. I apologize if I took advantage of your kindness in letting me borrow it.”

“You did not,” he quickly reassured me. “If you still have need of it…”

I shook my head, laying it in his arms. “I cannot keep something that means so much to you, but I am grateful that you let me use it.” He looked down at the cloak silently. “I am sorry for interrupting before. What were you going to say?” I asked.

He looked up again, an unreadable expression on his face. “Nothing important.” He paused, then added, “I should go.”

“I know you have work to do, Faramir,” I said, trying to look nonchalant in spite of the sudden knot in my stomach. “Forget about me; I will be fine.”

“I could never do that,” he said without looking at me, so softly that I could barely hear him. But when he looked up again, his eyes were clear, though his expression was a little sad. “Farewell, Éowyn.” With that, he bowed and turned away.

“Farewell,” I echoed, confused. I knew that I had hurt him somehow, but could not figure out what I had done. My heart sank as I watched him walk away from the Houses. Part of me wanted to run after him to keep him from leaving, though I could think of no reason to ask him to stay. But still, I could not bear to watch him go, so I turned away and retreated up the stairs. And so I never saw him stop to look back, nor the dejected slump of his shoulders when he realized that I was gone.

-------

Had I known how lonely the life of a patient in the Houses of Healing could be, I might have chosen differently. There were still enough men recovering from their battle wounds that remained under the healers’ care to keep them busy, and so I was alone most of the time. It pained me to stay in the gardens, as my solitude there stood in sharp contrast to the companionship with Faramir and Merry that I had grown accustomed to; it was still better than being confined to my room, however. So I walked alone in the gardens, watching as the warmer spring days brought it back to life and wondering why I still felt so dead inside.

For the first few days, I held on to a tiny hope that perhaps Faramir might come back to visit. But I neither saw nor had any word from him, and though at first I could convince myself that his duties as Steward kept him too busy to come, as the days wore on I began to wonder if I truly had offended him, and therefore he no longer desired my company. The thought truly grieved me, but as I still did not understand what I had done and I had no opportunity to talk to him, I could think of no way to repair our friendship. And, despite the short time I had known him, the loss hit me harder than I would have expected it to.

In my solitude, my grief over losing Théoden and Théodred became increasingly difficult to bear, and as much as I dreaded meeting with Éomer, I missed him more as each day passed. My troubled thoughts kept me up late into the night, and when I did finally manage to rest, my nightmares were even worse than they had been before. The sleepless days and nights steadily wore on me, until a pounding headache became my near-constant companion. My appetite left me as well, and though I could feel my strength waning, I could do no more than pick at the food that was brought to me, nor could I rid myself of the dark mood that had settled so deeply upon me.

Five days passed in this manner, and late in the afternoon of the sixth, I was walking in the garden once more when Ioreth called to me from the doorway of the Houses. “My lady? You have a visitor.”

The first thought that leaped into my mind was that perhaps Faramir had returned, and I could not help feeling disappointed when I caught a glimpse of the man’s fair hair; my disappointment quickly turned into surprise, however, when I realized who the broad-shouldered, green-eyed man was. “Éothain?” I asked, dumbfounded.

He bowed, his wheat-colored hair falling into his eyes slightly, before straightening. “My lady,” he said formally before flashing me the lopsided grin that was more typical of him.

I furrowed my brow slightly, still surprised. Though I had known Éothain for years—he had been one of my brother’s closest friends since we moved to Edoras—he was one of the last people I would have expected to see in Minas Tirith. “What are you doing here?”

Éothain’s smile faded slightly as he studied my face. “Can a man not visit an old friend without raising questions?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone light.

“Do not toy with me, Éothain. Éomer sent you, did he not?” 

“He did,” Éothain finally answered, now completely serious. “He would have come himself, but his duty forbade him.”

I should have known that Éomer would not accept my answer, I realized. To Éothain, I said, “Come, let us sit down and speak of this further,” motioning over towards the trees where I had sat and talked with Faramir and Merry so often. Once we were both seated, I asked politely, “When did you arrive?”

“Perhaps an hour ago,” Éothain answered. “It took some time to learn where you were staying, but I was finally able to locate Elfhelm; he and his men have returned from Anórien and are now camped within the first circle of the city. He was surprised to learn that you were still in Minas Tirith, but informed me that you were probably here.”

I paused before answering. “I see. I was not aware that he was in the city.”

Éothain replied, “He only arrived a few days ago, my lady.”

I could think of no reply, and so I looked at my hands, resting in my lap, until Éothain asked, “How is your arm?”

“My arm is not yet fully recovered, but it is healing well enough,” I answered. “It no longer pains me.”

“That is good news,” he answered, but his eyes looked troubled.

“Éothain?” I asked.

“If your arm is nearly healed, then why did you remain in this city?” he bluntly replied. “Éomer is quite worried about you, Éowyn. Why will you not go to him?”

I looked down again, vaguely noting that my hands were trembling. I had begun to doubt the wisdom of my decision to remain in Minas Tirith, and yet, though I longed to make amends with my brother, something within me yet resisted the thought of leaving this place. Closing my eyes, I tried to fight past my indecision, but my thoughts were too muddled.

“I can see that you are not well,” Éothain finally said.

 “I would only be a burden to him now.” My voice sounded distant even to my own ears

“He will not see it that way,” Éothain answered.

“I know, and yet I cannot go to him now. I have no wish for him to see me like this. Do you not understand?” I pleaded, looking up at him.

“What shall I tell your brother then, lady?” he asked.

I sat silently, looking out over the fields as I waited for an answer to come. Finally, I heard a voice behind me answer, “Tell him that the healers have not yet released her from their charge, my lord.” I turned to see Mithríel standing behind us in the garden.

Éothain silently looked from her to me, trying to assess the situation, then finally stood and bowed. “Very well. I will take my leave then. If you change your mind, I will not be riding until mid-day. Goodnight, my lady.” Then he turned and went back into the Houses.

I finally looked up, my grey eyes meeting Mithríel’s green ones. “Thank you, Mithríel,” I said softly.

“I only spoke the truth, my lady,” she answered.

“Please, do not call me that anymore,” I groaned, completely fed up with the formality of the healers. “I have been here long enough that just my name should suffice.”

“Pardon me, my la…Éowyn. I was just coming to tell you that supper is ready.”

I nodded, though just the thought of food was enough to make me feel like a stone had settled in my stomach. As I stood up, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over me, and I quickly closed my eyes and leaned my hand against the tree trunk while I waited for the earth to stop lurching beneath my feet. “Éowyn?” Mithríel asked, concern heavy in her voice.

“I am fine. I simply stood up too quickly.” I opened my eyes and straightened up.

She eyed me critically, then walked over and took my arm. “Please, let me help you.”

“I told you, I am fine!” I said, irritated.

“No, you are not,” she firmly replied, her green eyes glinting. I felt too weary to protest as she led me to my room, then motioned for me to sit down on the bed. As I sat down, leaning against the carved wooden headboard and resting the back of my head against the wall, she sat down on the chair and looked at me steadily. “I know that you have barely eaten for several days now, Éowyn. And when was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Before Wormtongue came to Edoras, I could not help thinking. Mithríel eyed me impatiently, and I finally answered aloud, “I cannot remember.”

Mithríel sat there for a long moment, looking deeply concerned. She finally asked, “Will you try to eat at least part of your supper?” I nodded mutely; surely I could manage a bite or two. “And if I gave you something to help you sleep, would you take it?”

“You mean you wish to drug me?” I asked indignantly.

“Not exactly; we have an herb that, when brewed into tea, helps one to relax. Perhaps sleep might come a little easier if you tried that.”

I thought about it for a moment, then reluctantly agreed, “I suppose it would not hurt to try.”

“I will go prepare the tea then, and have your supper sent up here,” she replied, and left.

True to my word, I did manage to eat about half of the small bowl of soup that was sent up to me. When Mithríel returned, she helped me change into my nightshift; in spite of my protests that it was still rather early for sleeping, she firmly told me that I needed the extra rest in order to help the headaches to subside. “Now make sure that you drink all of it, Éowyn,” she said sternly.

I sniffed at it cautiously, then took a tiny sip; it had a surprisingly pleasant taste that reminded me of apples. “This is not bad at all,” I said, looking up in surprise.

Mithríel just smiled. “I hope it helps,” she said before leaving me alone. I slowly finished the tea, then lay down and stared at the wall until I lost the battle with my weariness.

When I awoke late the next morning, I still felt exhausted, but my headache had greatly subsided. Sunlight was streaming into the room and I turned my back to it and shut my eyes again, hoping to clear my thoughts.

Though the tea had helped greatly—I had not awoken during the night for the first time since I had come to Gondor—my dreams still left me feeling unsettled. I had been standing on the stone platform surrounding Meduseld once more, though I could not see past the edge for the darkness that surrounded me. I had heard someone behind me, calling my name, but though I stood dangerously close to the edge of the platform, I could not turn towards him. He kept calling me, and the warmth in his voice made me want to go to him, but I was frozen in place. It was not until waking that I realized whose voice I had heard.

Faramir.I sighed. I had not realized just how much I missed his company, until then. Of course you miss him, I told myself. He was your friend, just like Merry.

No…there was more to it than that, and I knew it. As fond as I was of the hobbit, and as much as I missed his cheerful company, it was different, somehow. Nor was it like the sharp pain I had felt when Aragorn took his leave in Dunharrow; more like a dull, numbing ache that refused to leave. Almost like…

My eyes flew open. I could not love him…could I?

“No!” I muttered to myself. “This is not happening again. I will not be fooled again.”

You care for him…you cannot deny it.

“Of course I do, as a friend. Nothing more.” I silently cursed myself for thinking too much, and wished that there was some way I could just escape from the mess I had gotten myself into. Are you truly that fickle? What about Aragorn?

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew in my heart that this was different. Aragorn had been right—I had never really known him; he had been nothing more than an escape from my life as the king’s nursemaid. I could not have truly loved him. But Faramir… I had spent so much time with him since coming to the city, and I had thought he understood me, at least a little. Now that he was gone, I could clearly see how much he had helped me through the time before the war ended, though I had not at the time. And I thought that maybe I had helped him too. His words had led me to believe so. I should have known, I sighed. Words do not necessarily mean anything.

And even if I did care for him, it does not matter, I added silently. He does not love me. I felt suddenly frustrated at feeling like I needed to justify myself to my own mind. “He could not!” I exclaimed out loud. He only pities me. That is why he was so kind to me; he was simply trying to be a good friend.  This answer satisfied me for the moment, but left me feeling even sadder. I did not want his pity, that much I would freely admit. But in that moment, I realized that if I were perfectly honest with myself, I did not want only his friendship either.

But then, it seems I have lost that as well. Not even so much as a message had come from Faramir since the day he left. Perhaps I truly had been nothing more to him than a diversion while he was under the healers’ care, and now that he was free he had no more use for my company. Part of me could not, or would not accept that, but I had no other explanation to give.

My thoughts were thankfully interrupted when the door opened. I glanced towards the door just in time to see Mithríel stepping inside the room. “Oh! I apologize if I woke you, my… I mean, Éowyn.”

“I was already awake. And the tea did help; thank you,” I replied, forcing myself into a sitting position and pushing my hair behind my ears.

She nodded, then began rummaging through the wardrobe. After a moment, she pulled out my white dress. “Perhaps you would like to wear this one today?”

I nodded silently, forcing myself to my feet so she could help me into the dress. The dress felt strangely loose, as if my frame would no longer fill it out even though it had fit perfectly before. As Mithríel tightened the laces in the back, I asked, “Mithríel, have you heard any word from your husband?”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding surprised. “He is well.”

“That is good to hear.” I paused, then added, “Did he say how long they would be staying at Cair Andros?”

“At least a month, he said. They wish to give the wounded enough time to recover before making them travel,” she said. “Why do you wish to know?”

“I was just wondering.” I fell silent after that, deep in thought. Could I really stay here alone for another month? I did not think I could, especially with my argument with Éomer still weighing on my mind. Besides, it seemed that there was no reason for me to stay in Minas Tirith any longer.

Once I had forced down a bit of food, I went to the gardens and stood alone on the walls once more. Though the sun shone brightly, I could still feel a damp chill in the air. The city sprawled out below me, and I could see the small figures of people going about their morning activities, and hear various sounds of people beginning the day’s tasks. I pulled the rough green fabric of my cloak a little closer and drew my hands underneath, hoping to warm them a bit; my fingers felt stiff and cold. Faramir would be somewhere down there as well, I thought sadly, among the growing crowds. If the noise I had heard drifting up from the lower levels of the city over the past week had been any indication, he had certainly found enough to keep himself occupied.

As for myself, I felt trapped. I wondered if perhaps it was not too late to go to Cair Andros after all. Éothain would not have lied to me; my brother would be happy to see me. At least then I would be among my own people again, away from these walls of stone. But Aragorn was there as well. Though I was now certain that I did not love him, I could not bear to face him again, knowing what a fool I had been.

But you are being a fool again by staying here, are you not? I thought. There was nothing for me here. I was caged again, but this time I had built the prison myself. I rested my hand on the cool white stone of the parapet, looking down at the city. The drop was dizzying. I closed my eyes, my hand clenching into a fist. I cannot stay here any longer. Not like this. As I stood there, a new resolve formed in my mind. I would go to Cormallen. And if my people would no longer accept me, then so be it. At least by leaving I would be doing something.

Éothain would not have left yet; I could send word to him easily enough, asking him to wait until I had gathered my things. I was about to turn and go back to the Houses when I remembered that I should tell Faramir that I was leaving Minas Tirth; though I had not seen him for nearly a week, I had no wish to leave without saying farewell to him. I began planning what I would say; I had decided to heed my brother’s wishes and go to Cormallen. I could make all the necessary preparations for the journey myself, but…

“Éowyn?” a familiar voice asked behind me.

 As I whirled around, startled, the entire speech I had been so carefully composing flew out of my head. For a moment, I just stared, feeling strangely unnerved and warmed at the same time by the concern on his face. Finally, I managed to choke out, “Good morning, Faramir.”

Author's Note: Oops... this chapter's actually been done for several months-- I thought I had put it up here, but obviously not. Sorry to leave it hanging so long.

It took me a moment to recover from the shock of seeing Faramir there. But as he climbed the stairs to join me on top of the wall, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked, “What are you doing here? Does your shoulder still pain you?”

“No, it is almost completely healed,” he said. “I came to see you.”

“To see me?” I echoed weakly. I felt a tiny flicker of hope, but quickly extinguished it. I would not be foolish enough to see something that was not there, not a second time.

“Yes,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair almost nervously. “The Warden came to me yesterday evening; he said that you were ill. I came last night, but Ioreth said that you were asleep and not to be disturbed, so…”

“Oh.” My face reddened in embarrassment, as I was suddenly all too aware of how terrible I must look. “It was only a headache, but I am better this morning.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Faramir replied, looking relieved.

“Is your work going well?” I asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“Well enough, though there is still much that needs to be done.” For the first time, I noticed how tired he looked, and wondered how many times during the week he had worked late into the night. I looked down at my feet awkwardly, feeling guilty for believing he had been purposely avoiding me. After another awkward moment, in which I began to keenly miss the easy camaraderie that we had shared before, Faramir said, “May I ask you something?”

“You may,” I replied, glancing up at him again tentatively as I searched his face for any hint of what the question might be.

 “Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?”

How had he known that this was the very question that had been tormenting me for nearly a week? I opened my mouth to tell him of my decision, but somehow the words would not come. The gentle concern in his voice had unnerved me more than an entire company of orcs would have, and yet, I could not help but wonder if he wished me to leave the city after all. Finally, I looked away from him, unable to bear holding his gaze. You truly are a fool, Éowyn, I could not help telling myself as I softly answered, “Do you not know?”

“Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know,” he replied.

I turned towards him, my eyes narrowing slightly in frustration. “I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!”

Faramir began to pace along the wall a bit, running his hand through his hair again. “Then, if you will have it so, lady, you do not go because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil’s heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy.” I bit my lip, wondering how had he known about my infatuation with Aragorn; I was certain that I had never spoken with him about it. But before I could ask, he continued, “Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them.”

I stared at him, speechless; how could he have figured out my conflicting thoughts so quickly, when it had taken me days to sort them out? He stopped pacing abruptly and turned towards me, his grey-blue eyes intense as they met mine and he asked, “Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?”

The frank question threw me off-guard, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I wished to be loved by another. But I desire no man’s pity.”

“That I know.” His voice was a little sad, but devoid of any bitterness. “You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn, because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the low things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier, he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle.” I clenched my jaw as I turned away from him. I did not need him to remind me of my own stupidity.

“Look at me, Éowyn,” Faramir said softly. I pulled my gaze away from my hand, which gripped the parapet so tightly that my knuckles were turning white, then finally turned my head and looked over at him. The intensity of his gaze was nearly overpowering, but once my eyes met his, I could not turn away. A hint of a sad smile touched his lips as he said, “Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn.” I lowered my eyes again briefly, looking back up at him as he continued, “But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant, and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten. And you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell.”

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Why was he saying these things? Whatever he thought of my deeds in battle, they had failed to bring me the peace that I had sought for so long. And even Wormtongue had admired my looks. That meant nothing. My head dropped, and I was about to turn away again when he added, almost desperately, “And I love you.”

He…loves me? My head jerked up and my breath caught in my throat as he began pacing once more, obviously nervous as he confessed, “Once, I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without any fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you.” He looked me straight in the eyes and asked once more, “Éowyn, do you not love me?”

How could you love him? The mocking voice that had been tormenting my thoughts for so long asked. A shieldmaiden with a heart of ice is all you will ever be. No one would truly be able to care for someone like you.

Or would he? I looked steadily into his eyes; it was the same look that I had seen so many times before when he looked at me, a mix of warmth and gentleness and something else that I had never been able to put a name to. Until now.

He loves me. He had never given me a reason not to believe him before; there was no reason to doubt the truth of his words now. As they slowly sank in, I realized how blinded I had been by the treacherous words that Gríma had so often spoken to me. With that, I felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from my heart, and I was finally able to recognize the tiny hope that had lain dormant for so long: that someone would be able to fully accept, even love me, for who I was.

But do I love him? I wondered. I certainly liked him; I could easily think of him as one of the closest friends I had ever had, in spite of how short a time I had known him. Then I thought about how much I had missed him recently. I missed the ease with which I had been able to talk to him, the quiet strength that he had so often displayed, the way his eyes sparkled when he was amused by something, that almost-shy smile that I sometimes caught when he looked at me, the gentle concern he had shown towards me so often. I remembered the frequent arguments that I had so often had with myself in the past several days, and my realization that even the possibility of having a chance to perform more great deeds in battle no longer had the all-surpassing appeal it once had. Could I—would I want to—continue my life the way it had been before, without him in it?

With that thought, I had my answer. “I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun, and behold! The Shadow has departed,” I said softly, half to myself. Faramir’s eyes lit up hopefully as I added, “I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.” I looked up at him and smiled. “No longer do I desire to be a queen.”

Faramir laughed as he took my hand, a mixture of joy and relief in his voice. “That is well, for I am not a king.” My smile brightened as he continued, “Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes.”

“Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?” I teased. “And would you have your proud people say of you, ‘There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Númenor to choose?’”

He stepped a little closer to me, and I could feel my pulse quicken as he gently reached up and brushed a stray tendril of hair away from my face. His calloused fingers lingered on my cheek as his gaze, filled with a thinly veiled longing, met mine. “I would,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in a little more, his eyes still locked with mine as his other hand rested lightly on my upper arm and I had only enough time to close my eyes before his lips lightly brushed mine.

Before I had quite comprehended what was happening, it was over. I felt him pull away slightly, and I realized I was holding my breath. I released it as my eyes opened. When I looked up at him, I could not help smiling; he smiled back before quickly closing the distance between us once more. Though I still felt tentative at first, I was quickly able to relax and enjoy the warmth of his lips against mine. The kiss, though still gentle, took on a little more intensity as he drew me closer, his fingers gently playing with my hair as his hand moved to rest against my back.

We pulled apart abruptly as we heard a few cheers from below. He looked as breathless as I felt, and I could feel my face reddening at having been caught—even more so when I realized my unbroken arm was now resting on his shoulder. I could not even remember moving it. We glanced down at the street below to see a few men standing there, looking up with grins on their faces. “’Tis about time you found yourself a woman, Captain!” one of them called up cheerfully.

Faramir left his hand resting lightly against the small of my back as he looked down; the warmth of his touch made me feel a little better about the embarrassing situation. “I cannot help it if I am a little more choosy than you, Damrod!” he called back, laughing. My face colored even further as the man laughed good-naturedly, and he and his companions walked away. “I suppose I should have thought about where we are standing before I did that,” Faramir said apologetically as he looked back at me.

“It is fine,” I assured him, smiling even though I knew I was still blushing. “Though, I do have one question for you…” He gave me a quizzical look, and I asked, “Why did you not return sooner?”

“I thought that you wished me to stay away,” he answered, a hint of regret in his eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before I remembered. The blue mantle. Of course. “Forgive me; I never meant to hurt you, Faramir,” I said softly, glancing down. “That was the last thing I wanted.”

“I know.” He tilted my chin up with his hand until I met his gaze again, then took my hand and lightly kissed it, just as he had done so many times before. I felt relieved to know that all was forgiven as he lowered our hands, his fingers intertwining with mine, and together we left the wall and entered the Houses.

Daeron and Ioreth were waiting inside. As soon as we entered, Ioreth greeted us with a wide, knowing grin. “Well, it is about time!” she exclaimed, and I blushed again, wondering if the entire city had been watching us.

Faramir looked embarrassed as well, but he smiled at me before turning to Daeron and saying, “Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed.” I smiled back at him, feeling a little better.

Daeron smiled kindly. “Then I release her from my charge and bid her farewell, and may she suffer never hurt nor sickness again.” His gaze shifted towards me, and he added, “I commend her to the care of the Steward of the City, until her brother returns.”

I looked down at my hand, still in Faramir’s, and could not keep myself from smiling at the irony of it all; I finally had what I had wanted since I came to Minas Tirith—my freedom. “Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain, for this House has become to me the most blessed,” I said softly. Faramir looked at me, a questioning look in his eyes. I smiled up at him, feeling suddenly shy, and he slowly returned the smile as he understood; it simply would not be proper for me to stay with him.

Ioreth gave us an approving smile, then looked over at Daeron and nodded slightly. Daeron nodded as well. “Of course you may stay.”

I thanked him, then Daeron bowed. “With your leave, my lord, my lady, I must get back to work.” Ioreth reluctantly followed him out of the room, still beaming.

Faramir turned towards me again. “I should also go back to the Citadel,” he admitted.

“I know,” I said, just as unwilling to part with him so soon. “When will you be able to return?”

“I could come back tonight, if you wish,” he answered.

I smiled. “I would like that.”

Faramir’s eyes were filled with warmth as he returned the smile. “Until tonight then, my lady,” he said, leaning over and kissing me lightly before releasing my hand and turning to go.

After he closed the door behind him, I went back to the garden and stood atop the walls once more, looking out over the city. Faramir was no longer in sight, but I still could not keep a smile off my face. He loves me, I thought again, marveling how I had not seen it sooner, and how I had so completely failed to realize that my own feelings towards him were changing.

A movement near the outer walls walls caught my eye, and I looked down to see a lone mounted figure riding away from the city. “Forgive me, brother,” I said softly as I watched Éothain ride away, hoping that Éomer would be able to understand, then went back inside, determined to find some means of keeping myself occupied during the remainder of my stay in Minas Tirth.

-------

I could find nothing to do within either my room or the sitting room where I had often shared meals with Merry and Faramir, and eventually made my way back out to the gardens. With the arrival of spring, the neatly-ordered planting beds were coming alive with green shoots poking out of the soil, which looked surprisingly rich for a city that seemed to be made entirely of stone. I knew these had to be the herbs used in the Houses, and could not help wondering how the healers of Gondor had found so many uses for the plants. I knelt down on the grassy path beside the stone-surrounded planting bed, tentatively running a finger over the tender new leaves.

“Éowyn? What are you doing?”

I quickly withdrew my hand and turned to see Mithríel behind me. “I am sorry,” I said, feeling like a child who had been caught in some mischief. “I did not hurt it, did I?”

A sudden amused smile crossed the healer’s face. “No, my lady.”

Feeling a little more relaxed, I asked, “What does this plant do?”

“It helps to soothe an upset stomach,” she replied. “Why do you wish to know?”

I looked back at her steadily. “I was simply curious. My people use several of the more common healing plants, but not to the extent that your healers do, nor do we know of as many herbs. It is rather intriguing, actually.”

Mithríel looked surprised. “You wish to learn more about healing?”

“Yes, I do.” My voice sounded more confident than I felt about the prospect, but I continued nonetheless. “I know a little bit, about treating wounds and such, but…” I paused, uncertain how to continue. Finally, I finished, “Truthfully, if I am going to be staying here, I would like to find a way to be useful. I do not know how much help I can be, but I will do my best.”

 “I would be happy to teach you what I know,” Mithríel offered. “I will have to speak with Ioreth first, of course, but it would be good to have some extra hands around here. Or one hand, anyway,” she added, eyeing my arm with a bit of a smile.

“It is practically healed,” I automatically argued. “I am certain that I could at least use it for light tasks.”

“I believe you could,” she said thoughtfully. “I will go and speak with Ioreth on your behalf.”

“Thank you,” I replied as she turned to go.

Mithríel nodded, then paused at the doorway and looked back at me. “I am happy for you, Éowyn,” she said. “He is a good man.”

I could feel my face growing hot again. “Word certainly travels fast around here,” I muttered.

Mithríel smiled, an almost-mischievous twinkle in her green eyes. “Truthfully, everyone is surprised that this did not happen sooner.” At my surprised look, she added, more seriously, “It was obvious to us from the first time he spoke with you that he cared deeply for you. And both of you seemed more at peace when you were together. I think he needed you here as much as you needed him.”

“But I did not do anything to help him,” I protested.

“Yes, you did. Especially after he learned of what happened to his father,” she replied, lowering her voice.

I lowered mine as well as I asked, “How did you know of that? Does everyone here know?”

“No,” she quickly answered. “To nearly everyone in the Houses, it is still simply a rumor. I think the only one who knows the entire story is Mithrandir, and perhaps the Halfling that was with him and the Lord Imrahil. I am certain that he only told Daeron and Ioreth what he thought they needed to know, and they spoke to no one about it, except Lord Faramir. ”

“Then how did you know?” I asked again.

Mithríel turned away and looked out of the window. “My husband told me.  He was there when it happened,” she said softly. “It was he who held the door against the other Citadel guards until Mithrandir could come. He killed two of them—they attacked him first, he had no choice but to fight back. But…” Her voice trailed off.

I had forgotten that Mithríel had told me that her husband had been involved. “Are you angry with him?” I asked, unable to read the look on her face.

She wiped at her eyes quickly, then turned back towards me. “No. He did what he knew was right, and I do not fault him for that. Had their places been reversed, I am certain that Lord Faramir would have done the same. But Beregond shed blood in the Hallows to save him. That is a crime punishable by death; his motives do not matter. Lord Faramir tells me he will do all that he can to help, but I do not know if there is anything he can do.”

I glanced down, uncertain of what to say. “Mithríel, I am sorry,” I finally said. It is not right, I thought. He should not have to die for saving a man’s life.

Mithríel shook her head slightly. “It is no fault of yours. I will go find Ioreth now.” She turned and left, leaving me wishing there was something I could do to help.

-------

Ioreth was more than happy to have another person to assist around the Houses, though she thoroughly lectured me about not overworking my arm before finally agreeing. I spent the remainder of the afternoon with Mithríel, and although the sheer amount of information she gave me on the various herbs she used was rather overwhelming, it was good to be able to do something useful again. I had not realized just how many men still remained under the healers’ care, as several of the less seriously wounded lay within other nearby buildings, nor how many of them were of my people. I was also surprised at how warmly the men of Rohan greeted me, and at the respect I could see in their eyes as I spoke with them. And so, though I was not much help as a healer that day, it was with a much lighter heart that I greeted Faramir when he returned to the Houses shortly after supper.

“I am a little surprised, to be honest,” I said to him as we walked through the gardens. “I was certain that I would be labeled a traitor by my people.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

I stopped walking, glancing down. “My uncle wished for me to stay behind and govern in Dunharrow, and I disobeyed him. I failed in my duty to him and to my people.” I looked up at him again and asked, “Did I do the right thing, Faramir?”

He did not answer immediately, but looked like he was deep in thought as he resumed walking. Finally, he said, “It is difficult to say; I do not know the circumstances or the consequences for those left behind. But I do believe that if you had not come, my people might not have survived.” I shook my head, still unconvinced, and he frowned slightly. “You did what we could not.”

“You were wounded,” I said. “And I do not doubt that you would have stood up to him, had you been in my place.”

He turned away for a moment, then began to speak softly. “We—my men and I—encountered him and his kind often in recent days, in Osgiliath.” I turned slightly and looked up at him; it was the first time he had spoken to me of the events that had led him to the Houses of Healing. “It was all I could do to stay on my horse; had it not been for Mithrandir’s intervention, I am certain that none of us would have returned to the White City once we were forced to fall back. When we were sent out the second time…” He paused, then continued. “I spoke truly when I said that I do not remember much of that battle. I can only recall fighting the Haradrim, then the dark creature flying overhead. I remember the screams…I could not move. Then the arrow struck me and I fell; that is all I remember.”

“Faramir…” I started.

He shook his head, then stopped and took my hand. “Even if I had not been wounded, Éowyn, I would have been powerless to stand before him. There was a prophecy, spoken by one of the Elf-lords long ago, saying that no man would be able to slay him.”

I could not speak. I could feel my fingers tightening slightly around Faramir’s as I tried to come to terms with what he had just said. Finally, I asked, “Why did you not say anything sooner?”

“I did not remember, at first,” he admitted. “It has been a long time since I read that. But it seems a strange chance, if chance it were indeed, that one who could fulfill that prophecy would come to Gondor just when our defeat seemed certain.”

I looked down, too ashamed to look at him. “When I was facing him, he told me that no man could kill him. I did not think anything of it at the time; I believed that he was just trying to intimidate me.” I paused, staring at nothing as I tried to remember what had happened that day. “I laughed at him when he said that. I know not why…I suppose I simply did not care what happened to me anymore.” I shivered a little, and Faramir released my hand before placing his arm around my shoulders, drawing me a little closer as I added,  “My only thought then was to save my uncle. He had just been restored to us—I could not bear to lose him again so soon. And yet I still failed him.” I pulled away from Faramir, walking away a few steps. “You asked me once why I came to Gondor. Do you remember the answer I gave you? I have heard what my people here say about me, and what some of your people say. They speak of my courage, but they are wrong, Faramir. I was afraid—more afraid than I had ever been of anything. The only reason I fought was because I believed that all I could hope for was death with honour; I do not deserve the honour they give me.”

Faramir moved to stand next to me again. “Do not believe that your courage is lacking because you were afraid, Éowyn. I have seen even the most battle-hardened warriors cower in terror before those servants of the Nameless One.” He paused, and a shadow seemed to briefly cross his face as he added,  “Fear and despair are their weapons; no mortal may face them and remain unaffected. You achieved victory in spite of your fear; that is the mark of true courage. And hope…” The cool breeze ruffled Faramir’s dark hair as he looked up towards the sky. “Long have my people—our peoples—been bereft of hope,” he said quietly. “’Tis a difficult thing to learn to live with it once more.”

Feeling oddly comforted by his words, and realizing that he was talking about himself as much as me, I turned to face him as I followed his gaze upwards, taking his hand; his calloused fingers felt warm against my skin. The first stars of the evening were beginning to appear, shining brightly against the deep twilight, and I smiled to see them. “Yes, it is difficult,” I said softly. He glanced down at me, and my eyes met his as I added, “But no longer something that I deem impossible.”

He smiled then as he pulled me a little closer, tilting my chin up slightly with his free hand. Just before his lips gently pressed against mine, I barely caught his whispered “I love you, Éowyn.” I simply squeezed his hand in response; no words would come. But as he pulled back from the kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist lightly while I leaned back against his chest, I sensed that he understood. And so I stood there with him in silence, watching the stars emerge from the darkening sky and feeling more at peace than I had for a long time.

Two days later, I was walking about the Houses with Ioreth as she made her morning rounds. As she checked on each of the men still under the healers’ care, she kept up a steady stream of chatter about treatments for their various conditions, and the sheer amount of information left me feeling completely overwhelmed and wondering if I had truly gotten in over my head this time. But I was certainly not one to back down from such a challenge, and I reasoned that I could speak with Mithríel later to ensure that I had not completely confused things, if need be.

Ioreth interrupted my thoughts as she busied herself with changing the bandages on a man’s arm. “Éowyn, could you check on the lad over yonder?” she asked, motioning towards a nearby bed before lowering her voice. “He took an arrow in his side during the battle, and I fear the wound is not healing as it should.” I quickly agreed, grateful for the opportunity to do something on my own.

In spite of growing up surrounded by warriors and accustomed to the ever-present possibility of them falling in battle, my heart still ached as I approached him; he seemed so terribly young, with only the slightest traces of a beard on his jaw to indicate that he had, indeed, left childhood behind him. His pale face stood in sharp relief to his dark brown hair; his skin felt unnaturally warm and his breathing was shallow as I drew back the blanket covering his chest and began unbinding the wound, a task somewhat complicated by my fumbling left hand and my inability to lift him up to aid in removing the bandages. Though Ioreth had consented to allowing me to go without the sling while I was working in order to begin regaining my strength through lighter tasks, she still insisted that my arm be kept splinted and tightly bandaged at all time; between that and the weeks of disuse, the limb was still rather clumsy and tired quickly.

“It is not good, is it?” I turned my head to see that the young man had stirred and was now regarding me solemnly with dark grey eyes.

“I do not know. I have not yet seen your wound,” I answered, looking down again.

He continued his quiet scrutiny for a moment, then asked, “You are the lady of Rohan?”

“I am,” I answered absently, deciding he was simply trying to make conversation in order to take his mind off of his treatment.

“Are the rumors true? About you and the Captain?”

My head jerked up. “What? I—um…what captain are you referring to?” I began focusing on removing the last of the bandages as quickly as possible.

“Why, Captain Faramir, of course,” he answered. I could feel my face heating as a faint grin crossed his face. “Lieutenant Damrod told me when he came to visit yesterday.”

I made no reply for a moment. I had not seen Faramir since we had parted in the gardens two evenings ago, though he had sent a note to me the night before apologizing for not being able to come and visit me that day; he had a dreadfully large pile of reports and correspondence to attend to and had not a moment to spare, but he did not wish for me to think that he had forgotten me. I could not help smiling a bit as I thought of it, and the lad took this as confirmation. “Good,” he said softly. “He deserves some happiness.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, dipping a clean cloth in a basin of warm water and beginning to bathe the wound as gently as I could. Ioreth had been correct; I knew enough about battle injuries to recognize the infection spreading from the wound and across his torso.

“It was no secret that he and the Lord Denethor were often at odds,” he answered, wincing at the pressure on the half-healed wound despite his obvious effort to hide the pain. “I do not know much; only what I have heard from the older Rangers, mostly. But it was obvious enough to us that the matter grieved him.”

“You are one of his Rangers?” I asked. “What is your name?”

“Haldad, my lady,” he answered. “And yes, though I was not with his company long. I had only been under his command for a few months.”

I wanted to question him further, but Ioreth joined us then, frowning slightly as she caught sight of the wound. “Thank you, Éowyn,” she said briskly. I held back a smirk; as an apprentice healer, she treated me as she would any woman of lesser birth, but if the previous day had been any indication, I knew that once she had decided the day’s training was through, she would revert to addressing me in a more formal manner once more. “If you would go get some clean bandages and bring them here—we shall have to make a poultice for him, but I do not wish to leave the wound unbound while it is being prepared.”

“Of course,” I said, gathering up the soiled bandages for disposal and walking over to the wooden wardrobe standing by the wall. In the larger rooms, I had learned, the wardrobe was used to hold clean linens, as well as some small store of the most commonly used herbs. After placing the dirty bandages in a nearby basin that was already half-filled with them, I opened the wardrobe doors and pulled out an armful of the bandaging strips.

Ioreth thanked me as I returned, taking a larger piece and using it to cover the wound. “We shall return shortly,” she announced to Haldad before turning to me. “Come with me, Éowyn.”

As we left the room, her expression altered, and she shook her head slightly once we were out of sight of the other patients. I could not help noticing, and though I could easily guess the answer, I hesitantly asked, “It is not good, is it?”

“No, it is not,” she answered. “The poultices are not helping—the arrow pierced too deeply, and I fear we were not able to clean it out well enough when he was brought in. I do not believe he has much time left.”

“Is there nothing that can be done for him?” I wondered aloud.

Ioreth shook her head. “’Tis too great a risk. If we opened the wound again to try to clean it out again, the shock could very well kill him in his weakened state.”

“So you will just let him die, then?” I blurted out, angered at her seeming unwillingness to take any action.

Ioreth’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “We shall do all we can for him,” she said firmly. “But you saw his condition for yourself; the infection is spreading too rapidly. You should know enough about war to know that not every battle can be won, Éowyn.”

I stared at her for a moment, truly seeing for the first time what Faramir had meant when he called her a formidable foe. “Forgive me, Mistress Ioreth,” I finally replied, feeling chastised. “I did not intend to question your knowledge in this matter.”

Her expression softened once more as she answered, “Do not trouble yourself, my lady. The most difficult thing for all of us is realizing that sometimes, all we can do is try to ease the patient’s passing.”

“That does not make it easier,” I said softly.

“No, it does not,” she answered, opening the door to the room where the herbs were stored. I followed her inside, feeling a new respect for the healer. Ioreth began pulling various packages of herbs out. She seemed rather preoccupied to me; normally she would have taken the opportunity to instruct me on which herbs she was using and how they were to be applied to the patient, but now she remained uncharacteristically silent. “There is, perhaps, one thing you can do for him,” she finally said quietly. I glanced up at her, and she added, “Undoubtedly, he will wish to speak to his Captain once more.”

I nodded. “I will bring him word,” I said.

A slightly amused look passed over her face at how quickly I had agreed. “Do you know how to get there?” she asked.

“Of course!” I quickly answered, then paused. “At least, I think I remember…”

“I could escort her, Mistress Ioreth,” a third voice said behind us. We both turned to see a dark-haired man standing there. He looked vaguely familiar to me, though I could not place it until Ioreth asked, “What are you doing here, Damrod?”

“I came to see the lad,” he answered, a solemn look on his face. “Do not lie to me, Mistress—I have seen this kind of wound before. I know his time is short, and I doubt not that Lord Faramir will wish to be informed. It may make the news easier to bear, coming from someone he knows.” He glanced over at me as he said this, and I could feel my face turning red as I remembered where I had seen him last—he had been the man that Faramir had spoken with when we had been caught atop the walls two days before. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice my embarrassment.

Ioreth finally nodded. “Go,” she said, then turned to me and added, “Do not tarry, my lady. If his fever grows worse, he may be too delirious to speak with him.” I nodded, then Damrod quickly escorted me out of the Houses.

We walked swiftly, though silently, through the city streets for a time, until I turned to the Ranger and asked, “May I ask you something?” He nodded, and I continued, “Have you known Faramir long?”

“Aye, ever since he was first assigned to the Rangers,” Damrod answered.

“Is it true…” I hesitated, wondering if it was my place to ask what would undoubtedly be a difficult question to answer, especially since Faramir had rarely spoken of such things himself. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I finally took a deep breath and finished, “What were things really like between Faramir and his father?”

Damrod paused in mid-stride, rubbing at the dark stubble on his chin thoughtfully. When we resumed walking a moment later, he slowly replied, “I believe that he is the only one who can truly give you a satisfactory answer, my lady. He was not in the habit of speaking of it much, nor were we in the habit of questioning him about it, and so I only know what I have observed.”

He paused then, and I said, “Please, continue.”

“It was no secret among the captains that Lord Denethor had little regard for his younger son,” Damrod said. “Whenever the men of Gondor had victory in battle, the credit was always given to Captain Boromir for the most part; whenever the day was lost, especially in Ithilien, Captain Faramir was always first to receive the blame. Those of us under his command never understood why he received such censure; the Captain has a gift for strategy, and many a time his quick thinking in battle was the only thing that saved us from being wiped out completely. But there were those, particularly the lords closest to the Steward, who believed his courage and skill to be far less than that of his brother and were not afraid to speak openly of such things.”

“I do not understand,” I replied. “Why would he say such things? Especially about his own son?”

“I know not, my lady,” he said. “I saw them together on several occasions, when we were asked to give our reports to the Steward. It always seemed to me that Lord Denethor was always quick to find the tiniest flaw in our strategy, and quick to blame our Captain for even the smallest failure. Faramir was never one to openly oppose Lord Denethor, but neither would he blindly follow his will, particularly when it came to giving orders in battle. I remember one time after we had lost a battle in Ithilien, and Lord Denethor rebuked him harshly for giving up that land to the enemy. We had been sorely outnumbered, and so the Captain responded by saying that had we not retreated, we would have been slain to the last man, and given the choice, he would rather give up a plot of land that could be recaptured later than to sacrifice the lives of so many of his people in order to defend it. I will never forget the look on the Steward’s face—he was completely enraged. Though we did our best to convince him that retreating had been the only option, we could not sway him. Sometimes we could not help but marvel that Faramir was allowed to remain Captain, though we were grateful that he was; I truly believe that no one else would have been able to hold Ithilien as long as he did, as do all of the Rangers. Not even his brother could have done as much.” Damrod then paused, and added, “Perhaps that was the problem all along; Faramir never would have held it against him, for he loved his brother dearly, but in Lord Denethor’s eyes, no one could measure up to Boromir.”

I could make no response, because we had reached the Citadel by this time, but Damrod’s comments left me deep in thought as we walked up the stairs. Two guards stood at the door, but one of them seemed to know Damrod. “Good day, Lieutenant,” he said. Damrod returned the greeting as the guards stood aside to let us enter. We walked inside the spacious main hall, which was empty except for a few household servants. One of them, an elderly man, walked up to us and bowed. “May I help you?” he asked.

“We are seeking the Lord Faramir,” Damrod answered. “Is he here?”

“I believe that he is in his study,” the servant answered, “but I have not seen him today. I will take you there, if you wish.” Damrod nodded his consent, and we followed him through the hallway and up the stairs. He paused in front of a closed door. “Would you like me to announce you, Lieutenant?”

“That will not be necessary, thank you,” I replied. The servant bowed, then left. Damrod and I looked at each other silently for a moment, until he finally motioned for me to proceed. So I knocked on the door twice, then waited. When there was no answer, I called out, “Faramir?” There was still no response, so I tested the latch. It moved easily, and so I lifted it quietly and pulled the door open.

Behind me, I could see Damrod shaking his head just out of the corner of my eye as we looked into the room. All I could do was blink in surprise. The room was nearly dark; the only light came from a candleholder on the far side of the desk, with the tapers burning low, and heavy drapes blocked the light from outside. Books and documents were piled on nearly every available surface, and I could see why Faramir had been kept so busy. As for the Steward himself, he was indeed in there, but he was slumped over the desk with his head resting on his arm and his dark hair falling carelessly over his closed eyes. A piece of parchment lay in front of him and he still held a quill pen loosely in his ink-stained fingers. “He has done it again,” Damrod muttered softly; when I turned a questioning glance upon him, he continued, “He has worked himself to complete exhaustion. I am sorry to say that this is not the first time that such a thing has happened.”

I turned back towards Faramir, hesitating. I hated the thought of disturbing his rest, but it seemed that there was no other option. With that, I moved to stand beside his chair, unable to resist smoothing the hair away from his eyes before resting a hand on his shoulder. “Faramir?” I said, shaking his shoulder as gently as I could. He stirred slightly, but made no further response, so I tried again, my voice more insistent. “Faramir, wake up.”

He shifted a little, then slowly opened his eyes. As he wearily lifted his head from the desk, blinking as if trying to clear his vision. When he saw me, an unguarded smile crossed his face. “Éowyn,” he murmured. I smiled back and squeezed his shoulder a bit.

Suddenly, he was wide-awake. “Éowyn!” he exclaimed, sitting up straight in his chair. “What are you doing here? And at this hour?”

I furrowed my brow. “It is well into the morning,” I answered.

“It is?” Without warning, Faramir jumped up, strode across the cluttered study and drew back the curtains, then groaned as the room was suddenly flooded in light. I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling a bit guilty for my amusement at seeing him so flustered for once.

He took a deep breath as he looked out the window, and then turned back to me with considerably more composure than he had shown before, although the light I had seen in his eyes when he first saw me was not quite extinguished. “You still have not told me why you have come,” he said. “Did you come alone, then?”

“No, my lord,” Damrod answered, not even bothering to hide his amusement as he leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “Truly, I am sorry to disappoint you.”

My face flushed red, and Faramir gave him a stern look for a moment, but his expression quickly softened as he greeted his lieutenant. “Good morning, Damrod,” he said before turning to me and saying, “I apologize if he has offended you.”

“Not at all,” I answered, though I could still feel traces of heat in my cheeks. “But I fear that we do not come with good news, Faramir.”

“’Tis Haldad, Captain,” Damrod added, reverting back to addressing Faramir as one of the Rangers. “The healers say he does not have much time left, and…”

Faramir ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Say no more,” he interrupted. “I will come. I just need a moment.”

“Of course,” Damrod answered. Faramir gave me an apologetic look, then left the room. I glanced over at the Ranger, but he was not looking at me, so I silently studied the room, absently glancing at the titles of the thick leather-bound volumes on the shelves that took up an entire wall until Faramir returned, wearing a fresh tunic and looking like he had at least attempted to scrub his hands free of the ink stains. He motioned for me to leave the room before him, then he followed with Damrod not far behind.

On our way out of the Citadel, he caught the attention of the same servant who had taken us up to the study. “Maedion,” he called out, “I have urgent business at the Houses of Healing. See to it that any matters that come up during my absence are dealt with as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, my lord,” the grey-haired man answered, bowing. Faramir nodded as Maedion straightened, then offered me his arm and escorted me out. I remained silent as we walked, while Damrod informed him more fully of the young Ranger’s condition. By the time he was fully apprised of the situation, we had reached the Houses again.

Ioreth met us at the door. “’Twas good of you to come, my lord,” she said, curtseying. “I will take you to him.” She then turned to me and added, “My lady, if you would join Aredhel in preparing more bandages—I believe she is upstairs.” I nodded, understanding that Faramir would undoubtedly wish to speak with Haldad alone.

I did find the young apprentice healer right where Ioreth had said, and began helping her by rolling up the strips of linen she cut so they could be ready when needed. The task was light enough that I was able to use both arms, which was a great relief to me, and before I knew it, I heard a knock on the doorframe and turned to see Faramir standing there. His expression seemed a bit strained to me, so I quickly bid Aredhel farewell and excused myself. Once out in the hallway with the door closed behind me, Faramir took my hand. “Éowyn,” he started, then fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

“He is gone then,” I said, certain that there could be no other reason he was so subdued. Faramir nodded, and I glanced down, unable to help feeling grieved, especially when I looked back up at Faramir. He was obviously trying to mask it, but I could tell that the young man’s passing had hit him hard. Unsure what to say, I released his hand before wrapping my arms around him. “I am sorry,” I said softly. Faramir did not answer for awhile, holding me tightly. When he finally drew back a bit, I took his hand once more and said, “Come with me.”

He did not resist as I led him down to the sitting room; I knew that it would be deserted during this time of day. Once he had pulled one of the chairs closer and we were both seated, I asked, “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Faramir reached out and took my hand, then began running his fingers lightly over mine, looking as if he were deep in thought. “It seemed that the pain left him at the very end, for which I am grateful. He knew that there was nothing the healers could do, and he had come to terms with it; all he asked was that I send his love to his mother and sisters in Lossarnach.”

“He seemed so young,” I said.

“He was; he had just completed his training and had joined my company during the autumn.” Faramir fell silent, and when he spoke again, there was a far-off look in his eyes. “In Ithilien, we were constantly in danger of being ambushed or overrun by the forces of Mordor. We had to trust each other with our lives nearly every day, and so even the newest Rangers quickly became our brothers.”

“I truly am sorry, Faramir,” I replied. Though my experience in such things was far more limited than his, I could understand the deep bonds that were often forged in the fires of war; after the battle we had fought together, I knew it would be heartbreaking for me to lose Merry in such a way. And I knew, from watching Éomer and others in his company, how much the loss of even one of their own could affect them. “What is to be done now?”

“Damrod has gone to gather those of our company that remain in the city,” Faramir answered. “When he returns, we shall do our best to honor our fallen brother. But until then, I fear I must return to my duties.”

“Do you wish me to go with you, when the time comes to bury him?” I asked.

Faramir looked surprised at the question, but quickly recovered. “Nay, Éowyn,” he answered.

I nodded, understanding that this was likely something that would be best left between those who had known and fought with Haldad. “Very well. But if you change your mind…”

“I know.” He left shortly after that, and I returned to my duties as well. Two of Faramir’s men came later to carry Haldad to his final resting place, taking a few of the Rangers that were still healing with them, and night had already fallen when Faramir and Damrod escorted those men back to the Houses. I had gone to my room and did not know of his coming until Mithríel came to inform me that the Steward wished to see me, and was waiting for me downstairs.

When I arrived downstairs, Faramir looked up and greeted me with a faint smile. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I had no wish to leave without seeing you again,” he explained, taking my hand once I had moved close enough. “I have missed you lately, Éowyn.”

“I have missed you as well,” I replied, intertwining my fingers with his. “But I dare not keep you here long; I am certain that you need to rest.”

“I dare not stay long,” he answered. “I still have several reports that I need to finish tonight.”

I furrowed my brow as I looked at him, frowning as I noted how weary he already looked. "Can it not wait until the morning?" I asked. “You look exhausted.”

Faramir frowned slightly. "I am the Steward now, Éowyn," he replied. "All of Gondor is now under my care, until the King returns."

"I know," I answered. "But what good can you be to your people if you work yourself to death?"

"Do not be troubled over me," Faramir said. "I am fine."

"You fell asleep while you were working," I retorted, pulling my hand out of his and crossing my arm over my sling. His frown grew deeper, and I sighed and moved my hand again to rest against his cheek. "I cannot help being worried about you, Faramir. Is there no one who can assist you in this task?"

He shook his head. "No one comes to mind. Many of the nobles of Gondor either fell in battle, or are still at Cair Andros with their men. Those who remain near Minas Tirith are already occupied with gathering reports of damage to their lands or learning how their people now fare. I have as many people as I can making reports on the state of the city, but in the end, all the reports must go through me. No, Éowyn, this is a duty I must bear myself."

I fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Is there any way I can help?" I finally asked.

Faramir's expression softened. "I wish you could," he said, pulling me into his arms. "I doubt not that you would assist me as much as you were able..."

"But I am unfamiliar with the affairs of Gondor, and in the end I would likely only hinder you," I finished, feeling frustrated at my inability to lighten his burden.

"I do appreciate the offer," he said, kissing me lightly on the forehead. "But I fear I have lingered here too long; I must return to the Citadel now. If I return quickly, I may be able to keep those accursed reports from taking all of my time tomorrow as well."

"Then I will not delay you here any longer," I replied, tightening my arms around him briefly before stepping back. “But you must try to get some rest tonight, Faramir.”

“I shall do my best,” he promised. We walked towards the door, where Damrod was waiting for Faramir, and shortly before we reached it, he suddenly leaned over and kissed my cheek. Before drawing back fully, he quietly said, “My dear Éowyn, you have already helped me, more than you realize."

I could feel my face growing warm at the compliment as his eyes searched my face, and attempted to cover my discomposure by weakly joking, "If by that you mean rousing Gondor's Steward from his slumber, then I shall accept your thanks for the small service offered to your country."

Faramir smiled at me fondly before squeezing my hand and bidding me good night. I stayed where I was until he and Damrod had departed, then turned and retreated back to my room.

---

After the afternoon rounds had been completed on the next day, Mithríel took me to the gardens, as she had for the past few days, to aid me in learning the different uses of the plants that grew there. Though there were several books in the Houses devoted to herblore, she had confided to me that she had always found it much easier to learn when she could see the plants she was studying. And after being in the sickrooms all day, I was grateful for the fresh air. We had barely begun, however, before Bergil burst into the garden.

“Good day, Mother! Good day, Lady Éowyn!” he called out cheerfully as he ran through the door.

Mithríel sighed, though I could see a twinkle in her eye. “Bergil, what have I told you about running indoors?” she scolded.

The smile faded as Bergil slowed his pace. “Sorry, Mother,” he answered.

She winked at me before replying. “Since you are now outside, however, you may run as much as you wish, provided you do not get in the way.”

“I believe that will not be an issue,” a second voice said from the doorway. I was unable to suppress a smile at the familiar voice, and looked back to see Faramir standing there, his eyes sparkling as my gaze met his. “I fear I must deprive you of the Lady Éowyn’s company, for now. I took the liberty of relieving your son from his duties for the remainder of this day, Mithríel; I trust this is not a problem.”

“Of course not, my lord,” the healer answered, curtsying slightly as we rose to our feet. “If you will pardon me, I will take my leave. Come, Bergil,” she added. Faramir stepped aside to allow her and her son to go inside.

Once we were alone, I said, “I am surprised to see you, Faramir. I thought your duties were to keep you away for the rest of today, at the least.”

“As did I,” he answered as he crossed the distance between us, smiling at me so warmly that I could feel my pulse quickening. “But, alas, it seems I cannot be parted from you for so long.”

There was a faint hint of mischief in his voice, and so I answered, “If all of Gondor’s troubles can wait while you flatter me with your fine words, my lord, then by all means, continue. If not, tell me truly, why are you here, Faramir?”

He sighed in resignation. “As you will, then; you have found me out quicker than I had hoped.” I could not help smiling innocently as he continued, “It turns out that I may need your help after all, Éowyn.”

Faramir had brought our horses in order to speed the journey from the sixth to the first level of the City, and had left them waiting outside the Houses. It took me much longer than I wished to get into Windfola’s saddle and arrange my skirt for riding, and I could not help wishing once more that I had brought a riding skirt with me, or that I had been able to locate the breeches I had worn into battle. Finally, everything was arranged satisfactorily enough and we left. As I followed him through the stone-paved streets, he explained the situation to me. “Several companies of the Rohirrim have returned to the city from defending the road at Anorien, under the command of a Marshall Elfhelm,” he said. “In exchange for food and shelter until their king and the remainder of the army returns, they have agreed to aid us in rebuilding the lower two levels, since they were the ones most heavily damaged in the siege.”

“What is the trouble, then?” I asked.

“It seems that there have been several misunderstandings in regard to the agreement, though I do not know all of the details yet,” he replied. “I do not wish for them to be treated unfairly, of course, and so I might need your help in translating…”

“But I thought you could speak Rohirric,” I interrupted.

“I can,” he explained patiently. “It has been quite some time since I have had need to converse in your language, however, and while I can understand it well enough, I fear my skill in speaking it fluently may be a little weak. Besides, I believed that they might appreciate having one of their own people to help speak for them.”

“I see,” I said, touched by his thoughtfulness in the matter. “I will aid you as much as I am able, Faramir.” He made no further reply other than to turn back and smile at me gratefully, and so we rode in silence until we had reached the first circle of the city.

The men were hard at work as we drew closer, but our approach did not go unnoticed—I could hear the exclamations even above the sounds of construction. As word of our arrival spread, the men stopped what they were doing, and a large group of them had already gathered by the time Faramir drew his horse to a halt. One older man stepped out in front of the crowd, his golden hair streaked lightly with silver, and I recognized him immediately as Elfhelm. As one of the Marshalls who had ridden with my father, and later my brother, I had known him my entire life. After greeting Faramir cordially, he turned to me. "My lady!" he exclaimed in our language. "It is good to see you alive and well; when we heard of your riding with us and that you had been wounded, we all feared the worst."

"Thank you, Elfhelm," I answered as he helped me down from Windfola's back, taking care to avoid entangling my skirt further. "I assure you that I have received nothing but the best of care."

Elfhelm smiled and bowed again, then turned back to Faramir, who had been picketing the horses. "It was good of you to come so quickly, my lord," he said, this time in the common tongue. "I have no wish to cause trouble, but the men are beginning to complain about the conditions."

"I will aid you as much as is in my power," Faramir answered. "The Lady Éowyn has graciously agreed to assist me in this, as she will undoubtedly be better able to discern what will best help your people."

"And we are grateful for her aid," Elfhelm said, smiling at me. "I believe it will raise the spirits of all the men, having her here."

A few of the men who understood the common tongue cheered their agreement with Elfhelm's statement, and I could not help feeling a little embarrassed at the attention. But I managed to keep my head high, and knowing my duty, I addressed them in Rohirric. "Thank you; you are kinder than I deserve." Several men cried out to the contrary, and I could not quite keep from smiling as I continued. "You have my word that every effort will be made to resolve this problem quickly. Now, what is the trouble?"

Elfhelm and a few of the other captains then stepped forward to explain the situation to me. When they had finished, I turned to Faramir, who had been standing by silently, and translated, "They have no complaint about their sleeping quarters, as they are perfectly content to camp outside the city walls. But it seems that the promised food rations have fallen short by about a third."

Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "And has this complaint been brought to the attention of the guards in charge of food distribution?"

Before I could turn back and ask the men of Rohan, one of them, who apparently understood the common tongue, retorted in Rohirric, "Of course we have complained to them! But it does no good."

"They laugh it off, my lady," another added. "They act as if we are barbarians, good for nothing more than brute labor, just because we are not from their fair land of the South."

"And they forget that if not for us, their 'fair land' would have been razed to the ground by now, nor would they have made so much progress in rebuilding their city," a third complained. Several of the men grumbled in assent. "Surely you know this, my lady," he continued, "as you had a greater hand in that than most."

One older man rubbed at his beard thoughtfully, narrowing his steel-grey eyes slightly. "Are you certain that this Steward can be trusted to keep his word, my lady? After all, it is his people that are causing this."

If Faramir understood him, there was no change in his carefully guarded expression to indicate such a thing. But the murmurs were increasing, and I realized the situation would quickly get out of hand if no action was taken. I held up my hand to silence the men, then answered, "Whatever the prejudices of his people may be, I assure you that Lord Faramir does not share this view. He is a reasonable man, and I have no doubt that he will keep his word; if he does not, you may hold me personally responsible. If you will pardon me for a moment, I will speak with him." The captains nodded assent, and I turned back to Faramir. We walked away a few paces, then I lowered my voice and asked him, "How much of that did you understand?"

"Enough to understand that they believe they are being treated unfairly by my people," he answered, a troubled look on his face.

"Is there anything that can be done about this?" I asked, glancing back at the men.

Faramir remained silent, gazing past me with a thoughtful look. "Many of the people who left the city before the siege are beginning to return," he finally answered. "I am certain that some bakers and cooks are among them; with more people to help, it should be a simple enough task to have a few of them specifically assigned to feeding the workers here."

"And that will solve the problem?"

"It should solve the problem of your people getting enough to eat," Faramir said. "As for the rest... I had hoped that the friendship between our lands could be renewed, but it seems that will take some time."

I nodded. "I have often heard talk around the court in Edoras, complaining about Gondor's lack of interest in our troubles. I doubt not that you had enough troubles of your own, but in recent days the king was often told..." My voice trailed off as I suddenly recalled the words I had often heard Wormtongue speak to my uncle on this very topic in recent days.

A strange look must have crossed my face at the memory, because Faramir asked, "Éowyn? Are you well?"

I looked up to see worry in his eyes. Though I was touched by his concern, though I knew I would eventually have to tell him about Wormtongue, I also knew this was not the time or place to do so. He has enough to concern himself with, I decided. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I realized, I was still afraid to talk to him about it; I could not bear for him to think ill of me. "Yes, I am fine," I finally answered, forcing a smile. "And while I cannot speak for Lord Aragorn, I have no doubt that my brother will also wish to restore our relations with Gondor."

Faramir nodded. "I truly hope so." He then glanced over to where the captains were still waiting, then added, "Shall we go see if this is an acceptable arrangement?" I nodded, and we walked back over to Elfhelm and the other captains. "Marshall Elfhelm," Faramir said, "I believe I will be able to arrange for enough food for your men without much difficulty."

"Thank you, my lord," Elfhelm said, bowing. Then he lifted his head as we heard approaching footsteps.

I glanced back to see a dark-haired man with a slight limp walking towards us. When Faramir turned towards him, the man bowed, then said, "My Lord Steward, a party of nobles has just arrived from the south; they wish to speak with you."

"Have them await me at the Citadel, and I shall attend them as soon as I am able," Faramir answered.

"My lord, they insist on seeing you at once," the messenger said, looking a bit nervous.

Faramir's jaw tightened slightly; I saw this, and quickly spoke up, "My lord, if any further arrangements with my people need to be made, I can complete the negotiations and send you word at a later time."

His face relaxed. "Thank you, my lady; I am in your debt. Marshall, if you will pardon the interruption, I must see what this urgent business is about." Elfhelm nodded, and Faramir turned and bowed slightly to me; a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he raised his eyes to mine. Then he turned and followed the messenger away, leaving me to complete the negotiations.

It did not take long to complete the arrangements, and once we were finished discussing what needed to be done, Elfhelm offered to escort me back to the Steward. I assented, and amid well-wishes for my continued recovery and requests that I return to visit them again from several of the men, we departed for the gate. In his haste, Faramir had left Wildfire behind, and so Elfhelm led him while I took Windfola. Elfhelm spoke first. "He seems like a good man."

"He is," I answered automatically.

"I thought that you would say as much."

My head shot up and my face flushed scarlet at Elfhelm's knowing grin. "You knew?" I asked weakly.

"Fear not, my lady; I believe your regard for the Steward was lost on most of the men, but they have not known you as long as I have. It is obvious to me that he cares for you, though."

"He has shown me nothing but kindness since our first meeting," I answered slowly.

Elfhelm nodded. "If you truly care for him, then I wish you all happiness, Éowyn. Though, I feel it only fair to warn you that several of the men you just spoke with would be more than happy to give him a good thrashing if he had treated you otherwise." He smiled at this.

I grinned in response, but my smile faded when the road we had been walking down opened close to the gaping hole in the wall where the gate had once stood. Faramir was indeed standing there, talking animatedly to two dark-haired people dressed as nobles, while a small group of servants and guards stood nearby. One of the visitors was a woman, and I nearly dropped Windfola's reins at the sight, unable to help feeling a bit jealous at the easy manner in which Faramir conversed with her. For a moment I stood frozen, trying to determine whether to retreat or to walk up to him and demand an explanation. When my curiosity got the better of me, I turned to Elfhelm and said, "I will leave the horses here for now, if I may. Would you help me picket them?"

"Of course, my lady. I can take both, if you wish," he answered. I thanked him, then once he had taken Windfola's reins from me, I began walking towards the small group as quickly as I could without running.

Both the man and the woman were facing away from me, but I did catch Faramir's gaze as I approached. He gave no sign that he had seen me, save a sparkle in his eye, but I was reassured to see that there was no guilt in his countenance when he saw me. I drew closer just in time to hear the woman say, "Oh, come, cousin! You must tell us which of those noblewomen of Gondor has finally managed to capture your heart. I distinctly recall you saying they were all frightfully dull when you last came to visit us."

Cousin? My relief was nearly overwhelming, and so I barely noticed the other man's reproachful, "Thirí, you should not say such things!"

Faramir shook his head. "No, she is correct; I do remember saying something of the sort. But," he said, smiling at me now, "I should warn you that she is neither dull nor from Gondor."

The visitors both turned to see me, and we studied each other for a moment. They were both young, and their features were similar enough that they appeared to be related. The woman's glossy, dark brown hair was swept up into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, and the man's wavier, raven-colored hair was cropped shorter, much like Faramir’s. Both had eyes that were the same shade of blue as a clear summer sky. Faramir took advantage of the silence to step forward and take my hand, pulling me closer to the others. "'Ro, Thirí, this is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. Éowyn, may I introduce my cousins, Amrothos and Lothiríel of Dol Amroth."

Amrothos nodded politely; despite his reserved manner, which reminded me very much of Faramir's own nature, there was a warmth in his eyes that indicated he was, indeed, pleased to meet me. Lothiríel seemed a bit embarrassed that I had overheard her comment, but recovered quickly and greeted me with a bright smile and a slight curtsey. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Lady Éowyn," she said. "Anyone who can bring my cousin such joy is well worth the acquaintance."

"Thank you," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. Faramir seemed to sense this, and squeezed my hand as he explained to me, "It seems that you are not the only one who believed I was in need of aid; my uncle, Lord Imrahil, has sent Amrothos from Cair Andros to assist me."

An amused grin crossed Amrothos's face as he added, "I was sent home first, of course, to bring news of the outcome of the battle. And once she learned that I would be traveling to Minas Tirith, my dear sister could not be persuaded to be left behind." Lothiríel smiled sweetly, but made no attempt to deny his statement.

"And I am quite grateful for your family's concern in this matter, Amrothos," Faramir answered, smiling at his kinsman. "But come! I am sure you are both weary from your journey." He paused, then turned to me and added, "Éowyn, has the situation with the Rohirrim been resolved?"

"For the moment," I answered. "Elfhelm has informed me fully of what the men require in the way of supplies; I will tell you whenever you wish."

"Thank you. I truly appreciate your willingness to help me with this," he said.

"It is the least I can do," I replied, squeezing his hand in response.

Amrothos cleared his throat quietly, and Faramir glanced back at him and his sister. "Of course. Forgive me, cousins," he said, coloring slightly, causing Amrothos to grin and Lothiríel to cover her mouth with her hand, undoubtedly to suppress a laugh. His expression unguarded for once, Faramir attempted to glare at them, but was having difficulty in holding back a smile himself. "I must escort the lady back to the Houses of Healing first," he added.

"Then we shall accompany you," Lothiríel declared. "I should like the opportunity to further make your acquaintance, if it pleases you, Lady Éowyn."

"Of course," I said, suddenly feeling apprehensive. I could not keep myself from thinking of what Elfhelm's men had just told me about the attitude displayed towards them by the men of Gondor, and wondering again if I would cause Faramir similar difficulties with his people when it became commonly known that their Steward was courting one of the Rohirrim. I had already begun to notice the dark looks directed at me by some of the women in the city on the occasions that I had accompanied Faramir outside of the Houses. And I had no wish to cause a rift between him and the family that remained to him. I regarded Lothiríel curiously, wondering if she was testing me to see if I was worthy of her cousin, but I could see nothing in her expression to indicate anything but a genuine desire to know me better, and so I decided to hope that she truly did mean well.

After Faramir helped me onto my horse—it was still difficult for me to mount without straining my arm overmuch—he and Amrothos politely looked away while I arranged my skirt. Lothiríel quickly trotted up beside me on a strawberry roan-colored mare with white-flecked legs and flashed me a conspiratorial smile. “It is good to meet another woman who is unafraid to use a proper saddle,” she said. “We shall have to go riding sometime.”

“I would like that,” I answered as we moved our horses into a walk, smiling back before remembering that I still had nothing to wear that was suitable for riding. “I will have to see if I can obtain a riding skirt from the healers first, however,” I reluctantly added, looking down ruefully at the accursed skirt that had already caused me so much difficulty in the saddle that day.

“You do not have one?” Lothiríel blurted out, then colored slightly. “Forgive me; of course you would not have one here,” she said, grinning sheepishly. I gave her a sidelong look, and she lowered her voice as she explained. “Yes, I do know how you came to this city. Word of your deeds has spread rapidly, even to Dol Amroth. But please, do not mistake me and believe that I think ill of you for it; I only wish I had your courage,” she finished, almost shyly. My face grew warm, and I was grateful when she changed the subject and declared, “At any rate, we shall have to find you a decent riding outfit as quickly as possible.”

“Of course.” I ventured another smile; though she was much more talkative than I was accustomed to, being used to the company of men, she seemed unafraid to speak her mind and I liked that. I lapsed into silence then, content to ride quietly while Amrothos and Faramir discussed matters of state behind us, with Lothiríel occasionally interjecting some comment.

It was not much longer before we reached the Houses, and Faramir quickly dismounted and walked over to assist me off of Windfola’s back once I managed to disentangle my skirt from the pommel again. Fortunately for my dignity, the process went much smoother than it had on our previous ride, but I still could not help thinking that the fulfillment of Lothiríel’s offer to help me find an actual riding skirt could not come too soon. Once I was safely on the ground, Faramir allowed his hands to linger at my waist as he said, “I cannot thank you enough for your help today, Éowyn.”

“I am glad I was able to be of assistance,” I answered, smiling at him, though my reaction was tempered by self-consciousness at parting with him in front of his cousins. It seemed that he sensed my hesitation, for he quickly released me.

From where he still sat on his horse, Amrothos nodded his head politely. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Éowyn,” he said.

Lothiríel’s expression was warmer as she added, “Indeed, it was. Might I call on you sometime tomorrow? I fear that I shall only get in my kinsmen’s way if I remain in the Citadel while they work.”

“Of course,” I answered, unable to repress a smile at her forthright manner.

“And I shall also call on you, if I am able,” Faramir said, taking my hand and kissing it lightly before raising his eyes to mine once more. “Good evening, Éowyn.”

“Good evening,” I replied, impulsively kissing him on the cheek. Faramir’s expression brightened, and he squeezed my hand briefly before releasing it. Then he turned and remounted Wildfire, giving me one last smile before the party continued on their way to the Citadel. Once they were out of sight, I turned and went back into the Houses, knowing it was time for me to return to my duty as well.

Lothiríel made her promised visit shortly after the noon meal the next day. I found her company surprisingly pleasant. She seemed to be a bit shocked at the state of Minas Tirith—she confessed to me that her own city had been relatively untouched by the war—but she had an irrepressible cheerful streak that made it difficult for her to be dispirited for long. After so much time spent among the more somber healers recently, Lothiríel’s company was quite refreshing.

She had confided to me that she felt rather useless around the Citadel, since there was really nothing she could do to aid her cousin and her brother in their attempts to bring all of the various matters of the city and the surrounding lands under control. I could understand her restlessness, and so it did not take much effort to convince her to come back and visit as often as she wished. But when I found myself being herded into a seamstress’s shop the following morning, I could not help wondering if that had been such a good idea.

Lothiríel had insisted that we go so that I could get a new riding outfit. “It really is not necessary to go to all this trouble,” I said, glancing back uneasily at the Citadel Guards that had accompanied us to ensure our safety, at Faramir’s and Amrothos’s insistence. “Surely it would be easier to just split one of the skirts the healers provided…”

“Nonsense,” Lothiríel said, dismissing my protest immediately. “That would never work with the current fashions of Gondor. The skirts are narrower than those of your people, I believe, and you would not be able to sit comfortably in them if you divided one. And I would simply let you borrow one of mine if I could, but obviously that will not work,” she added, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. I smiled ruefully, knowing she spoke truly; I stood a full head taller than she. “No, we shall just have to have one made for you. Besides, surely you need something to wear for the journey home!”

I frowned, unable to deny that she did have a point. Even if the healers had kept the clothing I had borrowed from my brother, which I found highly doubtful, I knew that Éomer would never allow me to wear such things in front of the entire host of the Rohirrim now that my identity was known to them. No, I cannot get out of this, I decided, resigning myself to my fate as Lothiríel took my elbow and steered me through the doorway.

Once inside, I could not help feeling intimidated; I had never seen a shop such as this in my life. Lengths of finely woven cloth were neatly folded and stacked on a nearby table, while finished samples of clothing hung about the room. I must have had a strange expression on my face, because Lothiríel lowered her voice and asked, “Do they not have shops like this in Rohan?”

“No,” I answered. “Not that I am aware of. Those who are skilled at weaving cloth often trade their wares in exchange for grain or other necessities. And during my time in Edoras, the royal household has always had a tailor who took care of such things; I would be given only a few choices in cloth for my garments.”

“The tailors that serve my father’s household do the same,” Lothiríel admitted. “But I go to the shops instead, when I can; the things that the merchant ships bring in are often much more interesting.” She grinned at me as a portly middle-aged woman, who seemed to run the shop, came out from a back room with a young raven-haired woman in tow.

“Good day, my ladies,” she said, bowing her head while regarding me with open curiosity. I kept my gaze steady, realizing that she must have at least heard the rumors about how I had come to the city. “How may I be of assistance?”

Thankfully, Lothiríel answered for me. “We wish to have a riding outfit made for the Lady Éowyn,” she said.

“Very good, my lady,” the woman answered, reaching into a pocket of an apron she wore around her waist and drawing out a coiled-up cord. “I shall just have to take some measurements first, of course. Have you picked out some cloth?”

“I have not yet had the opportunity,” I answered tentatively.

Lothiríel fixed a solemn gaze on the woman. “Before we begin with that, I would also like to specify that the skirt is to be divided.”

The woman paused, then answered, “My lady?” glancing over at me uncertainly.

“My saddle requires it,” I answered bluntly.

Lothiríel’s eyes were sparkling, but she kept her face solemn as she added, “’Tis a custom among our friends from the North; the ladies ride astride as well as the men. I believe I failed to mention that the lady is the sister of Rohan’s king, and I am certain that you do not wish to offend…”

The older woman’s face visibly paled. “Of course not,” she answered swiftly.

“I did not believe so,” Lothiríel said evenly, a gracious smile crossing her face.

“I must see to figuring out the skirt,” she answered. “Please, feel free to take as much time as you wish in choosing the cloth. If you need any assistance, I shall be in the back. Come, Elwen.” She hastily retreated, the apprentice seamstress following after a quick curtsey.

Lothiríel and I glanced at each other; she covered her hand with her mouth to stifle a giggle, and I was forced to look away as my own laughter threatened to nearly choke me. “I believe you frightened the poor woman half out of her wits, Lothiríel,” I finally said once I felt capable of speaking again.

“I was merely trying to be diplomatic,” she replied, still trying not to burst out laughing. “But come, we must choose some cloth for you; the sooner this dress is made, the sooner we can go riding!”

I needed no further incentive to begin searching through the piles of cloth, eager to make a choice and leave the shop. It did not take me long to find a length of brown linen that I thought would do nicely for the skirt and bodice. Lothiríel, in the meantime, had been searching for something suitable for the tunic. I left the cloth I had chosen lying on the table and walked over towards her. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked deep in thought as she perused the selection. “Have you found anything?” I asked.

“There was some green silk that would look quite lovely on you, but I do not think it would be at all suitable for a longer journey,” she answered. Then her eyes lit up and a devious grin crossed her face. “This would be perfect!” she exclaimed, holding up a length of cloth that was the color of the sky at twilight.

I fingered the fabric gingerly; it felt sturdy enough that it would not get completely ruined on a ride, I decided, but it was still soft to the touch. “Yes, that would be good,” I replied suspiciously. “But why do you say it like that?”

“It seems that my cousin is quite fond of this color,” she said, smiling. “At least, I have heard him say so on previous visits to Dol Amroth, and I am quite certain he would greatly enjoy seeing you in it.”

“Oh.” I glanced down, feeling a bit awkward.

Lothiríel quickly apologized. “I did not mean to imply that you have to take it,” she said. “If you do not like it, we can keep looking.”

“No, it is not that at all,” I said, lifting my head again. “I did not know that it was a color he liked; I am just being foolish, I suppose.”

“Oh, do not let that trouble you,” she replied, giving me a reassuring smile. “You can hardly expect to know everything about a person after knowing him for so short a time, even a person you love. And besides, you have plenty of time to learn these things, do you not?”

Even a person you love? I suddenly realized that though he had said as much to me many times, I had never told him how I felt about him at all. I cared about Faramir, I knew that. But if I truly loved him, it would be easier to tell him, would it not? I wondered as a tiny seed of doubt began to take root in my mind. “Yes, I suppose you are right,” I said, pushing my troubled thoughts aside and trying to sound lighthearted. “And this cloth will do quite nicely, I believe.”

“Good,” Lothiríel said, smiling again. “I suppose we had better finish this up, then.” With that, we made the arrangements for the outfit to be made and left.

-------

Throughout the rest of the day, and for several days afterwards, my conversation with Lothiríel continued to haunt me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how little I truly knew about Faramir; after all, I had not even known him for a month. And though he made every attempt to visit me as often as possible, and assured me that he would be at liberty to spend more time with me once the reports that had piled up during the days prior to the siege and throughout his recovery were all taken care of, it seemed that even with Amrothos’s aid I never had more than a few moments with him at a time. I could not rid myself of the nagging doubt that perhaps once again I had fooled myself into believing that I felt more than I truly did, though I fervently hoped that was not the case. I did not want to hurt Faramir by being unable to return his love.

I did my best to keep myself from dwelling on such thoughts through my work with the healers, though spending so much time around the wounded and sick often made it difficult to keep my spirits up. Finally, just when I was certain I could bear it no longer, Bergil returned from the Citadel one afternoon, accompanied by one of the guards and bearing the message that “the Lords Faramir and Amrothos, and the Lady Lothiríel, wish to know if they might have the pleasure of your company at supper tonight.” After speaking with Ioreth in order to ensure that I could be released from my duties early, I quickly agreed, and the guard escorted me to the Citadel.

It seemed that my arrival had been anticipated; Lothiríel met me almost the moment I entered. After we had exchanged greetings, I said, “It was very kind of you to invite me here.”

“Oh, it was entirely Faramir’s idea,” she replied cheerfully. “And he has also requested that he wishes to speak with you in private before supper—he said he wishes to show you something. I believe he is still in his study, if you wish to go to him now.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, my curiosity aroused.

“I will take my leave then,” she answered with a grin. She paused, then added, “Do you know how to get there?”

“I believe so,” I replied, “though I am certain that if I lose my way, there will be enough guards or servants around to direct me.”

“Very well. I will see you at supper, then.” With that, she turned and left, leaving me to find my way through the winding halls of the Citadel.

I remembered the way to Faramir’s study surprisingly well, considering I had only been there on one occasion. Once there, I paused in front of the door, feeling suddenly hesitant to see him. Then, scowling at my unfounded fears, I knocked firmly.

Faramir opened the door a few moments later, smiling brightly when he saw me. “Éowyn! I am glad you came,” he said, taking my hand in his. I forced a smile, but did not answer. “Is something the matter?” he asked, his voice softening as his smile faded somewhat.

“No,” I quickly answered. “No, I am fine.”

He did not believe me; I could tell by the intense look in his eyes as his studied my face. But he did not press the issue, thankfully. “Come with me,” he finally said. “There is something I wish to show you.”

His steady grip on my hand made me feel even more agitated as he led me through the marble halls of the Citadel, his footfalls barely making a sound on the polished floors. My own steps sounded dreadfully loud to my ears in comparison, and this did nothing to calm me. Finally, Faramir stopped in front of a plain wooden door in a darkened hall; he seemed to sense my distress as he turned to me and asked, “Éowyn, do you trust me?”

“You know that I do,” I answered.

“Then please, close your eyes,” he said. I furrowed my brow, looking at him curiously, but he merely smiled in return, and so I complied without further question.

He released my hand, and I heard a faint click as he unlocked the door, and a harsh squeak as he opened it; it sounded as if the room had been unused for quite some time. This left me feeling oddly reassured as I felt his hand wrap around mine once more, and he gently pulled me forward a few steps.

To my surprise, I could feel a light breeze upon my skin. “May I open them yet?” I asked.

“In a moment,” Faramir promised. I heard the squeaking noise again, fainter this time, then the door closing. Then I felt his hands upon my shoulders, carefully turning me around.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He did not remove his hands from my shoulders, and I could sense him standing close behind me. “You may open your eyes now,” he answered.

As I opened them, I gasped at the sight. We were standing in a small courtyard, enclosed on three sides by a wall that stood about half my height, though climbing vines obscured much of the stone. I briefly twisted my head around to look behind me, and could see the wall of the Citadel itself enclosing the fourth side. Unlike the main courtyard of the Citadel, a thick carpet of tall grass covered the ground. I could see a few planting beds similar to the ones in the gardens at the Houses of Healing; though they were overgrown, there were a few patches of color from the wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. There was a fountain standing off to one side, and I could hear the steady splash of water as it flowed into the stone-surrounded basin below. Though it had obviously been untended for quite some time, I could see a sort of wild beauty in it that reminded me strangely of my homeland; my heart ached at the sight.

But what really took my breath away was the view. We were high enough that the wall blocked out the view of the white stone buildings; all I could see were the fields of the Pelennor spreading out before me, the waters of the Anduin shining golden in the late afternoon sunlight as it wove its way towards the sea, and further south to the plains beyond. “This is beautiful,” I finally said, unable to take my eyes away from the view; for the first time since I had come to Minas Tirith, I could almost forget that I was in a city.

“I thought that you would like it,” Faramir said softly, releasing my arms and stepping forward so that he was standing beside me. We stood in silence for a long moment, looking out over the fields. The scarred earth was beginning to turn green again, save for further away from the city, where it appeared that Gondor’s farmers were beginning to sow a late crop. I could not help wondering if my people were doing the same at home, and I was so lost in this thought that I did not hear Faramir speaking my name until he took my hand again.

“Forgive me,” I said, turning towards him. “What did you say?”

“What is wrong, Éowyn?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I answered, forcing a smile but not really looking at him. “It reminds me a little of home; that is all. I would not think of a place like this within the Citadel,” I added, deciding to change the subject as I walked towards the fountain and sat down on the cool stone wall surrounding it.

“There are few who know of it,” he answered, a far-off look on his face as he sat down next to me. “My father had it built for my mother, shortly after they married; she found it difficult to bear, living under the shadow of the East, and so he wished to give her a place where she could look towards her homeland to the South. After she passed away, he ordered for the door to be locked, and that no one be allowed to enter.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” I asked, wondering yet again how someone who seemed so stern and unyielding could have sired a man like Faramir.

Faramir glanced down. “I have heard it said many times that he loved her dearly, after his own fashion. It always seemed to Boromir and I that, after she died, he could not bear the presence of anything that reminded him of her.. I have always wondered why, if he loved her so greatly, he would wish to forget her.” He paused, then looked up at me. “I think that perhaps I am beginning to understand; I know not if I would be able to bear such a loss.”

Though I could see conflicting emotions on his face, as he had temporarily allowed the careful control he normally kept over his expression to slip, it was the love I could clearly see in his eyes that left me feeling overwhelmed. He deserves so much more, I could not help thinking, and I looked down at my hands in my lap, unable to bear the look in his eyes.

Immediately, I could feel his hand on my arm. “Éowyn? What troubles you?” he asked. I shook my head in reply, afraid to speak. “If I said anything to offend you, I would have you tell…” he continued.

I glanced up briefly, laying a finger against his lips to silence him. “Nay, Faramir, you did not offend,” I interrupted, then glanced down again. “But please, do not look at me like that!”

Faramir furrowed his brow, clearly confused. “I had no intention of…”

“Can you not see?” I asked, growing increasingly agitated as I pulled away from him, fidgeting with the loosened edges of the linen strips that still bound my arm. “You did nothing wrong, Faramir, save to give your attentions to one unworthy of such devotion.”

“Éowyn,” he said, but I continued as if I had not heard him. “You deserve better than an ill-mannered woman of the North who can slay orcs, but who cannot find the courage or the words to tell you that she loves you.”

“Éowyn,” he tried again, this time reaching for my hand. His fingers lightly caressed my palm, and the gesture both warmed me and increased my sense of guilt. “If there is something bothering you, please tell me.”

I could not look at him; I did not wish him to see the tears that I felt pricking at my eyes. “I do love you, Faramir, I truly do,” I said. “I realize that now, and I know that I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I could never quite seem to find the words.”

“Is this what has been troubling you? That you did not say anything sooner?”

“Yes,” I answered, glancing down and fidgeting with the bandage strips. “I know it is probably foolish of me, but you have told me so often that you love me; I feared that since I could never bring myself to tell you the same, that I did not love you. I had no wish to hurt you by being unable to return your love, Faramir.” I knew all too well what that was like, I silently added. “But neither did I want to say I did if I was not completely sure it was true. I wanted it to be true, but…” my voice trailed off as I fumbled for what to say next.

Faramir took my hand in both of his, “You truly mean this?”

I lifted my head so I could look him in the eyes. “With all my heart,” I said, quietly but firmly.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady, though his entire face lit up with joy at my words. “Then why should I fault you for wishing to be certain of your feelings before expressing them to me? You have often told me yourself that you wished for plain speech and honest words; I would rather you not say anything than believe you were not speaking the truth.” Faramir smiled then, and added, “Though I am glad that you said it.”

I finally relaxed then, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from me. For a moment I debated telling him why I had hesitated—that I was so accustomed to being told I could not love or be loved by another that I had truly begun to believe it—but had no wish to spoil the joyful moment by speaking of the darkness in my past. I will tell him someday, I resolved. But not yet. So instead, I smiled in return. “So am I,” I answered. “And thank you for being so understanding.”

“I have a confession to make as well,” he said, his hand lightly caressing mine. “I never doubted that you loved me.”

“You did not?” I asked, surprised.

A rueful smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps for a little while after I left the Houses, but not since that day I came back to see you.”

My face grew warm at the memory of our kiss atop the garden wall, but the thought made me smile again. “Then perhaps I should ensure that you have no more reason to doubt,” I teased, kissing him lightly.

Faramir smiled and pulled me closer as he returned the kiss with an intensity that had not been there before. It both exhilarated and frightened me; he seemed to sense this, and began to pull back a little. I suddenly realized that I did not want it to end so quickly, and laid my hand on his shoulder to stop him. For a brief moment, my eyes met his, then he smiled and closed the distance between us once more, drawing me further into his embrace as I returned the kiss with a fervor that I had not known that I possessed.

Eventually I pulled back, and he immediately loosened his hold on me. Then he moved his arms around my waist, pulling me closer again. I relaxed and leaned my head against his shoulder, content to leave any further words of love unspoken for the time. I knew he understood, and that was enough.

Later that evening, Faramir and I went down to the courtyard; though he told me he would have wished to stay in the little garden, he needed to go to a place where he could be found if duty required it. The night had taken a cold turn, and so Faramir had sent for the blue star-embroidered cloak for me before we left the Citadel. I had not thought I would need it, but as the breeze picked up, I pulled it a bit tighter, grateful for the warmth. “Are you cold?” Faramir asked as we walked.

“Not very much,” I answered. “Thank you for lending the cloak to me again; it does help.”

“Éowyn,” he said, stopping and taking both of my hands in his, “I want you to keep it.”

“But, Faramir, this belonged to your mother,” I protested. “I cannot…”

He placed a finger on my lips to silence me. “I believe that she would wish you to have it,” he said.

“All right, if you are certain that you do not mind parting with it,” I replied.

“I am.” Faramir released one of my hands, moving his hand to rest against my cheek. “Though I cannot say I would be parting with it forever.”

“What?” As I looked up at him, suddenly it sank in that I would be marrying him. The thought made me smile, then all of a sudden I burst out laughing. When he gave me a questioning look, I added, “It is still strange for me to think about, that we will be wed. Though, it is hardly an unpleasant thing to think of.”

“That is good to hear,” he replied, laughing. Then his face grew more serious as he added, “To tell you the truth, I cannot yet say we are officially betrothed. I do wish to speak to your brother first.”

I furrowed my brow and asked, “But your cousins? Do they not know?”

A hint of mischief appeared in his eyes. “Only that I love you. I have not said anything beyond that to them.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised.

“I would not be surprised if Thíri has already guessed that I wish to marry you,” he added with a laugh.

“She has hinted at it,” I admitted. “She was not exactly subtle about it either.”

Faramir smirked, then his expression grew serious again as he said, “I knew that you would want Éomer to be the first to know.”

I smiled up at him gratefully. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

“I had no intention of doing otherwise,” he answered, then kissed me once more. “I love you,” he repeated as he pulled back.

“I know,” I answered, tightening my arms around him once more. “I love you, too.”

As the days passed, life fell into a comfortable routine. I would spend the days working with the healers, and the few free afternoons I had were usually spent in Lothiríel’s company. Faramir was still quite busy putting the city in order, but with Amrothos’s help, he was able to find a little time nearly every evening to spend with me. Most of that time was spent simply talking and getting to know one another better. And as I learned more about Faramir, my love for him continued to grow, so much so that I could not help wondering how I could have ever believed myself to be in love with Aragorn. Whatever I thought I had felt for him, it was a mere shadow compared to what I felt when I was with Faramir.

Though I was grateful for the time spent with him, however, I was becoming increasingly restless with each passing day. And though I tried to hide it, lest Faramir think he was the source of the problem, it soon became apparent that I could not conceal it from him. We were walking through Finduilas’s garden in the Citadel early one evening, neither of us saying much, when he looked over at me and said, “You seem troubled.”

“A little, perhaps,” I answered, walking over towards the wall and leaning my arms on the top of it.

“Is something wrong?” Faramir asked as he moved to stand next to me.

I gave him a sad half-smile. “I am not certain,” I replied. He gave me a questioning look, and I quickly added, “But it is not you, Faramir.” He smiled a bit at this, but waited patiently for me to continue.

I began pacing a bit as I talked. “I have not heard from Éomer since I sent Éothain back to him. I cannot help wondering if he is still angry with me for staying.”

“I doubt that,” Faramir replied, grabbing my arm lightly and forcing me to pause and look at him. “I would be quite surprised if he was even angry with you when he sent his request in the first place. I can only guess at what he is thinking since I do not know him, nor did I have a sister, but it seems to me that he was more concerned to see for himself whether you were well than anything else.”

“But he must think that I do not wish to see him,” I answered sadly. “We have never fought for so long before.”

“Then perhaps he is only waiting for you to make the first move, Éowyn,” he said gently, taking both of my hands in his.

“Perhaps so.” I looked up, a new determination rising within me to resolve things with my brother as soon as possible. “I shall have to find a way to send a message to him, then. Do you know if the armies are still at Cormallen?”

Faramir smiled. “I had wanted to tell you earlier, but I wanted to be certain that you were all right first,” he answered. “A messenger arrived just before I sent for you. The armies are returning, and they should be arriving two days from now.”

“Really?” A smile lit up my face at the thought of seeing Éomer again. “This is wonderful news! And I can hardly wait for you to meet him, Faramir. I do hope that you and he will get along.”

“From what you have told me, he is a good, fair man,” Faramir replied, smiling warmly at me. “I am certain that we will get along just fine.”

“He can be a little protective of me, though, especially about other men,” I warned him. With good reason, I added silently, a prick of guilt stabbing me as I remembered I had not yet told Faramir about Wormtongue. But just as quickly, I decided that there would be time for that later. “I hope he will not give you too much of a hard time about this.”

“Éowyn,” he said, his grey-blue eyes looking deeply into mine, “I swear to you that I will do whatever I must to win your brother’s consent. And you are worth any amount of trouble that Éomer, or anyone else in Rohan or Gondor, could give me.”

“Thank you,” I replied softly, a soft smile returning to my face. “That means a great deal.”

Faramir pressed a light kiss against my forehead, smiling at me as he withdrew, then slipped his arm around my waist as I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. After awhile, I looked up and asked, “Will everything be ready in time for their arrival, do you think?” Over the last several days, large numbers of people from the surrounding towns and provinces of Gondor, as well as the last of the refugees from Minas Tirith itself, had been pouring into the city to await the coming of their King. Even with the reduced population of the White City’s latter days, Faramir and the other officials had been hard-pressed to find accommodations for them all.

“It should be,” Faramir replied.  “I know that the returning armies will remain encamped on the Pelennor, so there is no need to find room for the new arrivals to sleep, and all is set in order for the coronation. Unless there is some other long-buried custom, without which the rightful King cannot be properly crowned, that has been completely overlooked by both myself and Amrothos, not to mention the eldest and wisest of the loremasters of Gondor,” he added, shaking his head.

I rolled my eyes slightly. “Yes, I can imagine that with all the ceremony needed to make a Steward, crowning a King in this land would be a logistical nightmare.”

Faramir smiled, looking amused. “Well, my lady, your people need not fear that the entire event will be completely solemn. Once the initial ceremony is out of the way, I am certain that there will be enough celebrating and feasting to keep many a Rider satisfied.”

“Perhaps so,” I replied with a grin. “But can you be certain that we will leave enough of the feast for your people to enjoy themselves as well?”

“I have no doubt of that,” Faramir said. Then a wicked gleam lit his eyes as he added with a chuckle, “Unless our dear friends from the Shire get to it first.” I burst out laughing at this as he pulled me into his arms, and it was long before any thought of Éomer, or how he would react to Faramir, crossed my mind again that evening.

xxxxxxx

The evening before the armies were scheduled to arrive, Faramir sent a message saying that he had been summoned to meet Aragorn at their encampment the next day in order to report on the progress made in rebuilding the city, as well as to work out the final details of the coronation. He wanted to know if I wished to go as well, to see if I could speak with Éomer. I readily accepted the offer, though I could not help feeling apprehensive about actually going to the camp. After all, I had parted with my brother on such ill terms, not to mention that the thought of possibly running into Aragorn again was renewing the shame I felt over how deceived I had been in my feelings for him. I still had a tiny, nagging doubt in the back of my mind about how I would react when I saw him once more, and how that would affect my still-new relationship with Faramir. But at the same time, I was determined not to let these fears stand in the way of the chance to reconcile things with Éomer.

As it turned out, the party that was to ride out to the camp had expanded. Faramir had decided to leave the city in the charge of Lord Húrin for the day, and Amrothos had agreed to assist him, but Lothiríel refused to be left behind as well. She told me she had not seen her father or her brother Erchirion since they had ridden to war, and I could perfectly understand her wish to see for herself that they were both well. Besides the three of us, Elfhelm had received a summons from Éomer, and when I saw him in the stable preparing to ride out I immediately asked him to join us. My motives were purely selfish, of course; I hoped he would be willing to assist me in finding an opportunity to speak with my brother. And, though it pained me to admit it, I was much less apprehensive about going to see him in the company of one of my countrymen than alone with Faramir. That would complicate the situation even more, if Éomer suspected that our relationship ran deeper than the most basic of friendships.

Despite my qualms about that, since propriety demanded that we should maintain our distance—and particularly because Faramir and I had agreed that it would be best if we took care not to show much affection towards each other in public until we had a chance to approach my brother and obtain his blessing—I could not help wishing for his company as we rode out of the city towards the encampment that had been hastily erected late on the previous day. Faramir had grudgingly agreed to an escort, though he only allowed three of the Citadel guards to accompany him, and was riding near the front of the group just behind the black-clad soldiers. Elfhelm and I rode behind, also accompanied by two of the Rohirrim that had been laboring in the first circle. Lothiríel had refused Amrothos’s offer of a guard and insisted that she would be sufficiently protected since all the party she rode with would be proven warriors; after saying this, she directed a mischievous smile at me when her brother was not looking. She stayed close to me as we rode as if she hoped to relieve my obvious apprehension, making a valiant attempt to distract me with tales of life in Dol Amroth. As much as I appreciated her efforts, they were completely wasted on me, and she eventually lapsed into silence.

Finally, we reached the camp, making our slow way through the soldiers there. Faramir occasionally called out a greeting to one or other of the men who hailed him joyfully; I could only assume that they had served under his command. I could not help but notice the whispers among the men, especially those of the North, as I rode past. It appeared to me that Lothiríel had never been to a soldiers’ camp before; she seemed a little uncomfortable with all the attention and, whether she realized it or not, let her horse fall back a little more towards the guards. Upon dismounting, Faramir immediately moved towards the large pavilion that stood near the center of the camp and began speaking with the guards outside. I dismounted from Windfola’s back and fidgeted with the reins that I now held loosely in my hands, uncertain of what to do next. Elfhelm, who had just dismounted from his own horse, turned towards me and said, “It might be best if you wait here, my lady. I do not know if Lord Éomer will wish to stay to hear Lord Faramir’s report or not.”

“Very well,” I replied, though I could feel my insides twisting in knots at the thought of delaying our meeting; I just wanted to get it over with.

“Marshal Elfhelm!” I heard Faramir call out as he approached the two of us. “I have been told that your King is currently with the Lords Aragorn and Imrahil. Would you prefer to accompany us now, or wait until he is finished?”

Elfhelm looked over at me, then answered simply, “I will go now, if that is all right, my lord.”

“It is.” Faramir indicated for him to follow; before he turned to go, his eyes briefly met mine and he gave me a reassuring smile. I returned it as best as I could, then returned to my fidgeting as soon as he had gone.

Lothiríel gave me a sympathetic smile, then politely bid me goodbye; she was anxious to seek out her brother Erchirion, which I could understand perfectly. Then she left, escorted by one of the Gondorian guards. I stood there uncomfortably for a long moment. As anxious as I was to see my brother, I was suddenly all too aware that Aragorn was with him, and I was no longer certain that I was ready to face him again. Especially not with Faramir around. But in the end, my curiosity and desire to reconcile things with Éomer won out over my apprehension. I looked over at the Rohirric guards, who were occupied with guarding their horses, as well as mine and Elfhelm’s; they did not appear to pay attention at all as I approached the spacious tent where the leaders of the West were meeting.

As I drew closer, I could hear the customary formalities being exchanged. I could also hear Éomer’s voice naturally projecting above the others as he greeted Faramir politely, and with a good deal more enthusiasm in his tone as he greeted Elfhelm. I was surprised when shortly thereafter, he asked, “My lords, if these matters do not concern Rohan I would like to request permission to withdraw. I have much that I need to discuss with my Marshall.”

“Most of my report deals with the progress in rebuilding the city and the surrounding areas,” Faramir stated. “And there are a few matters regarding tomorrow’s ceremony that need to be discussed, but I do not believe there are any changes regarding your people, my lord.”

“And if there are, I will be certain to send word. You have my permission to go, Éomer.” That voice was Aragorn’s, I was certain of it. Though his words were formal, there was a warmth in his tone that told me that my brother and the soon-to-be King of Gondor had become fast friends by this point. I tried not to think of all the possible ways that this could complicate things as Éomer bid the others farewell.

Realizing I was about to be caught eavesdropping, I hastily moved away from the entrance, peering around the side of the tent as Elfhelm and Éomer stepped outside. Once the tent flap had closed behind them, Elfhelm turned to my brother and said, “My lord, before I give you my report, it is my duty to inform you that you have a visitor.” I wondered if he knew where I had concealed myself, or if it was just my imagination that his gaze moved past Éomer towards my tent corner.

“Can it not wait?” Éomer groaned. “From what little I have heard, it will likely take us the next three days, at least, to sort through the state of affairs in Rohan and whatever else needs to be done before we depart. We have but a few hours’ time today, if that.”

“She was most insistent, my lord.” This time, there was no mistaking the twinkle in Elfhelm’s eyes as he looked towards me.

“She?” Éomer repeated, surprise and hope mingled in his tone. I could put it off no longer. I gathered my courage and stepped out into the open just before Éomer turned towards me. “Good day, brother,” I said softly.

For a moment, Éomer looked as if he scarcely believed it was truly me. Then his face lit up in a wide grin. “Éowyn!” he exclaimed, rushing over and pulling me into a wild embrace that lifted me off my feet and spun me around; as he did so, I barely noticed that Elfhelm politely backed off, joining the other Rohirrim by the horses. For that moment, he was not the acting King of Rohan and I was no longer the wayward soldier who had failed to follow orders and was awaiting her doom; we were simply brother and sister again, the way it had been in that nearly-forgotten time before Théoden’s decline. Once my feet were on the ground once more, he asked anxiously, “I did not hurt you, did I?”

“No, Éomer,” I said, my face relaxing into a smile, “my arm does not trouble me any longer. The healers have finally given me leave to go without my sling.”

“Good, good, I am glad to hear it. But tell me, Éowyn,” he said as he pulled me away from the tent, his eyes still searching my face anxiously, “how are you faring?”

I knew that he was concerned over much more than my health, and I rested my hand on his arm in an attempt to set his mind at ease. “It has been difficult,” I replied before raising my eyes to his and continuing, “but I believe I am very nearly well, save one thing only.”

“And what is that?” Éomer’s grey eyes were clouded with worry.

“I need to ask your forgiveness, Éomer.” I bowed my head and continued, “You were right. I disobeyed orders and forsook my duty to my king and my people. I have regretted the pain I caused you ever since you rode to the battle.” I swallowed hard, then lifted my eyes to his. “And I will willingly bear whatever punishment you deem appropriate upon our return to Rohan.”

Éomer blinked in disbelief. “Éowyn,” he said, “did you really think I was going to punish you for this?” I looked down again. “After Merry arrived in Cormallen without you, and then Éothain came back without you…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. I glanced up, sensing that whatever he had to say was difficult for him; though he could certainly speak his mind with full conviction, Éomer had never been one who could express feelings in words very easily. Finally, he continued in a quieter tone, “After that, I spent a great deal of time speaking with Gandalf and Merry. I think I understand why you did it now. And…I think…if our places had been reversed, it is likely that I would have done the same.”

I looked up fully then. “Would you?” I asked.

Éomer shook his head. “I cannot say for certain. I can only begin to imagine what it was like for you, having to spend day after day watching our uncle fall further into darkness, with that—that thing always watching you.” An angry look crossed his face, followed swiftly by deep regret. “I should have done more to protect you, ‘Wyn. Perhaps then it would not have come to this.”

“You did all you could,” I replied, resting my hand on his arm again. “Your duty was to watch over our people, and mine was to watch over our King. It could not have been any different.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But I still wish that it had not driven you to the battle. I cannot forget the desperation I saw in your eyes the last time I saw you.” He looked pained at the memory, but it faded from his expression as he said quietly, “Yet you seem more at peace now than I have seen you in a long time.”

“And that is why I cannot truly say I regret coming here,” I replied, then nodded towards where Elfhelm was still waiting. “I have much I need to tell you, Éomer, but I think it shall have to wait until you are more at liberty. It is too long a tale for now, especially since you have your duty to attend to.”

Éomer sighed heavily. “I suppose you are right. I am beginning to wish that Théoden or Théodred had informed me of how much work being a king involved!” A humorless smirk crossed his face for a moment before he admitted, “There is so much about it that I never even considered. “I wonder sometimes if I am equal to the task.”

“Uncle Théoden believed you were,” I said softly. “And he would not have entrusted this to you if he did not believe you could do it.”

He smirked slightly. “That sounds familiar.”

“And it is the truth,” I insisted.

“And I suppose I should get back to it,” he said reluctantly, “though I hate to leave you alone here.”

“Do not worry, brother,” I said. “I will not run off again.”

“Even so,” he replied, “I have a feeling that this is going to take awhile.” Suddenly, he grinned. “And I know a certain holbytla who will never forgive me if he learns you were here and he was not informed.”

“Merry is here?” I exclaimed. “I would like to see him again, if I could.”

“And that can be arranged easily enough,” Éomer said. He went to speak to Elfhelm for a moment, then returned. “I have a good guess as to where he might be. Shall we go?”

I nodded, and we began walking through the encampment. As we walked, I noticed that several of the younger soldiers, both Rohirric and Gondorian alike, were openly staring at me, while some of the older ones murmured among themselves just as they had upon my arrival at the camp. “Why does everyone keep looking at me, Éomer?” I asked quietly. “Surely it has not been so long since any of them saw a woman!”

“No, it seems your reputation as the one who slew the Captain of the Dark Lord’s armies spread quite rapidly. I know that among our people, at least, they hail you as a hero.” He smiled wryly and added, “My sister, the war hero. I never would have guessed that such a thing would come to pass.”

“Neither would I,” I replied softly.

We fell silent then, until I spotted four small figures sitting outside of one of the tents. Éomer turned to me and grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Wait here,” he said, motioning for me to move behind one of the tents, then headed for the Halflings. “Meriadoc!” he called out in a stern voice.

I watched as one of the hobbits jumped to his feet, then bowed. “My Lord Éomer,” he said respectfully, then added, “how may I be of service?”

“I have a duty for you to perform, Merry,” Éomer said, a completely serious look on his face. Merry looked at him questioningly, and Éomer continued, “I need you to keep one of my Riders entertained while I attend to some business.”

Merry looked distinctly confused now. “My lord?” he asked, then shrugged it off. “Well, I’ll do my best. Who is it?”

I could resist no longer. “Dernhelm,” I called out, stepping into view.

Merry’s face lit up. “Éowyn!” he called out, running towards me. I knelt down so I would be on his level, and he gave me an enthusiastic hug. “It’s wonderful to see you!”

“It is good to see you again as well, Merry,” I replied, smiling as he pulled back.

“How are you? Oh, I didn’t hurt your arm, did I? How’s Faramir? Is he here too?”

I held up my hands, laughing at the barrage of questions. Clearly, in spite of how troubled he had been when he left Minas Tirith, Merry was back to his old self. “I am well, my arm has healed, and yes, Faramir is here as well, though he is currently meeting with Lord Aragorn,” I replied.

“Faramir?” Éomer asked, raising an eyebrow at the informality as he looked at me.

I straightened as I replied, “Lord Faramir was recovering from a battle wound in the Houses of Healing while I was there; he and Merry and I spent a good deal of time together before he was released.” My face colored slightly despite my best efforts to appear calm, and I hoped it was not too obvious.

“Oh yes, the Steward. So he is a friend of yours?”

Éomer’s tone was neutral, but I could not quite read the expression on his face. Did he suspect anything? I wondered. I needed to find a way to tell him about Faramir, and soon, I realized. If I delayed too long and Éomer did guess the truth about my relationship with the Steward, it would cause far too many problems. But it was a conversation far too involved to begin now, and in Merry’s presence, so I simply replied, “He has become a good friend, yes.”

Éomer nodded slightly, looking thoughtful. “I see.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I must return; Marshal Elfhelm will be wondering what has become of me. Merry, I believe that Lady Éowyn’s party will be departing the King’s pavilion, if you would not mind escorting her there in awhile.”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord,” Merry replied with a gallant bow that made the smile return to my face. Éomer gave him a solemn nod, though I could tell he was having a difficult time suppressing a laugh from the twinkle in his eyes. As soon as he departed, Merry turned to me and said, “You look like you’re doing better.”

“I am,” I answered. “Though I must say, things in the Houses have been much duller since you left, Merry.” A grin flashed across my face briefly, then faded as I asked, “Your friends that were injured—are they well?”

“Oh yes, quite healed,” Merry said cheerfully, beginning to walk over to where the other three Halflings were sitting and motioning for me to follow. “I mean, Frodo and Sam are still regaining their strength, but that’s to be expected. You remember Pippin, of course.” He motioned to one of the hobbits, who grinned at me cheerfully, then indicated each of the others in turn. “And this is Frodo Baggins, and Samwise Gamgee.”  These two Halflings did look as if they were still healing from a long illness—though, from what little I had heard, I was perhaps not far off the mark in that assessment. Frodo, in particular, looked far older than any of them, and I noticed that his hand was still bandaged. “Frodo, Sam, this is the lady Éowyn of Rohan,” Merry added, bringing me out of my thoughts. The two hobbits greeted me kindly enough, though Frodo’s smile seemed a bit tired and forced, and Samwise’s rather shy.

Merry excused himself from their company then, and the two of us walked a little way off. He told me of the journey to Cormallen and how he had found his friends upon his arrival, and in turn I told him what had passed in the city since his departure, though I was careful to leave the more personal details about myself and Faramir out of it. Even so, once I had finished and we had begun the walk back to the pavilion, Merry said, “It seems that you and Faramir have seen a lot of each other since I left.”

“Well, we did become friends during your stay, remember?” I gently reminded him, hoping the sudden warmth I felt in my face would not give too much away.

“Oh, is that all?” Merry asked slyly with a wide grin on his face.

“Merry!” I exclaimed, certain that my face was a deep shade of crimson by this point.

Merry’s smile faded. “I hope I didn’t offend you,” he said earnestly. “It’s just, I know he cares about you a great deal, and I thought…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked so forlorn that I sighed. “Merry, I beg you, do not breathe a word of that around anyone, especially my brother,” I pleaded.

Merry looked more cheerful again, oddly enough. “Does this mean I was right?” he asked innocently.

I laughed out loud at that. “You truly have not changed a bit, Merry.”

“And you have not answered my question,” he countered with a grin.

Rolling my eyes, I lowered my voice and said, “There is no formal arrangement between us.”

“But you do have feelings for him,” Merry insisted. My face grew hot again, and Merry’s grin grew wider. “I knew it!”

“I do not wish to discuss that now,” I replied firmly; we were drawing near the pavilion. I was not surprised to see that Éomer was not yet there, as I was certain that he had much to discuss with Elfhelm. When he did come into sight a few minutes later, I was surprised to see that he was accompanied not only by Elfhelm, but he was also walking with Lothiríel and an unfamiliar dark-haired man that I could only assume was her other brother. It seemed that Éomer and the Gondorian had formed at least some acquaintance, as he was talking and laughing with Éomer and Elfhelm while Lothiríel listened attentively, only occasionally offering a comment of her own. It seemed to me that she was intimidated by my brother; it struck me as odd, as I had never yet known her to act so unsure of herself.

Éomer smiled when he saw me and hurried over. “I hope I did not keep you waiting long,” he said.

“Not at all; Merry and I were simply catching up,” I replied, smiling at the Halfling. Éomer nodded approvingly, and I asked, “And how did your meeting go?”

“We still have much to discuss, my lady,” Elfhelm said. “But we have made a beginning.”

Yes, a beginning, I thought. I knew that it would be quite some time before things were the way they used to be between Éomer and myself, or before I would be able to fully repair the breach I had created between myself and my people, but at least this day’s journey had been a start.

Shortly after Lothiríel—who still seemed a good deal more subdued than usual—had introduced her companion as her brother Erchirion, there was a rustling at the entrance to the King’s tent and the other guards from the Citadel emerged, followed closely by Faramir and then Prince Imrahil. I was relieved to see that Aragorn did not join them. Upon seeing his daughter, the Prince’s eyes lit up, and he quickly moved to embrace her warmly. I stepped away slightly, not wishing to intrude upon the family reunion; Éomer and Elfhelm did the same. Erchirion, on the other hand, stepped forward, grasping Faramir’s arm in a soldierly manner before embracing him. “It is wonderful to see you on your feet again, Cousin!” he said enthusiastically. “When we heard you had been wounded, we feared that we had lost you.”

“Nay, it seems you shall not be rid of me so easily,” Faramir said with one of his rare unguarded smiles. “And what of you? Your father tells me you were wounded at the Gate.”

“’Tis but a scratch,” Erchirion said lightly, “no matter what he might tell you.”

I was surprised to hear Éomer’s undignified snort from beside me. “That is not what I heard that you said when they were sewing you up.”

Erchirion turned towards him with an exaggerated grimace. “Must you insist on making me look bad in front of the ladies?” he groaned, though I could see a twinkle in his eyes that indicated that this was not the first time they had verbally sparred. It did not surprise me; with his build it seemed that this particular son of Imrahil’s was a warrior through and through, which would explain his quick friendship with my brother.

Lothiríel glanced over from where she was talking with her father, a sly grin on her face. “I can hardly be counted in that assessment, brother. I already know all the ill things there are to know about you.” Éomer smirked at that, and Lothiríel’s face flushed faintly as she turned back towards Imrahil. I briefly grinned to myself, thinking I might need to ask Lothiríel just what, exactly, had passed between her and my brother at some later point.

“All the same, I am glad to see that you are well,” Faramir said, interrupting my thoughts and smiling at his cousin. I had been able to see a slight trace of wistfulness in his eyes as he had watched the banter between Erchirion and Lothiríel, and could easily guess that he was thinking of the brother he had lost so recently. But all traces of it were gone now.

“My lord,” one of the Gondorian guards spoke up, “should we not return to the city soon? It is getting late.”

“Yes, Adrahil,” Faramir replied before turning towards the others. “My lords, I fear we are unable to stay any longer today, but I thank you for your time.” His eyes briefly met mine, then he purposefully turned towards Lothiríel and asked, “Cousin, may I escort you to your horse?” I understood completely. It was not the time, not until we had spoken to Éomer.

“Of course,” Lothiríel replied smoothly, embracing her father and brother one more time before taking the arm that Faramir offered.

“Éowyn?” Éomer asked, offering his arm to me in a similar manner. As I took it, Imrahil smiled at me kindly. “It is good to see you well again, my lady,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord,” I replied, bowing my head. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” I added as I looked towards Erchirion.

In reply, Erchirion grinned and took my hand, kissing it lightly. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” he said.

Faramir’s gaze briefly shot over towards his cousin, an unreadable look on his face. Thankfully, Éomer did not seem to notice as he rolled his eyes. “Have a care, man,” he groaned. “I am certain you would not wish me to act in such a manner towards your sister.”

“I am simply being polite, my friend,” Erchirion retorted, grinning towards Lothiríel, who merely shook her head.

“Very well,” Éomer retorted, laughing. “But I will be watching to make sure it remains just that—politeness!” He grinned at me and added, “Come, sister.” I forced a smile back, though I was beginning to wonder what this protectiveness he displayed would mean when I told him about Faramir. I quickly bid farewell to Merry before taking his arm, then remained silent until we reached Windfola. Éomer then turned to me and wrapped his arms around me tightly—a rare display of affection, since we were in public. “I am glad you came today, Éowyn,” he said softly to me.

“As am I, Éomer,” I replied; as I mounted Windfola and looked back at him, my smile was genuine now, and the lighthearted feeling that I had stayed with me for the entire journey back to Minas Tirith.

My relief that the meeting with Éomer had gone well was so overwhelming that I failed to notice how preoccupied Faramir was as we journeyed back to the city. It was not until our horses had been led away to be returned to the stables on the third level, and Faramir had escorted me to the door of the Houses of Healing, that I realized how oddly quiet he had been the entire way, though it seemed he had been listening while I had told him of my time with my brother. “Faramir,” I asked him quietly, dropping his arm, “is everything all right?”

I could not read his expression as he took my hand. As he lifted it to his lips, he whispered, “I will explain later.” Then he lightly kissed the back of my hand, and added in a louder and more formal voice, “Farewell, my lady.” With that, he turned to go, still looking deep in thought.

For the remainder of the afternoon into the early evening, my thoughts were plagued with questions as to what was bothering him. Had something happened with Aragorn? I wondered. Or was it something I had done? And if so, what? Ioreth, whom I had been asked to accompany on her late-afternoon rounds finally got fed up with my silent fretting and dismissed me, saying that apparently keeping my mind on my duties was a lost cause for the day, what with all the excitement of riding out to the encampment and such. I was just finishing a quick supper when one of the guards from the Citadel arrived to announce that the Lord Faramir wished to discuss a matter with the Lady Éowyn, and could I please accompany him back to the Citadel? Being freed from my work for the night, I quickly agreed.

Despite my preoccupation with all the possibilities about what Faramir wanted to tell me, the journey was quick, and it seemed that little time had passed before I was standing in front of the door to the Steward’s office. When Faramir opened the door in response to my knock—I had rapped on the door before the guard could step in to announce my arrival, much to his consternation—I smirked to see that the room seemed to be in an even greater disarray than when I had seen it last. Faramir glanced back to see what I was looking at, then looked back at me and shrugged helplessly while the guard was not looking. “Thank you for answering my summons so quickly, Lady Éowyn,” he said, his reserved tone belied only by a slight twinkle in his blue-grey eyes.

“I am at your service, my lord,” I replied, dropping into a slight curtsy in imitation of his formality.

Faramir dismissed the guard who had brought me there, and once the guard was out of sight he stepped back inside the room and emerged holding a lantern with an already-lit candle. “Will you walk with me, my lady?” he asked, offering his arm once he had shut and locked the door behind him. As we walked, I studied his face to see if I could find any indication of what he was thinking, but to no avail. It was not until we had nearly reached the door that I realized he was escorting me to the hidden garden again. He opened the door quietly and motioned for me to enter. Faramir shut the door behind him, leaving us in the cooler twilight air, and set the lantern on the nearby bench. “I am greatly looking forward to speaking with your brother,” he admitted with uncharacteristic frustration. “It is getting rather tiresome, having to guard my every action around you in public to prevent the spread of any untimely rumors!”

I wondered if this was what he wished to speak to me about, but as he did not seem overly agitated, I could not help teasing him a bit. “It would not have to be so were we in Rohan, my lord,” I said with mock formality.

“Oh?” he answered, raising an eyebrow. “Your people would not talk about us?”

“No, they would talk,” I replied with a grin. “After all, it is not every day that a ruler of a ‘proper’ nation like Gondor takes up with an unruly Rohirric maiden.” I stepped closer to him, continuing, “But even if I walked up to you in the middle of the street and did this…” My voice trailed off as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his head closer to mine for a lingering kiss. Once I pulled back slightly, I finished, “It would not be looked down upon, as I suspect it would here.”

“I am quickly developing a greater appreciation for the more informal ways of your people.” Faramir smiled and continued, “I have never seen a man and a woman embrace in such a way in the middle of the street.”

I laughed as I pulled away and admitted, “It is not an everyday occurrence. Usually I would see that most often during a time of celebration, when the ale was flowing a bit too freely. But my mother and father were very open about their affection for each other.” My smile grew a bit wistful as I continued, “Every time my father had to leave, whether it was merely for the day or for a longer period as his duties as Marshal demanded, before he walked out of the door he would pull Mother into his arms and kiss her soundly. It was always the same—Mother would protest about him kissing her ‘in front of the children’, though only halfheartedly and we all knew she enjoyed it, Éomer and I would always act thoroughly disgusted at the display, and Father would only laugh and say that he cared not if all of Rohan saw that he loved his wife.”

Faramir smiled. “It sounds like a good memory to have,” he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pulling me close. “I wonder what our children would have to say about you and I?”

“Now, Faramir,” I retorted, turning around in his arms and attempting to look stern, though I suspected I failed miserably, “that question is a little premature, is it not? After all, we are not even officially betrothed yet!”

“A formality I hope to remedy shortly,” he replied, kissing my forehead.

I smiled, but then quickly grew more serious. “Is that what troubles you, Faramir? That you still need to speak to Éomer?”

“I must admit it concerns me a little,” he replied, pulling back, though he did not let go of my hand. He then led me over to the bench, moving the lantern to the ground, and pulled me down next to him. “But no, my love, I am not overly troubled about that right now. I asked to speak with you because there is something I need to tell you, and I did not wish for it to be overheard.”

“What is it?” I asked.

Faramir glanced up at the darkening sky, as if he were not certain how to begin. “While I was meeting with Aragorn this afternoon, he asked me to continue on as the Steward.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Faramir, this is wonderful news!” I paused, then added uncertainly, “Is it not?”

“I believe it will be for the best,” he replied, smiling a bit then. “I must admit, I was not expecting such an offer at all.”

“And why not?” I retorted. “You know Gondor and its people far better than he would, and it is obvious, to me at least, that they hold you in high esteem. Aragorn would be mad to refuse what advice you could give him.”

Faramir laughed aloud. “My dear shieldmaiden,” he teased gently, “there is no need for you to jump so quickly to my defense when the battle, so to speak, is already over!” He looked down at my hand then, still resting in his, and added, “Though I do appreciate that you would do so if need be.”

“Of course I would,” I said, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb. We fell silent for a time then, though I noticed that Faramir’s gaze kept drifting over towards the encampment on the Pelennor, where torches had now been lit. From where we were, they looked like mere candle flames against the darkness of the field. I watched him for a time, his face faintly but warmly illumined by the lantern light. “What are you thinking?” I finally asked.

He blinked, looking as one awakening from a dream. He smiled at me tenderly, then said, “I was merely considering how greatly tomorrow will change everything—for both my people and for myself.” There was a faraway look in his eyes as he added, “I had scarcely dared to hope that the King might return in my lifetime. Never would I have dreamed that I would be the one to relinquish the rule of Gondor into his keeping. Boromir, perhaps but…” He paused, then added, “Part of me still thinks it should have been him, not me.”

I took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. “I have no doubt that, wherever the halls of your fathers may be, your brother will be watching tomorrow’s events right along with you.” I smiled a bit sadly and continued, “As is my uncle, I am sure. He would have been glad to know that the throne of Gondor has been filled at last. Though I suspect that, in a way, he knew all along that this was what he was fighting to save, as well as our own lands and people.” I looked up at him then, saddened by the turn my own thoughts had taken in my attempt to comfort him. “We have both lost much in bringing this day to pass, Faramir.”

“Yes,” Faramir replied, his expression softening as he held my gaze while he reached up with his other hand to caress my cheek. “But I have gained far more than I have ever hoped for as well.”

“As have I,” I replied.

I smiled as he wrapped his arms tightly around me again and kissed the top of my head, then stood up and pulled me to my feet. “As much as I would love to continue this, it is getting late. I should escort you back.”

“I know,” I reluctantly conceded. “I am sure you need to leave early.”

He nodded in agreement. “I am taking a carriage down tomorrow, since I will need to bring the King’s crown with me,” he said. “Amrothos and Lothiríel will be riding with me as well; would you like to join us?”

“Of course.” I grinned, then added, “Or would that cause too much of a stir among your people, the proper Steward of Gondor being seen so publicly with a wild maiden of Rohan?”

Faramir laughed, then pulled me back into his arms. “Let them talk, then. Once I have a chance to speak with your brother, I care not who knows how I feel about you.” I could barely hold back another grin as his lips claimed mine once more.

-------

The day of the coronation dawned fair and clear, with the early morning sun warming my skin through the glass the moment I stopped by the window of my room. To one who had been raised in the cooler climate of Rohan, it felt almost as if summer had arrived early, come to greet the soon-to-be-crowned King of Gondor.

I left the window and moved over towards the wardrobe. The white wool of the one gown I had brought with me when I rode to Gondor would feel heavy on a day such as this, but I knew it would have to do nevertheless. Though I greatly appreciated the generosity of the healers in obtaining the other garments I had been wearing, I had to admit that my own dress was best suited for one of the royal family of Rohan to wear for such an occasion. So it was with no little shock that I opened the door to find a green dress, which looked oddly familiar though I knew I had not seen it before, hanging in the front of the wardrobe.

My audible gasp was punctuated by the door opening as Mithríel walked in. “What is the matter, Éowyn?” she asked.

“Where did this come from?” I asked. “Mithríel, if this was your doing, or any of the other women here, you really should not have!”

A mischievous laugh sounded from the hallway before the healer could answer, and Lothiríel poked her head into the doorway. “Do you like it?” she asked. “I do hope it fits all right!”

“You!” I exclaimed, temporarily at a loss for words before continuing, “Where did you get this? How did it get in here?” I paused, then asked, “And what are you doing here?”

“Why, I am here to help you get ready for the coronation, of course,” Lothiríel replied as she entered the room fully, wearing a gown of deep twilight blue and a completely innocent smile on her face. “And I have brought my maidservant with me to assist, since we do not have much time before the men are to arrive. Amrothos had a few of the guards escort us here, but the Steward’s carriage will be here before long to take us to the gates.”

“You did not answer my question,” I demanded.

Lothiríel laughed again as she motioned a tall, slightly plump young woman with raven hair into the room. The maidservant met my eyes for only the briefest moment before bowing her head and ducking into a curtsy. “It would not do at all for a kinswoman of Rohan’s king to arrive to a ceremony such as this so simply dressed, so I took the liberty of making other arrangements for you.”

The maidservant pulled the gown out of the wardrobe and laid it across the bed, allowing me to fully look at it. As I touched the fine, silky cloth, I realized that if my eyes were not deceiving me, it was the very same I had been admiring in the seamstress’s shop on the day the two of us had gone to order my riding clothes. I carefully lifted it up partway, exclaiming, “It’s beautiful!” as I admired the sheen of the cloth and the fine golden embroidery that encircled the neckline and the edges of the sleeves. I could also see that the sleeves were lined in a paler green, which also appeared to peek out of the center of the skirt. “It…” I paused as I realized what about the dress seemed so familiar. “It bears a striking resemblance to the style of my white gown,” I finished dryly.

Lothiríel smiled innocently. “How else was I to find a model for a gown that would be in a more Rohirric style?” she replied lightly. “However, I must give credit where it is due, and I could not have done this without the aid of this fine woman, since I needed someone who could take the measurements without you noticing.” She motioned towards Mithríel, who turned quite crimson.

“Mithríel! You were in on this? And you said nothing?” I blurted out in surprise.

“Forgive me, my lady,” she replied, bowing her head slightly. “The Princess was quite adamant.” But I could not help but notice that she was having difficulty in suppressing her own grin.

 “We also brought you some shoes, though I had to guess at the size since you did not have a second pair to look at. I do hope they fit!”

“I suppose the Gondorian nobility would frown upon wearing riding boots with such a fine dress,” I replied wryly.

“More like the noblewomen,” Lothiríel corrected, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. Then she grinned mischievously and added, “I highly doubt any of the noblemen will notice what’s on your feet. Not that it will make a difference either way if we do not hurry and get you dressed!”

Within a few minutes, the gown was on and laced up, and Mithríel and the maidservant both took their leave. As Lothiríel began twisting my hair up and pinning it into place, I asked, “So how did you manage to bring this here without me noticing?”

“Simple,” she answered. “While my dear cousin was keeping you away last night, I came over here and left it in your wardrobe. And with your sleeping gown already laid out, I knew you would have no reason to look in the wardrobe before this morning.”

I attempted to twist my head around to look at her, causing her to accidentally poke me with a hairpin. “Ow!” I exclaimed.

“Hold still!” she admonished.

I turned my head back, running my finger over the embroidery on the sleeve in an attempt to distract me from my urge to fidget. “Was Faramir in on this, then?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Lothiríel replied; it was obvious she was enjoying this. “He knows nothing about it. It will be quite amusing to see his reaction to you, will it not?

“Lothiríel, you are simply incorrigible,” I replied, rolling my eyes despite my inability to suppress a grin.

“I am not blind, Éowyn,” she said, more seriously. “Even if neither of you will admit as much in front of me, I can see that you each care deeply for the other. And it is plain to me as well that Faramir is happier, and more at ease than I have ever seen him, since you have come into his life. My family has long been concerned about him; even more so, since we learned of Boromir’s death.” There was a somber pause, then she continued in a brighter tone of voice again. “So let us consider this a thank-you for helping him. Besides,” she added, “I do consider you a friend, Éowyn, and this was something I could do to help you in return.”

Impulsively, I turned around and hugged her. “Thank you, Lothiríel,” I said.

She smiled, then pinned a final strand of hair into place. “Come on,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the door. “We cannot keep the men waiting much longer!”

Sure enough, Faramir and Amrothos were already waiting for us downstairs. Most of the healers had already left, save the few who remained behind to care for those wounded who were not yet well enough to leave the Houses. “’Tis about time!” Amrothos teased good-naturedly, looking at Lothiríel. “I had tried to warn Faramir about how long it takes women to get ready for such events, since he has no sisters of his own, but alas, it seems that even I underestimated!”

Faramir, in the meantime, had been looking at me with such wide-eyed admiration that I could feel my face growing hot. Lothiríel smiled broadly as she moved to take her brother’s arm; obviously she had gotten the effect she had desired. Faramir recovered a moment later, offering his arm to me. “You look wonderful,” he whispered as we stepped outside.

“Thank you,” I replied, smiling up at him as he helped me up into the horse-drawn carriage. Besides the one for the Steward’s use, there was a second one waiting with several men inside; they appeared to be wearing the livery of the Citadel guards. “For the crown,” Faramir explained to me as Lothiríel, then Amrothos, joined us inside. As for the cask itself, it was sitting on the seat between myself and Faramir.

Walking would have been a far more comfortable way to travel, I decided as the vehicle, like and yet oddly unlike the wagons used by my people, bounced and jostled us over the paved streets. The rattling of the wheels was punctuated by the driver’s occasional shout to “Make way for the Steward!”, as those late-comers who had not yet made their way down to the city entrance rushed to the sides of the street, many of them calling out greetings to Faramir as we rode by. He always graciously called a greeting back, but otherwise remained mostly silent during the ride, even as Lothiríel and Amrothos kept up a lively conversation with me. Lothiríel in particular could hardly contain her excitement. Besides the coronation and the celebration that was to happen afterwards, she told me that her eldest brother, Elphir, was also to join them that day. He had been set to arrive at the encampment late last evening, and it would be the first time since her father and her other two brothers had ridden to war that her entire family would be together again, save Elphir’s wife, who was with child and did not wish to make the journey.

I smiled and was about to comment when a particularly large jolt threw me up against the cask; had that not been in the way, I surely would have ended up in Faramir’s lap. He helped me sit up, smiling apologetically, and I whispered to him, “Perhaps horses would have been easier.” He smiled, but did not answer, turning the White Rod of his office over idly in his lap.

“Are you all right, cousin?” Lothiríel asked.

Faramir nodded, a serious expression on his face again. “I am merely making certain that I have not left anything out.” He seemed calm enough, but I wondered if he was nervous at all about his role in the day’s events.

We all fell silent then, until the carriage pulled up at the entrance to the city. I looked over at Faramir. “Are you ready?” I whispered to him.

He nodded, looking more certain of himself again as he picked up the Rod and left the carriage first. The rest of us soon followed. The Citadel guardsmen who had been appointed to bear the dark wooden cask holding the crown were already waiting, as were Húrin and Elfhelm. I was to stand with my people for the ceremony, so Faramir escorted me to Elfhelm’s side, then he and Húrin went together to make their way to their place before the city walls; a barrier had been set up where the gates had once stood, and I could see many people already gathered before it, and even more pressed in around them on all sides. After removing the crown from the carriage, the guards bearing the cask followed Faramir and Húrin, then Elfhelm offered me his arm and we joined the small procession.

The peoples’ anticipation was almost tangible in the air around me. Some of the more adventurous children had scrambled atop the remaining parts of the wall and any rubble stable enough to hold their weight in search of a better view; Bergil was among these, and he waved at me cheerfully as he caught my eye. The others on the ground pressed together as closely as they could, often held back only by the soldiers of both Gondor and Rohan who were now returning from the East. The crowd had begun murmuring even more excitedly at the appearance of their beloved Steward, but they still stepped back in order to clear a path for him. We made our way over to the other Rohirrim that stood before the barrier, those that had been left in the city to recover from their wounds or had returned early from Cormallen. Lothiríel, escorted by Amrothos, was close behind me, and she smiled at me as she and her brother moved to stand with a group of people that I assumed were from Dol Amroth; I could see Erchiron standing with them.

I smiled back, but could do no more than that. Once Faramir had stepped into place and turned to face the Pelennor, the crowd fell silent. Even the children were still as the returning soldiers stepped back to clear another path and Aragorn stepped forward, dressed in glittering mail and the black and silver of Gondor with a white mantle draped around his shoulders and a thin silver band around his forehead that was set with a gem of silvery hue. Gandalf walked behind him, carrying his staff and clad all in white that gleamed like the fresh-fallen snow on the mountain peaks near Edoras. With him were the four holbytla—Frodo and Sam to his right, and Merry and Pippin to his left. All four of them had been given fine clothing to wear, and I smiled to see that in addition, Merry wore the leather armor that I had supplied him with back in Dunharrow. Pippin, likewise, wore a much smaller version of the Citadel guards’ uniform, while Frodo wore a mail shirt wrought of some metal that shone unlike any armor I had ever seen and Sam had a coat of gilded mail; all four of them also wore the same grey-green Elven cloaks that Merry had always kept with him. A hushed murmur ran through the assembly at the sight of them, and I smiled to myself, knowing that it was the first time that most of them had ever seen a hobbit. Legolas and Gimli followed, as odd a pair as any would wish to see, and both also dressed finely; it looked as if Gimli had even brushed and neatly rebraided his thick reddish beard for the occasion.

Imrahil walked behind them, dressed in dark blue and silver and with a silver circlet on his brow. Éomer was beside him. His steel and leather armor had been cleaned and polished, and somehow he had managed to procure a fine cloak and tunic, both of a rich green trimmed with gold. I fought hard to suppress a smirk as I wondered who had provided him with that, for I knew that my brother, a soldier to the core, would never have even thought to bring such finery with him into battle. He also wore a thin gold circlet, marking him as the heir to the throne; he would not wear a crown until his own coronation in Edoras. Éomer and Imrahil were followed by a small host of men, along with two Elves that I recognized as the twins that had accompanied Aragorn to Dunharrow. All, including Elladan and Elrohir, were tall and dark-haired, their silver mail shining beneath grey cloaks. The entire party paused then, as a single horn blew from atop the walls, and all fell silent once more. I watched as Faramir stepped forward, with Húrin beside him; he was followed by the four Citadel guards who bore the dark cask that held the crown.

It is difficult for me to put words to how I felt, watching the two men whom my affections had warred between as they stood face-to-face, neither yet speaking. To me, it seemed as if they were far more alike than I had previously realized. I could hardly recognize Aragorn as the somewhat disheveled Ranger that had ridden into Edoras; since I’d last seen him upon my awakening in the Houses of Healing, nearly all traces of that man had been washed away, leaving in his place a living image of the legendary Sea-Kings whose stone likenesses lined the Great Hall of the Citadel. There was an air about him as well that also made him seem almost remote to me now, something that reminded me of the few Elves I’d had contact with—present among us, but with an almost intangible otherworldiness that a mere mortal like myself could never fully comprehend. Faramir faced him steadily, born of slightly lesser blood but no less noble, with a strength in his gaze that showed he could match the Northern Dúnedain. He could be Aragorn’s greatest ally in securing his throne—or his greatest rival, if he had so chosen; my time in Minas Tirith had shown me beyond any doubt that while the people’s loyalty might lie with their new King, their hearts truly belonged to Denethor’s son, who had lived and fought and bled alongside them.

My wandering thoughts were drawn back to the present moment as Faramir knelt, bowing his head briefly before saying in a loud, clear voice, “The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office.” As he spoke, he raised the White Rod with both hands.

Aragorn took the Rod from him, holding it for a long moment. Then he handed it back to Faramir. “That office is not ended,” he replied. “It shall be yours and your heirs’ as long as my line shall last. Do now your office!”

A murmur of surprise, then approval, swept through the crowd. Aragorn had indeed chosen well in keeping him as the Steward, I reflected, as Faramir rose to his feet. His voice carried clearly across the field as he called out, “Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of the Realm! Behold!” He gestured towards Aragorn as he announced, “One has come to claim the kingship again at last! Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing…” For just the briefest moment, his eyes met mine, and I smiled reassuringly at him as he continued, “…the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Númenor.”

From a little further down the line, I heard one of the Rohirrim whisper to one of his companions, “I wonder if all the Southern kings come with such a long list of titles?” It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Faramir finished, “Shall he be king and enter into the city and dwell here?”

The assenting shouts from the people were nearly deafening. Once they had died down somewhat, Faramir spoke again. “Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid.” A strange custom, I thought; none of my people would have dared to disturb the mound of a fallen king. “But since things must now be done otherwise,” Faramir continued, interrupting my thoughts, “using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our longfathers of old.”

The four guards stepped forward and Faramir opened the cask; as he removed the crown he lifted it high so that all the people could see it. I stood close enough to see the pearl-inlaid silver wings on the side, reminding me of the gulls I had seen flying over the gardens of the Houses of Healing. Seven gemstones shone like stars around the edges of it, with a larger one at the top that seemed to hold the light of the sun itself. After Faramir handed the crown over to Aragorn, he held it up and spoke several lines that I could not understand, though it sounded vaguely like Elvish to me. I noted several of the Riders looking at each other in slight confusion as well. To my surprise, Aragorn then handed the crown back to Faramir. For a moment I thought he intended for Faramir to set it on his head, but then he said, “By the labor and valor of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory.”

Frodo stepped forward then—a bit shyly, I thought—and took the crown from Faramir’s hands. Faramir smiled at him encouragingly, and to me it looked as if some sort of silent understanding passed between them. I knew that Faramir had held little hope that their paths would cross again, and I was glad to see it. Frodo passed the crown off to Gandalf then; Aragorn knelt before the wizard and Gandalf set the crown upon his head, saying, “Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!”

An awed silence remained over the assembly as Aragorn rose to his feet; I knew that I could never fully comprehend what this moment meant to the people of Gondor, since Rohan had never been without a king since the days of Eorl. But I did find little hints, watching the faces of those I had gotten to know during my time in the city. Ioreth, who was standing with a small group of older women, was completely silent for once. I could see Mithríel standing nearby as well, not far from where Bergil and his friends were perched on the wall. Her eyes, however, were not on Aragorn; she kept looking towards a group of Gondorian soldiers, and I could guess that her husband was among these. Several of the younger noble-looking women watched Aragorn with a wide-eyed admiration that made me feel almost embarrassed for them—was that how I had looked at him? I wondered. It seemed so long ago.

It was Faramir who broke the silence. “Behold the King!” he shouted, his statement punctuated by the clear ring of trumpets from the city walls. The people broke into cheers as Aragorn walked towards the barrier and Húrin pushed it aside. The newly-crowned King then entered his city, followed closely by Faramir, the Dúnedain, Gandalf, the four hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli. I could hear music already coming from within the walls.

As the crowd began to disperse and enter the city, I felt a slight nudge at my side and turned to see Éomer there with a conspiratorial grin on his face; somehow he had managed to slip away from the procession without my noticing. “So, little sister,” he said in quietly-spoken Rohirric, “shall we see what kind of celebration these grave men of the South can muster up?”

“My dear brother,” I replied with a smirk, “we both know you are far more concerned with the quality of the food and ale—as are most of your men, I would wager.”

Éomer laughed heartily in response; I had not realized till that moment how much I had missed that laugh, it had been so long since I had heard it. It had been long since either of us had found any joy to be had in the house of our enthralled uncle, I mused. “Too true,” Éomer said, pulling me from my reverie as he took my arm. “And I must admit that I am looking forward to a good meal. I think I could eat an entire wild boar by myself!”

“Then we had best hurry,” I answered. “I saw Merry and Pippin enter the city a few moments ago, and if we do not make haste, there will be no food left at all!” Éomer laughed again we walked past the walls and into Minas Tirith.

Chapter 29- Revelations

Besides Éomer and myself, several of the higher-ranking officers of Rohan’s military had been invited to the King’s feast. They quickly followed us into Minas Tirith, and the crowds were willing enough to make way for us—especially once Elfhelm and Erkenbrand took it into their heads to shout orders to make way for the King of Rohan. Éomer lowered his voice and protested, “I was only named Théoden’s heir; I am not yet made king.”

The two Marshals merely laughed as Elfhelm stated, “That may be true, but the men of Gondor do not need to know that.”

“Besides,” Erkenbrand added, “it is so much quicker than saying ‘Make way for the uncrowned heir to the throne of Rohan!’” I laughed as Éomer glared at them both balefully.

Despite their best efforts, it still took quite some time for us to make our way to the uppermost level of the city. By the time that we reached the Citadel, it seemed that the festivities had already begun, at least if the celebratory sounds that greeted our ears when we entered the main hall were any indication. Several large tables had been set up throughout the room, and many people were milling about near those, though none were yet seated. Judging from their outfits, it seemed that most of them were either nobles of Gondor or other military officers. The longest table was placed near the head of the room, and this was where I saw Aragorn and Faramir standing, as well as the four Halflings, Gandalf, and their other companions that I had become acquainted with in the past several weeks.

Many dark-clad servants were moving throughout the room as well, and one posted near the door hurried off to announce our arrival to Aragorn. Upon looking over and seeing us waiting near the door, he turned and spoke to Faramir, and the two of them walked towards us. “My Lord Éomer,” Aragorn said as they drew within earshot, a friendly twinkle in his eye belying the serious tone of his voice, “it was good of you to come.” He bowed his head slightly in greeting, and Éomer did the same. His eyes then flicked over to me and his expression grew more formal. “Lady Éowyn,” he added more quietly, “I am glad to see that you are restored to health.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I replied with equal civility. I hoped that my face did not show my discomfort at his presence, especially as he politely took my hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. Nor did I dare to look up at Faramir, who was standing just behind the King, not wishing to see it if he looked hurt or jealous at the exchange.

Aragorn released my hand quickly, then raised his head to address the other Rohirrim in a louder voice. “My friends from the North,” he said, “you are most welcome here.” They bowed and murmured their thanks as several more servants appeared to show them to their seats. Aragorn looked at Éomer and added, “Please allow me to escort you to our table.”

“With pleasure,” Éomer replied, then looked over at me, obviously unsure whether to lead me there himself or to turn me over to Aragorn.

In response to his unspoken question, Aragorn glanced over at Faramir and said, “Lord Faramir, would you do me the favor of escorting Lady Eowyn to her seat?”

As I glanced over at Aragorn, wondering if he had somehow learned of the growing relationship between me and his Steward, Faramir looked at Éomer and calmly stated, “With her brother’s permission, I would be honored to, my Lord.” Éomer looked rather uncertain at this prospect, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were sizing up Faramir and his intentions with me, but then curtly nodded and released my arm before stepping to Aragorn’s side. The two of them began talking more quietly, but obviously less formally as they headed for the main table.

As Faramir took my arm and began to lead me towards the table as well, he said, “Once again the arrival of your people has proven timely, my lady. I have recently been informed by Master Brandybuck and Master Took that they are likely to wither away to nothing if the feast does not begin soon.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile as he looked at me, and I had to cover my mouth with my other hand to prevent myself from bursting into laughter. “Then I am glad we arrived when we did, my lord,” I replied, grateful for the lift to my spirits that his lighthearted comment had given me. “I would not wish to have the starvation of a Halfling on my conscience.” I paused, then cautiously added, “I am surprised that the King would come to greet us himself. It does not seem to fit with your people’s formal manners.”

“It is rather unconventional,” Faramir admitted. “But I believe his intention was to show the nobles that he regards the Rohirrim as fully equal allies to the men of Gondor.” His eyes met mine then and he added quietly, “A sentiment that I am in full agreement with.” I smiled at him, but there was no time for any further words between us as we reached the table. Faramir led me to my seat, then released my arm and moved to take his place to the left of Aragorn—it seemed that he had deferred the seat to the right to Gandalf. Aragorn moved to his seat, waiting until all who were in attendance had arrived at their seats, then sat down. The rest of the company then followed suit.

The seating had been arranged so that the four hobbits had been seated in places of honor next to Gandalf and Faramir, with two on each side. Éomer had been seated next to Merry, and I had been placed across from him and next to Pippin. Éomer leaned over slightly as the servants began to carry several large, heavily-laden trays out and whispered that Aragorn had told him that he had no wish to slight the King of Rohan, and had wanted to know if the seating arrangement would suit. “Which is fine with me,” Éomer added, then raised his voice as he looked pointedly at the hobbits and continued, “provided some of the food actually reaches my plate.”

Merry, who had been talking animatedly with Pippin, looked up and innocently asked, “Whatever do you mean, my lord?”

Éomer calmly sat back and smirked. “I mean, Meriadoc,” he stated, “As a knight of Rohan it is your duty to ensure that your King leaves the table sufficiently fed.” He folded his arms across his chest in an intimidating manner, though the grin on his face completely spoiled the effect.

“You should be ashamed, brother, using your throne—when I clearly remember you stating that it is not truly yours yet within the past hour—against a defenseless hobbit to rob him of his supper!” I interjected with an innocent smile.

“Defenseless? Hardly,” Éomer sputtered, and Merry and Pippin both burst out laughing. Éomer was saved from having to make a verbal counter-attack, however, as Aragorn began passing the food around.

Between the two hobbits at my left, and the constant banter between Legolas and Gimli, who were at my and Éomer’s other sides, I was far from lacking in entertainment for the duration of the meal. Though Merry had spoken quite often of his time spent with the other remaining members of the Fellowship, and I had spoken with each of them myself to varying degrees, it was the first time I had seen them all together and I was fascinated by watching the interactions and the obvious strong bonds among such a diverse group. Oddly enough, it seemed as though they had accepted Éomer, Faramir and I as part of this strange family, despite how much more recently we had come into their acquaintances. I still felt rather awkward speaking to Aragorn, though, and spent most of the time either talking to my brother or Merry and Pippin. With Faramir being seated several places down, I had little opportunity to speak with him at all—a smile on the occasions his eyes would briefly meet mine was more or less all the contact I had with him for the entirety of the meal.

Once the feasting had begun to die down, the musicians who were present began to play more loudly, and the servants began clearing off some of the tables before moving them aside to make more room on the floor. Aragorn rose from his seat, and as he moved to a nearby table, those of us seated at his table also started to break off into other conversations. I watched with Merry and Pippin as several couples among the Gondorian nobility stood up and began moving gracefully across the floor in time with the music. The dance looked far more formal and stately than anything we had in Rohan. It seemed that the hobbits were of a like mind, as Merry said, “I wonder that they can enjoy themselves at all with such complicated-looking steps. It seems like a lot to remember, doesn’t it, Pip?”

“I don’t think they’re enjoying themselves much at all, Merry,” Pippin agreed. “Hardly any of them are smiling.”

Merry turned to me then. “What about you, Lady Éowyn? Do you think the dance looks like fun?”

“I am certain that I would be too busy trying to figure out the steps—and apologizing to the unfortunate man whose toes I would be stepping on in the process—to find much pleasure in it,” I answered dryly.

Merry grinned mischievously; apparently my answer had been precisely what he had hoped for. “What do you think, Pippin? Should we show her how people dance at a party in the Shire?”

Next to Pippin, Samwise began to look worried. “You won’t climb on the tables again, will you? I daresay folks would frown upon that in these parts.”

Éomer rolled his eyes in a very unkingly fashion. “And I daresay I would frown upon Halfling feet trampling on my plate.”

“You worry too much, Sam,” Merry said innocently.

“Yes, I need at least another ale before I would actually do it,” Pippin added.

Frodo smiled faintly. “I have seen you act on far less ale than you’ve already had, Pippin.”

“Oh, I’ll behave myself, Frodo.” Pippin sighed before straightening up and adding proudly, “After all, I’m in the service of the King here, and I suppose getting thrown out of the party wouldn’t make him look very good, would it?” Apparently Gimli had been listening in from the other side of Éomer, since he released a snort at that.

Merry ignored Pippin’s question and looked over at the musicians, who were beginning a faster, but somehow still formal-sounding, song. “Come on, Pippin,” he said, grinning at his cousin before turning to Éomer. “And with your permission, my lord, I would like to claim Lady Éowyn for this dance as well.”

“Oh?” Éomer raised an eyebrow and glanced over at me.

I laughed as I pushed my chair back. “Someone has to keep these two out of trouble, brother,” I answered as Pippin grabbed my hand and pulled me around to the other side of the table, where Merry grabbed my other hand.

The two hobbits joined their other hands, and began a lively circle dance. The steps were easy to pick up on, and I could not help laughing as I tried to stay in step with the much-shorter Halflings. I stopped briefly as I faced the tables during one round when I saw that Faramir and Éomer were talking to each other. It was easy to guess that they were speaking about me, as I saw Éomer’s eyes dart towards me with a look on his face somewhere between confusion and suspicion, and it was only when Pippin ran into my legs that I looked away. Merry broke the circle with Pippin, moving in a circle around me while he still held my hand. He glanced over at the two men, then up at me; it seemed that he had figured out what was going on, since he smiled at me reassuringly.

The moment the song ended, Éomer was at my side. “We need to talk, Éowyn,” he said quietly but firmly. I glanced over at Faramir briefly as I let go of Merry and Pippin’s hands, but I could not read the expression on his face. “Is there anywhere quieter around here?” Éomer continued.

“Anywhere outside of the main hall would be quieter than here,” I replied, beginning to be worried. Éomer took my arm without another word and steered me away from the crowd and outside the main doors; as we walked away, I could hear Pippin asking Merry what was going on. Once the doors had shut behind us, Éomer let go of my arm, but instead of speaking, he began pacing a bit without looking at me, obviously agitated. When I could bear his prowling no longer, I blurted out, “Éomer, what is the matter?”

“I have just had a rather…interesting conversation with your friend, the Steward,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Oh?” I asked uncertainly, wondering if he was angry.

Éomer replied, “It seems he has developed some sort of feelings for you, and asked for my permission to court you.”

“And what did you say?” I asked him.

A short, humorless laugh escaped his mouth. “I told him I would need to speak with you first, because I would not wish to grant him the right to seek your hand against your wishes. But it seems that he is rather confident that you would be willing.” His eyes finally met mine then, and he looked more confused than anything else. “A strange assertion, since I had been led to believe you had feelings for Aragorn.”

“I know.” I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. “It is true that, when we left Rohan, I believed myself to be in love with Lord Aragorn, and I had truly hoped that he would return that. But I know now that I was merely deceiving myself, and that any regard he may have shown towards me was nothing more than friendship, or pity; I know not which one it was.”

“So you do not care for Aragorn, then?” Éomer asked.

I shook my head. “I did not say that either. I have a great deal of respect for him, and I do hope that someday I might be able to think of him as a friend, but I know now that he could never love me. Nor do I now believe I could love him.”

Éomer began pacing again. “And where does Lord Faramir fit into all this?” he asked.

I sighed. “I must confess that I was not entirely truthful with you the other day, Éomer,” I admitted. “We did become friends at the Houses of Healing, and for some time that was all I saw him as. But as I came to know him better, I began to care for him more, and…and I love him, Éomer,” I blurted out.

Éomer abruptly turned away from me, and though he did not face me I could see his jaw tightening as he stared intently into nothing. “Please say something,” I finally pleaded.

When he looked back at me, his expression was a strange mixture of hurt, anger and bewilderment. “How can you be so certain this time?” he asked. “It is unlike you to be so fickle, Éowyn. How has this man managed to bewitch you so quickly?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He—I mean, surely you and he did not…”

“Of course not!” I interrupted indignantly. “Faramir has never treated me with anything but respect, and if you knew him at all, you would know he is not the type to use a woman for his pleasure and then cast her aside. Nor has he bewitched me in any way.” Éomer was obviously unconvinced, so I stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. “He is not like Gríma, Éomer,” I said softly.

“I would hope not!” Éomer folded his arms across his chest, then sighed heavily. “Are you truly so desperate to leave Rohan then, that you cannot seek happiness among our own people?”

“It is not like that at all,” I protested. “Is that what this is about, that he is Gondorian?” Éomer did not answer, and it was my turn to sigh. “My feelings for Faramir have nothing to do with where he is from; I am certain that I would not care for him any more or less if he was from Rohan,” I stated. “I will not ask you to be happy for me, brother, but can you at least try to understand?”

“I need time, Éowyn,” he replied.

I could see the turmoil in his eyes, and my heart sank. “What will you tell Faramir, then?” I asked.

“Just what I told you,” he said, abruptly turning and opening the door to go back into the main hall. He motioned for me to enter first, then followed me inside. I allowed him to pass me as he walked over towards Faramir, who was speaking to Lothiríel. When Faramir saw him, he quickly excused himself and stepped away a few paces. For a silent moment, the two men eyed each other. Then Éomer said curtly, “You will have your answer, Lord Faramir, but not yet. I cannot and will not give my word on this lightly.”

“Nor would I expect you to, Lord Éomer,” Faramir replied.

Éomer looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then thought better of it. His expression darkened momentarily, then turned to sadness as he glanced over at me. Then he turned and walked off without another word.

I watched him go, then turned as I felt Faramir step closer to me. “Take heart, my love,” he said softly. “He did not say no.”

“I know,” I replied, turning more fully towards him as I began to walk to the side of the room, away from the crowds. “But I did not expect him to take it so hard.”

Faramir looked over his shoulder thoughtfully towards Éomer, who was now talking with some of his men. “I suppose this is all rather sudden for him,” he mused as we reached the wall and turned back to face the room. “I must admit that, were our places reversed, I would most likely be suspicious as well if I left believing my sister to be enamored of one man, only to return to find her certain she loves another.”

“He more or less said just the same,” I admitted.

Faramir smiled at me reassuringly. “I am certain that all will be well, once he has time to get used to the idea,” he said, “though I can hardly blame him for being reluctant to give you over to the care of another man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth in spite of myself. “I hope you are right, Faramir,” I replied.

His eyes looked earnestly into mine as he took my hand and said firmly, “I have no wish to come between you and your brother. You know Éomer better than I, and I know not what it will take for him to grant me your hand, but if it lies within my power, I will do it. We will be together, Éowyn, I promise you that.”

“I believe you,” I answered. “I truly do, Faramir. But I had hoped he would be happy for me.” I looked over towards Éomer again and said, “I suppose I just need to give him time, like he asked.”

Faramir nodded. “And I will wait as long as I need to.” I smiled at him appreciatively, squeezing his hand lightly as we moved back towards the crowd again.

Just a couple of notes... adding to this as I need to.

First of all, I need to thank Tigerlily_Goldworthy, LadyStefania, whereismysam, quillon, Raksha the Demon, and Deandra, all of whom have had a hand in beta-reading this story at various points.

All of the Rohirric that was not originally in the text comes from the Old English dictionary at http://home.comcast.net/~modean52/oeme_dictionaries.htm. I apologize in advance if I butchered the grammar. (And if I did, please tell me so I can attempt to fix it.)

Important note: Due to some mistakes on my part in both the writing and the canon, I'm making some revisions to the story (or at least the 29 chapters posted so far.) Major changes will be posted below. 

Ch. 1 & 2--For those of you who have read this before, this may seem a little different now--I've revised this and the next chapter to bring it closer to book canon, eliminating Theodred's funeral. Reposted 3/16/07.

Ch. 4- This chapter also underwent some rather heavy revisions--the scene between Eowyn, Theoden and Gandalf was largely taken from the movies originally (mainly due to a lack of confidence in my ability to make such a conversation that she would have observed but had little part in flow with the rest of it.) However, it's in bookverse now. Some of Tolkien's word choices have been slightly altered to aid with the flow of the dialogue between his words and mine, though I mean no disrepect to the Professor and hopefully the spirit of his words still comes through. Also, many thanks to Deandra, who kindly read over this a couple times to help me get it right. Reposted 3/26/07.

Ch. 21- the information about Éowyn growing up in Aldburg comes from http://www.tuckborough.net. Faramir's ability to handle a horse is based on a statement that Beregond makes to Pippin in Return of the King that says he "can master both beasts and men".

Ch 22- the idea for Éowyn to return the starry mantle to Faramir came from Cressida, who kindly let me borrow it. Also, the herb that Mithriel gives to her is based on chamomile. This chapter also lines up with the story Distance.

Ch 27- since the more I thought about it, the less I could imagine that Aragorn would just announce to all of Gondor that Faramir would remain the Steward without his knowing, I decided I needed to deal with that before moving on to the next chapter. The resulting story is The Steward and the King. The conversation between Faramir and Eowyn in the early part of ch. 28 will make more sense, most likely, if you read that first.

Ch 28- While most of the dialogue between Aragorn and Faramir during the coronation is taken straight from Return of the King, I did alter one of Aragorn's lines slightly because the "thee" and "thy" just felt too archaic when everything else was done. My apologies to the good Professor.

Ch 29- From here until further notice, as far as things go between Eomer and Faramir, I've decided to make it consistent between this story and a previously finished one, The Best-Laid Plans. So if a resolution doesn't get laid out clearly in here, you'll find it there.