Author’s note: This story goes as follows: the Lord Faramir and the lady Éowyn  do not fall in love from the beginning, yet still marry, and then come to love one another as time passes. It is probably overdone, mostly so in Éomer-Lothíriel scenarios - yet I was stubborn enough to write it. I tried to keep to the books as much as possible, to maintain the idea and the atmosphere without using Tolkien's words exactly.

About the format - the chapters (which may vary wildly in length, and will get longer towards the end) will each consist of a scene; they either closely follow the previous one (and are therefore separated by a row of ~~~~~) or are farther away (and are therefore separated by two rows of ~~~~~). And that’s all. Enjoy reading!

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Éowyn of Rohan woke when the sun was high upon the sky that day; but its rays brought only withered light, and did little to warm her way from the night’s dreams. For her hands shook still in fear as the dark image of the Witch-king faded, and her sword arm was as cold as frost on a winter’s morning. Cold it had been at her waking in these Houses, at Lord Aragorn’s hands, and cold it had become once more with his and her brother’s departure; for two days had gone by since the host had passed through the City’s broken gates, as bruised and battered as the walls themselves and just as weary; and since then neither cloth nor fire had brought warmth to her limbs.

And she was weary to lie in bed, and felt without a purpose, having nothing but thoughts of guilt at her uncle’s death to poison her mind and the blood of the Pelennor to plague her memories.

But, as she once more took hold of herself and hid her fears away, she rose her head in looking to the window and saw the remnants of a tower broken by the Dark One’s war; and they glittered in the sunlight, and seemed mighty in their decline as they lay there shattered and untouched; and for a moment she thought to see the body of her brother among paths of stone and rock, bloodied, and broken as the tower, then one after the other all the kinsmen she knew by face, and at the last the Lord Aragorn himself lying beneath his horse, as her uncle had. And then her vision clouded with blood and gore and she fell onto her pillows, her breath a mere whisper, smothered and small.

And as she looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought once more, a grey clothed woman came into the room; in her hands she bore a wooden tray, and upon it were some loaves of bread and cheese and a flagon of water – a breakfast for the lady in her care.

“Good morrow, my lady,” she said.

“Good morrow, Narael,” Éowyn answered, then turned to rise from upon the bed. “Are there no news of the host yet?”

“There are none that I know of, my lady. But, I pray you, do not rise, for you are not yet well.”

“I am well enough to know that one more day in idleness would bring about my end sooner than what ills I still have ever could. And see,” she bade the woman, “I can rise and move, and it does not tire me. Would you not help me dress and walk about the Houses?”

“My lady, I would not. Your brother, the Lord Éomer, has asked that you be tended well, and cared for, and to let you wander the hallways now, when only yesterday it was that you first sat up in your bed, would be folly indeed.”

“I am no doll that I should break, Narael, nor a child to submit so to my brother’s whims, or any man’s! I am healed enough to stand, and move, and walk if I so wish it!” And she let herself fall upon the bed, though not from sickness, but unrest. “This room is torment…” she whispered then, her eyes upon the window and the ruined City before her. “Is there no one I can speak with who can grant my wish?” she asked, her eyes lost in the distance.

“Perhaps the Warden of the Houses, my lady,” Narael answered, clasping her hands before her upon setting down the tray, “for he has highest authority here. But would you not first break your fast? For yesterevening you ate naught, and your mid day meal before that was a light one.”

Then Éowyn looked toward her, although she saw her not, and rising once again she said:

“Nay, Narael, for I care naught for eating. Though I may do so once I see the Warden, and, by his leave, perhaps outside these walls. Now, once again I bid you, bring me some raiment so that I can speak with him and end this.”

“As you wish, my lady, I will not linger,” Narael said, and she left defeated, dark wisps of her hair fluttering behind her as she ran to fulfil her errand. And she was quick indeed, for she returned within the quarter mark, bearing two dresses. “I found only these two that would suit you, my lady. Which shall you don?” she asked.

And Éowyn chose the one grey in colour and simple in cut, its sleeves falling short about her wrists and its skirts plain; for a robe more delicate would perhaps show the Warden only a maiden frail, and she wished him to see her strength, and not be moved to shield her from the world. And so she left her chambers with her arm bound in a sling and went in search of him. Yet she found no answers there, nor tidings of the war, for none had come. And so she followed him to find the Steward of the City, and hoped to meet a man more understanding of her troubles.

~~~~

The winds were silent and the sky was still when the Lord Faramir paused in his walk about the gardens and turned his head eastward to look beyond the walls. The warmth of the sun was upon him, and he felt his breath come light and fresh; but still his heart was heavy, and his eyes were hooded. And for a moment all sounds stilled, and he saw as if in a mirror the white image of the City before him, barren and broken. And in that place there was no other life but him, and he stood upon the walls and shivered in the cold. And he saw a great wave of dark water come toward him from the distance and wash over all; and it engulfed and stole his breath, unmaking even memory. His eyes closed against the darkness and he felt a hand upon his cheek, and with his waking eyes he saw the image of his father, clad in black raiment, his face cold. Then the hand turned to fire where it touched his skin, and the white walls before him took to burning, though they were overrun with water still; and they were consumed anew. And the shadow of his father withered away until only dust remained, and even that was blown in the wind; and the fire took hold of Faramir and charred his clothes, his flesh, his very thoughts; and the world was empty, and he was lost.

But then from the hollow behind him a voice rang forth and called his name; and his eyes were opened to the sunlight once again, to watch the tainted grass in the distance. His sable cloak weighed heavy so that he felt weak beneath it, but still he moved in greeting towards the one approaching. And turning round he saw the Warden of the Houses, and with him a maiden fair and clad in grey; and she stood tall and pale before him with her left arm bound, and he knew then that before him stood the Lady of Rohan, slayer of the Witch-King. And her sight would have moved him to look into her heart, but his vision clung to him still, and the dark wave moved at the corner of his eye and threatened to flow once more, and bring its desolation to the world; so he fought to stand upright and take hold of himself, and hid his pains and worries from his face. And he seemed proud and stern as he questioned the Warden, for his voice was steady and his tone was cold. And Éowyn sought out his eyes, and seeing them distant shut herself away; then, when the older man left from her side, her voice turned harsh as she said:

“My lord, I am weary to spend my time in sloth. The healers would have me lie abed for seven days yet, or so the Warden tells me; but I am healed, and would rather follow my brother to war, into death and glory, than waste away in my room. And better would I love a swift end upon the field of battle than these hours of waiting, for they bear no honour and no worth.”

And she kept her head high as she spoke, while they both seemed as stone standing unmoving one before the other. And they would have understood each other, for they knew the same grief; but the fire burned within him still, and the winter froze her soul, and they were blind to the other’s sorrow, just as they were blind to the other’s heart.

“You do not wish for death, lady,” said Faramir at length, “for if it were so you would have found it till this day, either in the field of battle or in the knives and swords that lie about these Houses. Neither could you search still for glory and songs of praise, for those shall be given to you nonetheless, if any live to sing them. And should you wish to join the battle for your country’s sake and that of your kinsmen your blade could scarcely turn its tide, even if you could reach the Captains, for even now the aim of this last march is not victory itself but stalling the Dark forces; and you are still not well. And should you go to war, and die, you would only bring sorrow to the ones whom you would leave behind in life, if the Dark Lord is purged from this world; but should he conquer all, and should all our hopes be stifled in his grasp, whether you come to death at his gates or at your own would make little difference.”

And at his words Éowyn took pause and wondered at their frankness. But then in a bitter voice she answered: “I see you have given this much thought, lord.”

“I have, lady, from the moment when my eyes were opened by the King’s own hands and I found I could not, in this hour, wield a sword,” he said; and then his voice turned grave and quiet when he spoke again: “Each day since I have spent in the despair that my own men, such that still lived, would leave for dark realms and the breaking of blades, while I dwell here in sunlight and heal, waiting to see the world end or begin anew. Think not that I do not understand your wishes, lady, for they plague me also, in every one of my borrowed breaths.”

And his last words bore much bitterness, and she felt their strike, although his head was turned as he said them; and they both trembled in their wake, for they unveiled what lay in both their hearts, and the truth was heavy to bear.

But then he bowed his head and let forth a silent sigh, and in a softer voice he said: “Lady, I beg you to forgive the harshness of my words, I-”

“No, lord, for they spoke in truth, and so have eased my heart and temper as no words of pity from friend and kin have ever done. And for that I thank you.”

Then there was silence between them, as they both looked beyond the City, where all their hope lay. At length Faramir spoke, and his words were even:

“I cannot release you, lady, for I have not yet taken up my authority within the City, and I am as well a prisoner of the healers; yet even if I had, still I would yield to the Warden’s counsel, for in this he commands over all Men, Kings and common folk alike. Yet I can grant you this, to walk about these Houses at your will, and quit your chambers when it so pleases you.”

And as she saw that he had guessed her wish when she had spoken naught of it she went on in a softer tone, to say: “My lord, my window does not face East. It would bring me some comfort if it did.” And her voice bore none of the shame she felt for asking this, although she saw herself a wayward child to stand before him so; and for it she felt resentment towards him, and her eyes held fire and spark where they met his form. But watching still the bloodied plains he only nodded his consent and said: “Then you shall have it so.”

“I thank you for this much, my lord,” she answered; and doing him a courtesy she left, and did not hear his parting words, nor did she see him turn his head and watch her stalk away, his face telling of his sorrow and guilt, and the wonder that he had spoken thus.

And coming to her room she looked over the City from her window, for one final time; and she thought of its Steward. And she felt then that her hope had been fulfilled only in part, for he had been both quick and wise in his counsel, but not gentle.

~~~~

When the next day came the Lady Éowyn spent its first hours watching the sky change from her window. And she felt weary, for she had found too little sleep in the chamber assigned to her by the grace of the Steward, although it bore no difference from her old one in appearance or design. Instead, the eastern view itself brought her unrest, and her few dreams had been filled with dread.

And so, as morning passed, she sought some refuge in the gardens of the Houses, the welcomed shade of an old tree serving to clear her thoughts. But they once more turned towards the ones who left, and their deaths made their way before her very eyes; and as she wished to be with them when they crossed into a darker realm she cursed the Healers for keeping her restrained and bound to idleness.  

Then her mind turned to the Steward and his words, for she too felt much like to a captive here, and once again she marvelled that he had spoken so unto her thoughts. And more she wondered at his character, that there should be so many sides to it; for the woman tending to her had spoken of him as a man both strong and gentle, wielder of words and blades, and tamer of the hearts of Man and beast alike. Yet the day before she had seen no such things, and, indeed, had thought no other feeling drove him except for bitterness. Proud and distant he had been, and that his people saw him for that which he was not brought her some worry; for it had been the same when she had glimpsed first into the Worm’s intents, but few others had known his ways. And she saw both men before her, with their dark hair and eyes deep and piercing so as to reach within the soul; and their images mingled and twisted together until she thought to see the Lord Faramir strike her down in hatred as she had at whiles imagined Wormtongue do.

But then she cleared her mind and closed her eyes, and took herself to task for thinking thus; for the Worm had never spoken truths, or if he had they had been twisted, while the other had stood before her true, no matter the manner of his words.

Then even as she had these thoughts she saw the Steward himself in the distance, his gaze lost out beyond the walls. And there he stood motionless for many moments, the wind barely a breath threading his hair; and his fist rested clenched at his side, and when he moved away he seemed to draw his breath in pain. And Éowyn knew him to be deep in thought, for even as his eyes were lowered to the ground on which he trod, he nigh stumbled upon her when his steps brought him near. And for a time his face was open as he gazed startled upon her, and she could read all of his weariness and grief.

Her words then came unbidden, not warm, though she had wished them so, but heavy with the burden of some bitterness that she no longer felt.

“Good morrow, my lord Steward,” she said. “Would you not care to sit and take your rest a moment? For I fear you seem ill enough to fall.”

“Good morrow, my lady,” he answered; and he paid her tone no heed, but sat instead beside her. And they both rested in the shade, close in body yet far apart in thought; and they were silent together. Then, as the shining sun moved above them in the sky, she turned her head towards him in study, and saw that his eyes were lined with weariness, and darkened by lack of sleep.

“How dark have been your dreams, my lord?” she asked. “For yesterday you seemed in better health, and stronger;” and her bold words surprised her once again, and made her fear his scorn.

But as he turned towards her she read no such feeling on his face, as, indeed, she could no other. And after a pause he spoke, his eyes upon her, grey and lost:

“In my dreams,” Faramir muttered, “I am alone upon a great hilltop, and the wind blows through my hair. All is quiet around me, and grows still, until even the wind dies and there is nothing to disturb the green plains in the distance. But then the earth moves from its foundations, and the sky darkens; and what air and breath have been around me disappear. From where the ground meets the heavens a great wave comes and covers all. And with it the wind returns and strikes me down from where I stand, and I find myself before the dark water, which towers above me. And then I look down at my feet and see that what lands have been once are now ashes and dust, unmade and broken. Then sound returns as well, in strength and fury, and I am deafened. And the wave crushes down upon me, and I know no more.”

And as he spoke Éowyn thought to see the things he told of in the depths of his eyes, and trembled from the visions when his words ended. And for them she was moved to speak as well, and in a voice more steady than she felt herself to be, she said:

“I am kneeling in a great valley and all around me lie the bodies of my kinsmen. And I know each of their deaths whenever my eyes fall upon them. Time and again I feel it in my limbs, and know I could have hindered it. And then from between the bodies I see the Lord of the Nazgûl rise up, riding his dark creature; and I have no sword or shield to hold him off; and he tears me apart.”

“Our dreams are dark,” he said then, his eyes lowering from some burden unseen.

“They are,” she answered.

“I fear that darker ones will come to pass,” he whispered, though loud enough that she could hear. Then with a nod, his heart hidden once more, he rose and walked away into the shadow of the wall. And watching his retreating form Éowyn wondered how she could have ever thought that no feeling could touch him.

~~~~

Upon the fifth day since the host had left for the Morannon the Lord Faramir walked in the gardens and thought no longer of his dreams, for none had come the night before. Yet his eyes turned ever and anon towards the northern road, and he wished to walk it also. But such a feat was denied him, for his arm was still bound tightly in a sling, and could not be moved for all his trials. The sun shone still upon his face, and he wondered without reason what weather would the Captains have on these days that would be their last, then took himself to task for his dark thoughts. The ones left behind in battle, he knew, had no right to despair, for if they did who would there be to kindle hope and ease the passing into better times? And so he forced his eyes to stray from the boundaries of the City, for gazing upon them he felt no hope could endure; and he looked instead upon the Houses themselves, and thought of the people dwelling there.

The day before he had wandered their rooms for the first time since walking had no longer seemed a daunting task; and he had visited each man from his Company that he had known and lead, and brought them what ease he could. But a night without rest and their own fears, as much as he shared them, had taken their toll, for that evening had found him sitting upon a bench within the gardens, too weary to rise and move to a bed that would only bring unrest. And as he had given in to sleep a child’s body had fallen upon him, a pair of feet had tangled with his own, and a voice had startled him awake, uttering words of forgiveness. And for a moment he had thought himself to be lost in the days of his past, when one of his men’s son had done the same on a summer’s morning; for what would a child have been doing in the Houses at such a time? But opening his eyes he had seen a perian before him; and they had sat together until late into the night, so that the sun had been close to rising as they parted, and Merry – for that was his name – had spoken of his travels. And he had told of Rohan and the dead King who lay in the Hallows, and of the Lady of the Mark and her deeds in battle; and Faramir had learned many things of her and her troubles, more so than the Master Perian had thought to reveal.

His dreams upon their parting had been silent and peace filled, and when he woke he thought of the Lady of the Rohirrim, and understood her sadness better.

For her part, Éowyn had seen more sleep than the Lord Steward, yet the morning found her barely rested, and thinking of the future set before them all. And she donned her dark raiment once again to walk the gardens, for the movement and the green grass soothed her mind.  But she had eaten not, and as Narael begged her to have a sip of wine at least, to wet her lips, the goblet fell as it was pushed away, and her dress was stained.

And in her thoughts she cursed the waste of time and the woman’s fumbling and words of repentance; and she donned her second dress in anger, for it was white, with sleeves which brushed the earth and tangled in her skirts, and its cut showed the pallor of her skin and the grace of her neck, and she had not the heart for such a garment. But still she left her chamber, and climbed to the eastern wall of the City to scour the distance, in search of some sign she knew not of.

And so it was that when the Lord Faramir saw her she was gleaming in the sun, her hair unbound fluttering in the soft breeze; but when he went to her she seemed weary and grave. And they sat and stood together and watched the East, and they were silent for the most part; and when they spoke their words were strained. For she did not desire the speech of men, and would have quit his side; but her room was barren still and it closed around her, and the view it gave was bleak and dreary, bringing neither news nor change. And she had need of his words, for their sound and lull bound her to the world of living once again. So she let him speak, and he went on fighting the silence, as he could not fight another, though it pained him to speak of little things, and to see her pale figure next to him, as still as stone, made his heart ache. And he would have pitied her, had she been more open in her heart, for he could read her pain, and knew it well, for he too shared it; but instead he only wished her well, and needed her to heal, if they should live upon the ending of the War, for they had passed under the same shadow, and if she could be well again then so could he.

~~~~

Night had fallen upon the White City and the ones within had retreated to their homes, away from the cold wind that had started to blow with its coming. No stars shone overhead and the darkness seemed to take hold of the land, picking away at the already feeble hopes left in the hearts of Men. The Lady of Rohan stood before the rising of the weather, a speck of white dust in a blackened world, and shivered in the cold with every breath of wind; but she felt it not, and did not stay her gazing in the distance.

She was alone. And, should the War end, her brother might not return to her, but be returned to her, his lifeless body bore in honour by the strength of the Riders. And he would take his place into the Earth, and start another line of mounds in the great barrows, and simbelmynë would grow upon his grave and bloom from the tears she would shed upon them. She would lead her people into the next days, be they dark or blessed, and whether the House of Eorl would end with her or not, there will be no love to warm her soul. Her life would be barren with the death of all her kin; and she would be left behind once more.

These dark thoughts lay heavy upon her heart, and for once she let them play before her eyes, for she was weary to do battle with them. And in the dark night she wept a silent tear, and it fell down her cheek, but she did not feel it turn cold from the wind. And she despaired.

But then she heard a step behind her and turned away to dry her face. And when she was once more composed the Lord Faramir took his place to her right, looking into the night and not towards her; for he had known her plight and wished to bring her ease. And so he had approached her with steps too light for her to hear, and seeing her grief thought not to shame her, but with a sound he made his presence known, and gave her pause to hide her sorrow. And now, at her side, he began to speak to her as he had the day before, meaning to drown her thoughts away. But his words could no longer do so, for she was closed to them and her eyes only saw within herself. So he asked her of her lands, as he never had before; for they had not spoken of the lives they left behind, knowing the past could have no future, and that to speak of it seemed akin to bringing doom upon them. And she gave each of his questions answers, and spoke of her home so that he could see it before his eyes, but asked no questions of her own.

“My lady,” he asked at length, “how did you come to be on the Pelennor?”

“Do you mean to ask what winds blew me hither, or how I came to know the way of the sword?” asked Éowyn, a challenge in her voice.

“The former, lady, for I know of the shieldmaidens of Rohan. And I do not doubt your skill,” he answered evenly, then turned his eyes toward her.

“Would it then not be sensible to think that I rode with my people, my lord?”

“It would,” he nodded; “still, I am moved to say that you have come in hiding, although what cause you had for doing so are lost to me.”

“Aye, you are right in that, my lord. I came indeed in hiding, and brought great grief and suffering to living kin when I was found broken among the dead and in the midst of battle. And I was driven by despair and by a wish for death, and for it I abandoned all – my duty to my people forgotten, though I believed I would be fighting in their name; yet when the time came in the end I could do naught to save my King and Uncle.”

“Speak not of such things, lady,” Faramir said, and it seemed to him that she shone with starlight, although no star was out that night, and he saw her as distant and fair as he thought the Elves to be.

“When should I speak of them, lord? To whom? For there are none to share my thoughts save for the cold and barren walls of my chamber which drown my screaming in the night.”

“And I say you speak to me, and should do so for both your sake and mine. I meant no interdiction, lady, but I would have you not give into such despair. Come, let me hear what grieves your heart this hour, if you will, for it may lighten once you speak of it.”

And she looked at him then, for the first time that night, and seeing the care in his eyes she was at last moved to speak from her heart; and she told him of her troubles, from Gríma’s watchful gaze to her uncle’s bewitchment, to then end with her duty to be leader to her people in his wake, and how it battled with her wish to not be left forgotten, unseen, unused. And her words were bitter and hung heavy with the guilt that she had deserted her own.

For many moments Faramir was silent, gazing at some lost sight, far from the reaches of his eyes; but then he shifted next to her and spoke softly, so soft that she first thought to hear the winds speak, or the heavens themselves.

“It is a strange thing, I think, that you should renounce duty to die, when others would do so to live. But speak not of your actions with such scorn, my lady, for being on that field you brought to an end a creature ages old in years and malice, and so saved the lives of many. And should the King of the Mountains have kept to his vow many lifetimes ago, our own King would now have had no army of wraiths to aid the City in its darkest hour.” And at this he turned towards her. ”Even the smallest deed may bring its share of good and evil; let us wait for the end to pass judgement.”

And with his words her anguish eased, although it did not pass in all; and she at last took notice of the winds as they blew about her, of the coldness of the night, and her own trembling. And though her right arm was cold still, it was not numb, for she could feel the Steward’s cloak as it brushed against her fingers. And with her silent nod they both turned to the Houses, and they went to their rooms and to their rest.

~~~~

Peace had found them both during the night, and it seemed to them that this respite from weariness was but a gentle gift to let them gather forces before the final battle fell upon them; for, with the morning, the light had failed to come as strong as yester days, and the Sun lay covered by a cloak of mist and cloud. The northern wind which before had soothed their sleep now blew in earnest and seemed to turn from friend to foe as they shivered underneath their raiment. Still there were no tidings, and they watched the distance from upon the wall, searching for signs unknown to them; and their hearts were heavy and dark as the sky.

“The Light is loosing its strength,” Éowyn said, and felt the cold creep upon her skin even beneath the cloak she wore; the robe, blue with the colour of the sky upon a summer’s night and set with stars about the hem and throat, had been wrapped around her by the Steward’s own hands as she could not close the clasp herself, and it fell heavy but softly along her arms.

“Darkness has come, and we have slept through its coming,” Faramir answered, and his eyes roamed the heavens where they touched the earth. “Yet the Enemy is awake, and his Eye is all-knowing.” And with the corner of his eye he saw the lady by his side, and how the cloak around her swayed softly in the wind, its stirring soothing; and he knew not why he had brought it to her, this, his mother’s cloak, an heirloom of his younger days. The world as he knew it was soon upon its end, either in joy or bitterness, and he thought it a gesture of renewal, to bring the past into the open and be done with its shadows. Still, why to see her wear it would warm his heart so, even in the cold around him, he could not say.

“Does not his Black Gate lie yonder?” she asked, her gaze upon the northern road and the grey lands before her. “And should they not have reached his realm by now? For seven days have passed since they rode away.” And she remembered the faces of those who had left, and the burning eyes of two men, two Kings, bore into her and left her weak with worry. For if the Lord Aragorn fell these lands would be wasted, and her heart would weep; and if her brother died she would be lost.

“Seven days,” said Faramir, “all filled with doubt and weariness. And now that the waiting is soon to be over some would want them to last the more.” And he turned his face back towards the City for a moment, to watch a man flee to his house in hiding. Then he returned to that which spread beyond the City and spoke once more, his voice even. “But the end must come,” he said, “and will; and it shall play before our very eyes to give us answer, be it light or dark.”

“But could the end be light? For there is such darkness before me,” said Éowyn, and her eyes were shadowed, while her hands trembled from the cold; “and I cannot say whether there is any light behind. I fear we wait for the stroke of doom,” she whispered, and he gave a nod and said no more.

And they both stood watch upon the wall, and where once their robes moved in the wind now they fell still; and they felt the wind as it died and sound as it paused. And with it the light of the Sun paled even more, and the day seemed to stand on the brink of night. And above the mountains in the distance they thought to see another mountain grow, vast and made of darkness, and moving like a great wave to cover the world. And with its sight their hearts forgot to beat, and their breaths were hushed in the towering silence. Then in the movements of the lightning which flickered above it they felt the earth and the walls of the City quiver, and their hearts beat once again.

“It reminds me of Númenor,” Faramir said, and started to hear his own words in the silence around them.

“Of Númenor?” said Éowyn, and turned towards him.

“Yes,” he answered, his eyes grey as the sky and widened in wonder of what he saw “of the land of Westernesse that foundered beneath the waters of the Sea.”

“The dark wave that you spoke of?”

“Darkness Unescapable. I often dream of it.”

“And you think that it is coming? That the end of days is come?” she asked in a voice grave and cold as the air around them, and they both drew close one to the other.

“Nay,” he answered in soft tones, “for it was but an image and a thought. I do not rightly know what these dark tidings mean. For, though reason tells me that a great evil has befallen these lands, my limbs are light, and my heart is full with joy that cannot be denied by reason. No, White Lady,” he said then, and turned his face to hers, “I do not believe this darkness will endure,” and his eyes were bright and shone with hope and trust.

And so they stood upon the walls of the City of Gondor and waited for the reckoning to come. And the wind took life once more and drew its breath in full, and their hair mingled raven and gold as they held each other close. And they saw the Shadow retreat and the Sun break through the clouds to make the waters of the Anduin sparkle with silver, and they felt its warmth renewed as it shone upon them. Then from the City they heard songs of joy, and they joined them in their hearts, and smiled and laughed together, and were saddened no more. And they remained in their place of waiting until not long past the middle hour of the day, when a great Eagle came bearing news of hope beyond hope, which was at last fulfilled. And as they raised their hands to the heavens, in greeting and thanks, they saw that their own had joined, though they knew not when; yet with the joy and relief that bloomed into their hearts they spoke naught of it.

~~~~

~~~~

The Sun shone brightly in the distance and brought warmth to the lands of Gondor, such that even the Lady Éowyn could feel and take comfort in. She walked the gardens still, alone now that the Lord Faramir had quit the Houses to turn the City anew for the King’s coming. And of the people that dwelt within its walls she alone was troubled and her eyes were downcast. What lightness of heart and ease of mind had come to her in the days past were gone now, and although the shadow had departed she thought to see it round her still, in a wearied present and the dim days of an uncertain future.

No man or woman here could see her for that which she was; they would speak in wonder of her deeds in battle, praise her for her valour and ever thank her for vanquishing the Nazgûl King, yet they only grasped half truths. For in their eyes she saw that she received the glory she had once desired, but found no understanding. To them she was a thing of wonder, the wild shieldmaiden hailing from the North to bring hope to their City in their hour of need, and not a woman alive and breathing, except when they sought to bring her to health. And she knew the subtle stares they gave here she would also find among her people, more so because she was their own and had come to them in lies and duty forsworn. For this, she had not left to join her brother in Cormallen, although she knew it pained him greatly, for many a messenger had he sent to bid her come. Yet in these Houses she remained to hide, wishing to lie unseen, unjudged, and knowing still that all here judged her, even for such a thing as walking the gardens in thought and not rejoicing with the rest.

And as she sat to lean upon the tree she saw as her own here she thought there was only one other to know of aught but celebration in these times joyous for all, and that was the Lord Faramir; for, she knew, he was bound to plan it. And then a thought unbidden came to her, that he would not lay blame or judgement, for never had she seen disapproval in his eyes, not even when she spoke to him in voice cold and words harsh. Before him, she only now saw, she could speak her mind and hide no more; or could have done so, for she had kept herself away from him, and distant; and he was gone now, and took with him the chance of open speech and plain words. And she was sorry for it.

~~~~

The sound around him overwhelmed. Loud enough to reach the Valar it was, he deemed, and perhaps deafen them as well; it engulfed and smothered, and he revelled in it. For every cheer and clang of glass and burst of laugh once more brought to him proof of victory and hope fulfilled. And, better still, the knowledge that the work of these long years had seen its end at last; the Lord Aragorn could rest.

Yet, in an instant, that thought fell silent with the laughter beside him, as his true fate came before his eyes: a new burden was set upon him that day, along with the crown upon his head, and its weight had now come to his mind once more. For he was ruler of Gondor and Arnor both, the greatest lands of Middle-earth, and the legacy of Númenor they bore he was bound to awaken. But his kingdom was half in ashes, half in shadow, and till his final breath was spent he was to bring it into light and glory, and leave it well governed for his heirs, if he should be granted the wonder and joy to have them. And he understood then that his truest work was only then beginning.

For as the War had ended the world was made weary in its wake. He knew the Men of Middle-earth could not withstand another – already their spirit had been spread too thin; live through it they could, yet their chance of rebirth as a great race would die with the fall of the last strike. This was a time of peace, and had to be so, for the sake of their future, for all that had been lost, misused, and suffered.

And as he looked into the faces and hearts of those around him a thought came plain to him – they could not fight again. The war had left them emptied and drained, although they hid it well, indeed, even from their own eyes. They were weakened. And while their enemies of old would claim to wish for peace and fellowship, too had they been freed from a master they had feared; would they not think to prove themselves by waging war in their own name? Would they not strike if they knew their old foes’ weakness? Perhaps they might not win – they surely would not – but they would care naught of rising from the ashes of battle once more if their foes were spent; and they would leave deep bleeding rents of mistrust, wounds that would not heal.

For the good of all, he knew that such a fate needed hindering; and it could only be so if their enemy had no thoughts of striking anew. He saw before him in a fancy the Men of Middle-earth, all strong, unbreakable, and, most of all, united, while Haradrim and Easterling emissaries dwelt within the City in the coming days to make peace; he saw them bear witness that Gondor and Rohan were sister-countries which could not be undone. And then he also thought to hear soft, shadowed whispers, spoken by those who could see naught of the brotherhood between them, forged in War and hardship, hope and fear. The whispers of those who had once fallen to despair, and had seen truth and wisdom in the twisted visions of their Lords, which brought their lands apart. And all things whispered, he knew, were ever heard by those who sought them.

And the ones to come from darkened lands would search, would strive to find them, in shadow and scorn and drunken nights; this split he could not allow, but neither could he alter by will alone, for an agreement between kings was not enough to bind two countries. Their people had to come together, so that for all the days to come, even if he or Éomer should fall, when men of Gondor and of Rohan would meet they would see themselves as brethren and embrace.

And while that would come to pass as days and time went by, the present moment had greater need of it, as their enemies watched and settled upon the next battle. Yet he knew the two lands could not be bound so easily, for their people were different as much as they were alike, both in spirit and in shape. While Rohirrim were of the sun and day, the Men of Gondor were of the stars and night; and this he saw plain as he gazed upon his new Steward and the Lady Éowyn, seated next to each other as custom and their stations bade. And, as he watched, he thought them to be the very images of their people, who for their qualities had great love for them. And he could see that what they were and stood for had to join, for the countries to bind; and their joining had to be known and spread to the four winds so that their people understood it could and should be so.

And in an instant his sight shifted, and he no longer saw beyond them, but them, as living Men, who thought and felt; and who, if they were wed, would be the proof their people needed to trust and love each other, as their lord and lady had. Yet did he have the right to bring this upon them? For he knew that should he ask, should Éomer ask once he understood his thoughts, they would agree to it; for the good of their countries, for their duty, they would bend to their Lords' will.

And he wondered then if asking this of them would bring their lives to ruin or give them ease and a future filled with light, and his thoughts strayed upon them both. Éowyn he knew, and thought to understand; she was as fiery as her people, yet had made her manners turn to ice in the corners of the Golden Hall in hiding from the shadow dwelling there. And she was strong, and wise beyond her years, and had seen what no other woman had ever or ever would see, to be, perhaps, the only one to truly understand the horrors of war, and rightly soothe them. But Faramir was less known to him; for he had no time to learn of Boromir’s brother save for the praise his men had given him, in wishing for his presence in the charge for the Black Gate and praying for his health upon the battle’s end, and the glimmer of his mind as Aragorn battled to wake him from the sleep of the Black Breath. By this, undaunted, stood even the healing of the City, reborn from its ashes in mere weeks by the work of one man still fighting his own wounds. And for this, although he did not know his thoughts, still he could feel what manner of man he was – strong and wise. A good man; he could be no other to win to his side the love and respect of the City while he was away, and that of all his men when he was with them.

And Aragorn also had hope that the two would soothe each other’s ails, many, heavy and dark as they were. It would indeed be the coming together of night and day, he thought, for they would bring what the other had not, even in their fears; for he would be plagued by fire and sound and scream of Nazgûl beast, while she by ice and silence. His choice would be well made with them.

And whatever doubts he still had were eased when, at one jest the hobbits made, they both smiled their first true smile that night; and as they turned towards the other, the smile may not have grown, but neither did it fade.

~~~~

Lord Faramir had once more woken in the early hours, as had been his habit of the last weeks in seeing to the hasty rebuilding of the City. This day at last he drew his breath in ease, for the King had been well welcomed; yet now the man who had only the day before named him his Steward already summoned him for counsel. And as he entered the chambers of his liege he saw him not bearing the emblems of his office and clad in glory, but donning a tunic simple and black, no crown upon his brow. Yet the worry and cares he had thought to read upon his face were there.

“Good morrow my King,” he said, and bowed his head.

“My Lord Steward,” he answered, “good morrow,” and gave an inclination of his head. This done, the King fell silent, and watched the man before him for a time, his look searching and thoughtful.

“My Lord?”

“I would speak with you plainly, Faramir,” the King said.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“There is much that needs doing, both in Gondor and Arnor, to rebuild that which once was. What war can tear asunder in one year cannot be mane anew in thrice that time, and these lands have seen too many years of war and shadow. The task at hand is difficult enough without endless meetings of council drowned in formal address which would amount to nothing in the end.” At this he stopped and searched his Steward’s face. And seeming to find there something to his liking he went on: “What I mean to say, Faramir, is that I would not wish to be treated so formally by my main advisor.”

“How would you have me address you, my Lord?” he asked, uncertain how to take the words he had heard, and wary.

“When alone, as we are now, my very name would do,” he said, and smiled at his Steward’s expression. “I would rather be counselled by a friend, and by someone who can tell me plainly if I am wrong in any one of my decisions; by someone who can deny me. That cannot be done if we are hindered by formality.”

And then some moments passed and there was understanding between them as Faramir smiled and said: “I cannot yet address you by name, for it is you whom I have waited for from my earliest years, and read about in all the legends we have of this land; your coming is still new to me, and like to something of a dream. But I shall try to see the man behind the King. ”

Then Aragorn straightened and looked as if a burden was taken from his shoulders. But little time passed, and his face darkened once more; and he walked to the window to say: “There is something else I must speak with you of.”

“My Lord?”

“How do you think the kingdoms of Middle-earth are faring?” he asked, and turned to face the other man.

“The War has taken much of them both. There are many things to rebuild. In time it would be done so, I am certain.”

“Do you think we can suffer another?”

“I cannot say,” Faramir answered, and his brow was knit with worry. “I would like to believe that we are mighty still, but... our numbers are too small and our strength too little for another Great War.” Then he raised his head and said: “Why do you ask, my Lord? Have there been signs of such a future?”

“Till now, none have come. But our old enemies will enter our gates this very day. Should they think us weak...”

“You think that they would strike… With none to lead them? ‘Tis true, if all are here, alliances can be forged; if the chance presents itself, a leader can be found... Still, could our future be so bleak? To fight another war so soon?”

“These are my thoughts as well; to even think of battle when the war of our age has barely ended seems folly, even warmongering perhaps; but we must prepare for the worst.”

“My Lord,” Faramir said, his eyes saddened of a sudden, “we have little to prepare with. Too many good men have perished; too much of what was once has been lost. In this hour, we have naught but the image of strength and the glory of the victor to shield us. Indeed, they can offer little true protection.”

“Aye; yet they have for many years. To that end, I believe that we must have all of Middle-earth that is here present see that Gondor and Rohan are bound as countries and as peoples. And that together we would stand fast before any danger.”

“Is it not so already?” Faramir asked, and the King nodded at his words.

“Aye, but there are some who have forgotten it, among our own as well; they must be reminded. And the bound must be one too strong to break.”

“You think of a renewal of the oath of Eorl.”

“There shall be that as well. But oaths can be broken, words forgotten; and actions speak louder than both. Faramir...“ he began, and walked towards the man, ”there is no manner I can say this but plain. It is but a thought in my mind, no command, nay, not even a wish of mine… Faramir... I would have the two countries united by a marriage bond.” And here he paused and seemed to draw his breath. “I would have you wed the Lady Éowyn.”

Then Faramir would have drawn back, much startled for these words; but in the end he kept his poise, and his face showed little else than his surprise, though there were many feelings vying in his heart.

“I would not ask this of you…” the King spoke once more, his voice all deep and soft.

‘And yet you do’, Faramir thought, then turned his gaze at the King’s feet, where his allegiance lay. And as he listened to his words anew, all clear in memory and thought, he found that they were true, from worries shared to friendship given. Then with his eyes turned downwards still he thought in bitter reason of what this match would bring his lands, then of the lady, and what it meant to ask this of her. For with the threat standing true before him, he knew that she would do this and agree, just as he would.

And as he looked upon his King once more he knew that he was truly Envinyatar, the Renewer, bringing new order to the world and Age, and to his life and hers.

“What does her brother, the King, say?” he asked, “And what of the lady?”

“I have yet to speak with them of this, but would rather hear your thoughts first.”

Then Faramir nodded long and slow and said:

“My Lord… you say that I should question you…” he began; but then he paused, finding no words to voice his thoughts that he could approve of.

“I did,” said Aragorn, “and would ever hear your thoughts, should you chose to share them with me. Now more than ever.”

“Then, my Lord, I mean no disrespect,” said Faramir, “but would not such an alliance seem stronger still were the lady to become a Queen?”

And saying this he thought of the Lady of Rohan once more, and how he knew that her affections had been once bestowed upon the man before him; how they perhaps were bestowed still. And how this other choice might seem to her the better, and easier to make.

“Aye, it would,” the answer came, “and you are right in that. Yet such a thing cannot be done.” And from the words of his King the Lord Steward descried some tangled feelings better hid than all that he had read from him before, yet clearer somehow; they were of sadness and regret, of hope, and doubt, and joy, and some reigned in relief that covered all – relief for what, he could not say.

“I am betrothed, my Steward,” Aragorn went on, “and have been so for many years, and more days than you have drawn your breath. And now I wait for her, and for some sign that she would come; to both our joy and to her doom.”  And his last words were whispered, as if not meant for others. Yet Faramir took notice, and started anew for the depth of the man’s feelings, and the clarity they welled in.

“Forgive me,” the King said then, and seemed to withdraw from his thoughts, “I would not speak more of this now, nay, not before some manner of sign is given so that I know that so it shall be.”

“Aye, my Lord, I understand,” Faramir said, “How long, then, may I take before I give you my answer?”

“As long as you might need; but keep in mind that the Riders would have to leave for home after a time.”

“You will have my answer before then,” he said, and left the King’s chambers at his sign. And he had many thoughts as he walked the levels of the City, and wondered whether he could indeed agree, and thus forfeit his life in quite another fashion. And yet, what of his life? The last of his years had been battered by doubt and shadow, and until the dreadful hour when he had stood upon the wall to witness all change shape before him he had nigh abandoned hope for life and any thought of future. Yet death had not come to him in these last months, although circle him it had, taking away all that was held dear to him; and though life had begun again, his own felt emptied now, and barren. Many paths lay out before him, if only he would take a step, and one of them was forged in steel and iron, and was not of his making.

And as he paced he thought once more of his Lord’s words, and so too of some arguments of old. A union sought to strengthen his lands and not his heart and life was not so foreign to him, for as second son to the Steward of Gondor such could have been his fate if need of it had come in years past. Yet it had not. And neither had love found him, even as his men grew their families before his eyes. And now that their lands were safe and his worries had passed he did not think to ever love, as wearied a heart as his own seemed. Too much had he lost, and gained too little, and he felt no wish to soar to the sky and burn, but rest, and live in peace. Yet he saw now that could not be, for one more duty lay upon him, to carry on his line for the sake of his City. At one point he would have to wed. And if the reason was the same – his duty only – why not do so when the most good could be drawn from it? And if he were to choose a lady, why not choose one who had seen as he and lost as he? One whose own scars he could give help to mend, whom he could take away and offer haven, if she so wished it.

Aye, he would wed the Lady Éowyn, if she chose to be bonded to him, for her sake and his country’s. Yet he would not place such a crooked scale upon her by speaking his agreement now. The first choice, he decided, would be hers, and so too the final one. And he would show her both her futures raw and plain, whether or not she wished to see them, and however it might pain him to speak of them so.

And so it was that his steps brought him once more to the Houses of Healing, and to the gardens where the White Lady walked still. And he saw her silent and withdrawn, as she had been the night before when the joy around them had seemed to wash over her and leave no mark; and the weight of what he would say to her hung the heavier upon his heart.

“Good morrow, my lady”, he said as he came near.

“Good morrow, my lord”, she answered, and turned her head to look upon him; and he could see her weariness, and that she was unwell at heart, but said naught of it.

“Lady, there is aught I must speak with you,” said Faramir. “I come from counsel with the King, and what we spoke of ties both to you and I. He fears, and I agree, that both our lands are weakened by the War, and so, in peril of a new attack; one that we might not withstand. As it is, we have naught but victory to keep us safe.” And here his voice fell silent, and he looked long upon her and wished that she would understand his meaning.

“What has your King decided?” Éowyn asked, her voice as cold as the blood which flowed within her at his pause.

“He has decided naught, but thinks that to avoid this threat our countries must be bound by threads stronger than an oath of old. My lady,” he began once more after a time, and his words were slow in coming, “this bond would be a wedding; we would be wed,” he said, then turned his eyes from her to leave her to her silence. And he would have stood beside her speaking no more of this, for his lips would not form his words and his ears would not hear them. But to this faltering and to the burning in his chest he paid no heed, and so went on to say:

“My lady, I know the difficulty of such news, and too the difficulty of such choice. I would you allow me to ease it a little; know that whatever answer you may give shall be my own as well, and, for my part, you need not feel worry or guilt.” Again he paused and sought his words, for there were little ways to voice his thoughts without giving offence; and too because his throat was dry, as were his lips, and speaking was a burden. “During the war my end could well have come in any moment, and so, to bind myself, my heart, to any lady-… I am not so bound, in heart or mind, and no one is so bound to me; should you agree to this there would be none to suffer.”

And he expected words from her, of righteous anger and reproach, but she was silent still; and in her heart Faramir could read naught but some great weariness, of what he could not say. And from the look upon her face she seemed to think not of these things but to be lost in some strange sight before her, one that he could not fathom. And he made ready for the awkwardness to come, and, as he turned her to look into his eyes, he spoke:

“Would you have my plain words?”

“I would,” she answered; and in his earnest gaze she took some comfort, and opened herself to listen. 

“I cannot make your choice for you, nor would I do so; but I can bring it to your eyes in reason, and unfold all it would entail. To bind yourself with me would mean to leave behind your country and your people, and all that you have ever known, to live in Gondor – or Ithilien, should the King grant my retreat there. These lands no doubt have other ways, and the beginning would be difficult. But the people are as good and worthy as your own, and they would love you, for I cannot see it differently. To leave Rohan would mean to leave behind your memories of childhood, the graves of all your kin; your brother. But also the dark reminders of the Golden Hall, and the remembered dread that might come to you in every brick and beam that you would see.”

At this he paused once more, weary of speaking; but seeing her intent upon his words he went on in a lowered voice to say:

“To leave Rohan would be to wed someone not of your choosing; to stay would, perhaps, mean the same, as you are a daughter of kings, and your choices are not your own. You could both find and lose a chance for love whether in Rohan or in Gondor. In your country your future is not yet set, not yet decided; here it will be so, for a fashion, and though your answer would be yours, the drive for it would not.”

And as he spoke she took his words to mind, and saw the truth in them. And she was thankful that he did not speak of greater things than her own fate. But as she listened she also saw her future in her mind – how she would have to yield to him, in mind and body, and much like to his people she would have to live. And then she saw herself a creature bound by her lord’s will, and the will of his City, for she would have to change to please them all, and the cage would be tightened about her. Gone would be her riding out alone outside the city walls, gone the way of the sword and her word and ear in matters of state; and as a lady of the court, she would look upon their King and Queen and crumble within in the shame of feelings past. Yet, for her country, for the lives of those who would perish in another war, and for their kin, she would agree; already she had failed her people, leaving them to the winds as she fled to do battle with her enemies and with herself. She could not once again deny her duty; there was no other choice.

And so she looked upon her husband to be, and with her face so hidden as to match his own, she said: “I will wed with you, my lord. You may give my answer to your King.”

Then with a nod Faramir left, for he had felt her need to stand alone once more; and as she looked upon the City where she would have to dwell in times to come Éowyn’s eyes were filled with tears for the lands and the people and the little freedom she would leave behind; but, as they often did, the tears dried before they fell.

~~~~

The glad days had gone by one after the other, with no change either in the weather or in the heart of the many gathered within Minas Tirith to celebrate release from shadow; but for the few whose fates would be forever changed with their passing they grew dreary and undesired. Each coming hour seemed heavier that the last for the Lady Éowyn, while Lord Faramir’s time was spent in planning and meetings of parley, so that his mind could be turned from what its passing meant. And in their waiting they saw little of the other, as if they tried to cling to their last moments apart; yet they still kept each other in their thoughts, as one does a threat which cannot be avoided.

And at last the day came when Beregond was brought before the King to hear his judgement, and many hearts were lifted when he received pardon and was bound to the protection of his Captain and Lord, for whom he had forfeited his very life; and many joyous calls came with the next ruling, which gave Faramir the lands of Ithilien so that he may build a princedom there, and dwell in Emyn Arnen with his own.

And at the end Aragorn and Éomer greeted each other and embraced, and spoke of their own kinship and of that of their realms, and all who were there took heed to their words and, agreeing with them, were glad. Then when they parted but a little the King of Rohan turned to the people and spoke:

“For many years our peoples have been blessed with the friendship between them, since the time that Eorl came forth from the North to these lands; and as the oath that he took has stood the test of the ages so too it will not fail from this day forth. And on this happy day shall the Mark and Gondor be bound with a new bond, for, lo, the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien asks that the Lady Éowyn of Rohan be his wife, and she grants it in full heart; and they shall plight their troth before you all.” And saying this he brought forth his sister and set her hand in that of the Steward, as he stood by his King’s side; and as the crowds let out their cheers they could not see the stern gazes of the betroths nor the trembling in Éomer’s hand.

Then when the evening came and the Lord and future Lady of Ithilien were seated together in great honour they could at last speak to the other, the first of their talks since parting in the gardens. And their words were silent and soft, for they were watched by many whose eyes were filled with glee for them, as none else but the two Kings knew of their agreement.

“My lady, we do not seem a merry pair,” said Faramir, and his eyes glinted with wry humour; for he saw no other way to make lighter these moments, and for that he had great need; and not unlike his own heart did he think the Lady Éowyn’s to be.

“’Tis true, my lord,” she answered, but looked not upon him,” for there is little cause for merriment.”

To that he said no more, and what happy spirits he had brought unto his words paled with the sting of hers. But looking round the great hall in which they dined he read expectation and eagerness in the faces of the guests, more so than was between himself and her. His heart fell heavy from the lightness of tone around him, and so he fell in to the comfort of his duty; and he thought with worry how they would appear to those who watched their every move.

“Lady,” he spoke once more, “it is the night of our betrothal. Our hearts should be filled with joy, yet many hours have passed and there has been nary a smile upon our lips. All we have done will be in vain lest we appear glad for this day.”

“And would you trust me or my words in our days together should I deceive all with my smile this night?” she asked then, and her eyes shone with disdain where they held his face; and he felt them pierce his heart, and would have tuned away from the truth they bore of what she had surrendered. But he held her gaze, and for the first time wished to melt the ice which dwelt within her, not for her sake but for his own.

And then he leaned toward her, his face grave, and whispered “My apologies... Once more I ask for your forgiveness, my lady; yet I would ask more of you, that you give this night, and our days to come, an honest chance – as you would have, should your wedding had been arranged by your brother and not the Lord of another realm.” And some part of him would have had him name his King for what he had once been to her – the man she had thought to love; but such a thing was cruel and witless, and would have pained her, and he wished no pain to ail her from that moment forth. So with a soft look in his eyes he spoke once more to her: “My lady, if you shall find it in your heart to smile tonight I will have it be for joy, not duty; and here do I promise to ease your search for it.”

And though she doubted much his words and gave no answer to them, still she graced the hall with her smile that night, whether from the stories that the hobbits told when her betrothed brought her to join them, or from his own, towards the end. And when the morning came she no longer looked upon him with contempt, but found in him once more the man from the Houses of Healing whom she had spoken of her life to, and who had brought her worries ease. Then as they parted and she watched him leave, the light of the rising sun about him, she bade at last farewell to shadow and felt the warmth upon her skin, from need for life and weariness of darkness, if for nothing else.

~~~~ 

~~~~ 

Author's Notes:

I have the horrible feeling that the state of mind, thoughts and reactions of the characters are OOC. That and the fact that Aragorn's worries of a possible coming war are unfounded, and therefore the entire story has no point. I tried to write these scenes as logically as possible - the only problem is that I wrote them some months ago, and now I'm not entirely certain of them (I'm a little worried, actually). And since my opinion on them isn't exactly objective, I'd be very grateful if you reviewed and told me what you think. Thanks!

Author's Notes: A little reminder about the separators: one row of ~~~~~ means a relatively short amount of time has gone by since the last scene took place; two rows point to a longer period of time.

~~~~~

~~~~~

In the same way that they had barely shared greetings during the days that they both had spent in Gondor upon their betrothal, so too did the Lord of Ithilien and his Lady see little of the other after her leaving to her own lands. Yet their words were born between them in letters steady in their coming, so that those who had settled near to the border took to saying that the very day of the week could be told by their comings and goings; and their hearts welled with the knowledge that the two lands would indeed come together and stand fast one for the other.

Yet for all the glad words spoken about them, and the care which was believed to stand between them, the two betroths learned little of the other save for their way of speech and turn of phrase. For in their many letters they merely planned the building of their house in Emyn Arnen so that they would both take comfort within its walls, and they spent little words on other things.

For this, upon the first month of autumn, as half the time had passed till the day they would be wed, Éowyn woke once day to see that she knew naught of her lord’s likes or dislikes, of his ways or of what he would await from her. Too much of her time had been spent in labouring to aid her country, and she had given little thought to her new life to come, reluctant as she was for it to begin. And to her knowledge, her betrothed knew little of the same. Yet, even with these thoughts, she shied away from speaking of them in her letters to him; as was their unspoken agreement, such things were silently avoided. Instead she asked a little more of the ceremony that would bind them, questioned him once again of the setting of his lands, and wondered about the horses they would have, and how they would be cared for. Not little was her surprise, then, to read his answers later on, and questions of his own, tying both to her written and unwritten thoughts; and that the Lord Faramir would come to Rohan in two weeks time to draw upon the trade agreements between the Mark and Gondor; and to see her.

And when indeed he came she hid her wonder not, but instead questioned him of it before he even set down from his bay. Yet she received no other answer than an awkward smile and a promise that all would be revealed to her. And so it was that the two found themselves riding across the plains of Rohan at midday upon the second day from his arrival, both waiting for the other to begin.

“My lord,” she said at last, “you have said you would explain to me how you came to know my thoughts.”

“Not your thoughts, my lady, but some workings of your heart,” he answered.

“You believe you know my heart?” she asked, and where her eyes had been tuned to the sights before they were now set sharply upon him, nigh filled with scorn.

“Aye, lady, for a fashion. The gift of the House of Húrin allows me to read into the hearts of men and see both their pains and joys, although I can be blind to it if I so wish it. Yet in tying with your thoughts no legacy of kin has helped; your questions had been my own, and in perceiving them I needed only to read between the lines of our letters for what was left unsaid. If anything, my years spent as a Ranger have been my aid, for they taught me to read unanswered answers and unasked questions.”

“How so, my lord?”

“After a time, trespassing in Ithilien was forbidden; the penalty was death,” he said, and his voice turned silent and withdrawn. “There were many things to know before bringing about such and end.” Then seeing the question in her eyes he spoke anew: “I was wary, at times, to end the life of worthy men for breaking such a law, although such was the will of my Lord. Yet there were very few good men crossing our borders, many a lie they wove, and the decision to proceed either way fell unto me.”

“’Twas you who sent Frodo and Samwise on their way,” she said. “What penalty was it that you risked, my lord?”

“I, also, risked my death.”

“Even by your father’s hand?”

“Even so,” he nodded, and she asked no more.

But on their ride back to the gates of Edoras she weighed his words and saw that the tide of the War had been turned by his keen eye and his decision; for another Captain would have slain the two Halflings on the spot, strange a folk as they were in those times. And she wondered once more of the workings of fate, and how many times the world’s ending had hung by a thread.

For a time, they rode in silence, both delighting in the run of the horse and the wind in their hair as they galloped towards home. And they saw naught but the earth before them, so that when lightning split the sky in two they stood amazed by the grey colours shifting upon it. And they both were short of breath, but with a glint in their eyes they set off at full speed once more. And so it was that when they reached the stables their coming unsettled the horses within, and one that had been newly trained tore from his bonds and took to bounding.

“Frealwine! Quick! Fillias is loose!” Éowyn called out, and, when the man charged with the stables came, she walked with him toward the troubled horse to calm it. Yet as they reached for it Faramir stood forth as well, and approached the steed with arms open before him. And though their hearts were wary, for it was known the horse had ever brought them pains, they left him to his doings, and wondered to see Fillias pause in his presence and bear his touch; and when the man of Gondor whispered in its ear the horse calmed of its own, so that it could be taken by its bridle and led to its stall once more, to settle quietly while there.

“Such a way with a horse,” the Lady Éowyn began, her eyes wide in surprise, “is only that of our tamers! How have you come to know of it?”

“I cannot say, my lady. None have taught me, if that is what you ask. But from my early years I have seen that all good beasts heed to my words, perhaps for the same gift that I have spoken of to you.”

And hearing his words she said no more, but unknowingly her regard for him grew with this display, and her heart eased a little, for she could see that at least in this they were a match. Then when the rain began to fall they both retired from it, and found themselves within the training ring, their hair and clothes both damp.

“My lady,” he said, “would you rather we risk returning to the Golden Hall or wait the rain out here?”

“If you have naught against it, I would rather wait here; the rain will be quick to end.”

“Very well,” he nodded, “then I would bid you tell me something of your country and your ways, what you have not spoken of before; for there are many things I have not heard of, and that should be amended.”

“What would you wish to know, my lord? And there are some answers of your own I would desire to have, for you have not been forthcoming regarding your own life.”

“You may give me any answer you see fit, and ask me any question.”

And as they sat before swords and spears and bows she began to speak of her own training as a shieldmaiden and the lore and tradition of fighting in her land; and in his eyes she saw attention and true interest and was moved to tell him all the more; and for every answer she gave he told her of their own ways, and to every question she made about him or his kin, as little as the were in number, he gave answer as well. And when the rain came to an end they knew the other better.

“The rain has ended, my lord,” she said to him, and looked to her left towards the open doorway. But he gave no answer, instead stood from the bench; then he went to the practice swords to pick one up, and felt the edge of its blade.

“My lady,” he said, and turned toward her, his eyes bright, “I would spar with you.”

And she was startled by his words, but stood up nonetheless, and, walking towards him, said: “I have not the proper robes upon me, nor any here that I may change them.”

“Would your dress hinder your movements so?” he asked, and looked to the cut of her raiment, wondering to the moves that she would have to make.

“Not very much so, no,” she answered, and turned from him to choose a blade of her own; for his searching eyes had somehow brought colour to her cheeks, and she wished to hide it.  But then she came towards him when her face was pale once more, and they both measured the other to search for flaw or weakness. Yet they found none, save that they were equal in skill and different in style. And as they fought the Lady Éowyn was pleased to see that he neither held back as not to harm her, as was her brother’s habit, nor stroke with force as if to overcome her quickly, as other men would have; his moves, instead, were graceful and more fluid, and his strikes were subtle, and he taught her more than she knew without breaking the fight, but by repeating such moves that he saw she took notice of, until she had made them for her own.

And the time came and went, yet they did not pause, except to catch their breath or grip their swords anew; and in the end they found that they had grown so accustomed to the fight that they parried and turned with nary a thought to it. Then when their swords met at the last they saw the flame in the other’s eyes and felt the hitch in their own breaths, and their blades were lowered.

“Your skill, my lord, is…” Éowyn began, yet her words went unfinished, like her thought; for there stood the Lord Faramir upon the ring, lips parted and body strong and strained from effort, and for the first time in the months she had known him she felt a wary shiver while standing at his side.  

“What of my skill, my lady?” he asked, and a smile reached his eyes and lit them with kind humour; but she shied away from them, and with her back to him she said: “Your way with the sword is different to what I was raised to know, and you are a master of it. Would you not also show me how you handle the bow? For I have heard that is your true craft.” And as she spoke she felt his gaze upon her back, and chided herself for being so weak in his presence; for, she deemed, there was naught in his look or manner that she should fear or desire, and she had ever been composed around him. It was, she thought, the weariness of the fight alone, for they had charged each other far into the day, which now diminished with the setting sun.

“If you so wish it, my lady,” he said, and brought her from within her thoughts and into common feeling once again. And when she went to him to hand a bow and quiver there was neither weakness nor strain in her limbs, and she could gaze upon him steadily. Yet it was not his face or form that she watched at that time, but the arrows he released, which never fell short of the mark, no matter the distance. And with his every hit she saw the Ranger come forth from within the Steward, and his deeds in battle played before her eyes; and she understood then that her betrothed was a man no Rider of the Mark could overcome.

And as the days passed she began to see him for the man he was, though only in mind alone; for her heart was still kept far from him and would find no acceptance, no matter the light in which he walked. And her reason took notice of his own, for during the talks between their lands she saw his words to be as wise as ever they had been, and laced with dignity; and they were meant for her as well, for when he spoke he looked towards her also.

And when the days he was to spend in Rohan came to an end she found she knew of him not all that she had wished to, but enough that she could think to understand him, and how their days together would come to be. He would be patient and calm, at times a teacher, at times a listener, ever the voice of reason. But the thoughts that had come to her upon the walls of his White City before the ending of the War she could not turn away: she doubted still whether there would be love for her; for she knew not if she could love him, as a woman loved a man, a wife loved a husband, or indeed if he could love her. For no such signs had she seen, either way.

And so she watched him in the distance as he left, and thought of the many times that she would do so, and how his parting would perhaps mean nary a thing to her; and doing so she did not hear her brother come towards her and take his own place by her side.

“He is a noble man, and worthy,” Éomer said.

“I know this,” she answered. Then with a quiet hand upon her shoulder he walked away, to leave her to her thoughts. And she looked into the distance for a little while, and saw her husband to be take his leave from her lands. Then she walked into the Golden Hall, and knew that upon his parting they both left the other a stranger still, no matter what they had learned of their pasts and customs. And as she paced the hallways to her rooms she felt numbness and coldness strive to take hold of her, as they had in the darker days. And for a moment she nigh let herself fall into their grasp, but then fought her way towards the light instead.

For now there was a purpose to her life, another duty placed upon her, and part of it was to dwell in sunlight and in glee, for all to see; and fulfil it she would, and seem merry to the rest, and content, although her heart would turn heavy in the loneliness and idleness that would take hold of her days. And she was pained by the thought that her future was set, and that her duty had once more been of another’s choosing.

~~~~

~~~~ 

Her wedding night had come and was nigh gone, and she was a maiden still. To their chambers the Lady Éowyn had walked dressed in shimmering white, and each of her steps had been a burden, each one taken upon a foreign floor, in a foreign land. And the wood of the doors had been both cold and warm beneath her hands when she had pushed them open, for she herself had known not whether she burned with shame or grew cold with fear. And so it was that she had come before her husband, her fingers barely trembling from the strain of keeping them still, her chest barely moving beneath the soft fabric of her robes, her eyes downcast and not bearing to look upon him; for she had feared what could be read in his face – yearning, desire, or nothing at all. And he had known the anguish of her heart then, the fluttering of her soul, and most of all her gall at feeling so. For had she not agreed to this the year before?

Seeing her so Faramir had thought his heart would break, and would have turned away from the fear he felt in her, fear of him; and he was stricken for it, and shamed, and would have greatly wished to ease her cares and fears. Yet he had stood bound to his place before her, and had only watched her empty face, and felt her fear; for he had known that any move of his would have the more inspired her retreat, brought to the edge as she had been; and too because his coming steps had been so difficult to guess. For standing proud and silent by the doors she had seemed fairer than his memories of her had ever been, and she had, in her sorrow, drawn him to her, and made him long to offer care and comfort, so that he might as well find his heart eased. But he had moved not, instead stood thinking of his words to come, and the disgrace that they would bring to her, yet knowing that they must be said. And for many moments he had kept his piece, for he had also thought that speaking from a distance would perhaps have hurt her pride, while coming near would have unsettled her the more, and made his words in vain.

But then the silence had turned heavy, and Éowyn had felt her shoulders tremble under his gaze, and he could bear no more; and coming toward her he had threaded his fingers lightly through her hair; and with both hands along her face he had stooped down to kiss her brow.

“My lady,” he had said, and his breath had played warm upon her face, “we must speak, you and I.” And in slow moves he had lead her by the shoulders to their bed, but had not bid her sit. Then when she had raised her eyes at last she had seen the disquiet in his own and the veil of what she had both feared and expected; but his expression had been calm and brought her enough ease that she could suffer heeding to his words.

“This will be difficult to hear,” Faramir had spoken once more, his voice lowered and strained, “and difficult to say, yet I would bid you have patience and give me pause until I am done; for I hope to make my meaning clear.” Then he had paused, and for many a moment there had been silence in the room once more, until she had nodded her approval and he had said:

“One year ago this day our countries have made a bargain to bring them together; none save us and our Kings know of it, and for it to bear fruit none else must. For that reason, we are to play the act of a marriage both happy and desired… and this night has also been entered into the agreement. Yet I am not that cruel or uncaring to go where I am not welcome… If it is your will, our chambers in Emyn Arnen shall remain separate for as long as you wish, and here in Gondor as well; but now, while our bond is fresh, such a thing cannot be. To speak plain, for, alas, I see no other way, for some time, at least, we must lie one next to the other to avoid what tales would be told should anyone discover otherwise; for if that should happen there would be no point to any of this… Trust in me, my lady,” he had whispered, his voice for once wavering, and his chest welling with an unknown heat.

“I trust you, my lord,” she had answered, yet her eyes had fallen from his face down to his hands where they had hung limp along his body, and the thought of them touching her skin had made her eyes close. “Still,” she had said, her gaze upon his chest, and her voice soft, “what we have both agreed upon… it was meant to bond two countries… and two peoples. Surely the Mark and Gondor would… expect… an heir… to both their heritage.”

“Aye,” he had nodded, his voice slow as he searched for words, his eyes grave and pained, “that they would. But I believe that he or she could well be late in coming; there is time enough for that, if ever it should come to be. This night… these nights… that should be spent here would only be… for acquaintance and ease, for I believe that above all we must be at ease with the other, and at all times speak our minds… I would see no reason to deny ourselves this right we have towards each other, no matter the… state of things between us.”

Such had been his words, and she had taken them to heart, and silently thanked him for them; for in his gentle understanding he had answered all her unasked questions, even those she had too little strength to ask of herself. And so it was that they had both lain between white sheets, and took the other in their arms; and their moves were strained and awkward, and their bodies tense.

But now, as she rested her head upon his chest and felt his heart beat softly, her old fears returned, and she once more saw herself the slave of her husband’s will, more wretched for his kindness and the pity he would no doubt feel for her. She wanted not his pity, nor did she wish to see his remorse, if he should feel any; and she was saddened all the more that though one year had passed he was still so foreign to her that she could not trust in the nobility he bore, and thought it a lie. Such a lie as she would have to live with in the mornings that would come, when she would hide her face from the memories of night; the night that she would have to bear, in eyes closed and mouth clenched; for there will come a time when he would wait no more.

These dark thoughts would do battle with her reason, and often come forth the victor; and in the arms that should have brought her comfort she despaired, and where their warmth should have been welcomed it turned smothering, and she longed for escape. But then fear took her when her lord’s arms strained around her own; and her blood turned cold, and her breath was stilled, and the thought that he had lied to her with gentle words burned her whole. But then beneath her cheek she felt his breath hitch, and as she raised her eyes up to his face she saw his anguish in the furrow of his brow and the trembling of his jaw.

Soft mutters came from him, and he grew restless for a time, to then wake with a start, taking her with him; and in between strained breaths and clouded eyes Faramir took no notice of his lady’s cheek resting upon his chest, nor of her arms held stiff, and far from him.

But once his breath eased he felt the body his arms had wrapped around, her breath, warm upon his collar, and her tresses soft beneath his chin. Then as some moments passed Éowyn turned in his embrace, and he knew that she wished to be released. Yet as his hold slackened she moved not, but turned her head towards the window, and then said:

“The sun is rising.”

And his eyes moved, from the linen tangled about their legs towards the balcony which lay outside the windows, and with no reason to his words he answered: “My brother and I used to watch it both as its first rays shone upon the walls of the City… Gleaming white… A hope that darkness and shadow would not come… I have not watched it since his death.”

And with the burden of his silence upon her shoulders Éowyn said: “Come.” And he took her in his arms once more, the white coverings about her, and, walking softly out from the room and into the clear air of morning, he set his lady down upon the cold, stone-made floor. Then with his arm around her he watched the first light pierce the heavens and wash upon Minas Tirith like an embrace and blessing. And tears came to his eyes that he alone from his closest kin should still be living to bear witness to it, and that indeed he was alone, though he could feel the slender body of his lady wife beside him. For her stance had not softened, and even as it no longer seemed to speak of fear it showed her distant and cold to him.

Then Faramir’s head lowered from the sight before him, and he saw his lady strive to keep her eyes open to the sunlight, and failing. And she looked sweet and child-like, as she fought with sleep, but also care-worn from the lack of it; and he felt guilty for it, and vowed that he would make her worries rest, and offer her what best he could. Then when the sun had risen from between the towers of the White City and she had given into sleep, its rays fell bright upon her and her hair caught fire in their light; and watching her Faramir knew that he would come to love her, if only she let him.

And so he slowly placed a kiss upon the crown of her head, and once more took her in his arms to lay her back upon the bed and to her rest; and lost deep within his thoughts he knew not that many had seen them upon the balcony, and rejoiced for their love for each other.

~~~~

Author's notes: The events in the first two scenes occur the morning after Faramir and Eowyn's wedding, the others later on (the final one almost a month after the wedding)

~~~~

When morning came, the Lady of Ithilien awoke in a soft bed, her limbs light and rested, and she breathed peaceful and content. But then she felt a body lie warm beneath her own and stifled a gasp of fright; her breathing eased once more when at last she knew the room she was in, and the man holding her in his arms. And as she calmed she gazed upon her husband from where her head had settled at his shoulder; and she was glad to see him at peace, and his face unlined. But then she saw her fingers lie still and foreign upon his chest and shoulder; and with it she knew that though she did not fear his presence as to not stand it, for at least in reason she could say that he would not harm her, still his closeness made her awkward and shy.

Then gazing at his face in earnest, turned upon the pillows in sleep, she took his differences to mind, and thought him handsome in them; for he was darker than her kin, his hair flowing long and raven upon his shoulders; and though seeming as strong as the men of her own country, he was more slender built, which gave his bearing the grace that had taken her notice when first they had met. And lying by his side she thought of him, how he had seemed to her so many months ago – when he had come to her and to her lands, to settle his affairs of state, and, yes, to court her too; and further ago still, when first she had gone to him to plead for her release, and for her death.

And it seemed strange to her that the same man who had then made her see her hurt for what it was now held her close, and she could feel his heartbeat with her hand. That man of then, and the one who had spoken to her the night before and suffered in his dreams seemed different men to her – for time had made them so – although she knew them to be one; for their voice was the same, their words the same, and they had the same manner. And so, too, were his eyes, she thought, unchanged, holding much gentleness and care, and a wit as keen as none other before him.

And what she had known deep within herself she came to understand at last – that here was a great man to walk his path in life without faltering, and be kind to those who needed it and stern to those who deserved it; and that he was a good match.

And for once she nigh deemed herself fortunate to spend her life at his side; for there were many things that he would teach her, many ways in which she would be made better by living at his side; and remembering his words from long ago she agreed to give their future a fair chance and an open mind. Then as she strained to make her body ease, and turn soft in his arms, she hoped that time would see that she no longer be tense at his side – for as it was an offence to him as her husband, so too it was a threat to the lie they had to weave, the lie that they would strive to keep alight.

~~~~

When they awoke they were both silent and spoke naught to the other; but with a nod they offered greeting, then each went to their adjoining chambers to change their robes and prepare for the morning meal. To the dining chamber of the Steward’s apartments they went afterwards, the Lady Éowyn arriving sooner of the two. Then when her lord came in as well she left the window to join him at the table, where they both turned to face the west in silence, as was his custom.

Their meal was quiet at first, for what words they had to say were only for their ears, and some were there to wait upon them. But when at last the servants departed and they were left alone Éowyn looked up and spoke, her voice held even:

“My lord,” she said, “how are we to spend our time this day?”

“I know not. In truth, I have not made a plan of it, strange as it may seem. However we may wish, I gather, for I am excused from my duty to the City these seven days until we are both settled in our house here, and you are bound to naught for now.” Then he turned his eyes to the light outside and said: “The day is warm. What say you of riding outside the City, even to Emyn Arnen? For you have yet to try our own horses of Gondor and say your piece about them.”

“I should like that, my lord,” she said in a voice subdued. “But what of the days to come? Are we to ride out every morning for lack of things to occupy our time with? And what of the days when you are no longer free from your duties and must attend in counsel? How am I to pass my time here, or in Ithilien? What would my duties be?” she asked at last, and her voice lowered from the tone that it had risen to.

And looking back towards her Faramir saw her true question and the doubt in her eyes. “You would not be idle, if that is what you fear, for the troubles of the land shall be brought before you as well, if not only before you at times. Once Ithilien is settled the more, and the building of our home in Emyn Arnen is so that we may live within its walls, I may be away much of my time – Gondor will call for me, and so too will the valleys round what once was Minas Ithil; for, though much work has been done the year before to rid the place of the Dark One’s remains, foul things still cross it, and there will be no living there until it is cleared.” And his mien spoke both of eagerness and doubt; and with it Éowyn could see that he took pride in this duty that had been set upon him, and that he wondered how lightened an end he could bring to it. 

“There is a new land to be built,” said Faramir once more; “I would not have you merely watch and have no say in what is to be done. Greatly would it please me if you would come to see Ithilien as yours, and aid it in its growth.” And as he spoke his eyes turned lighter with some hope Éowyn could not dare to fathom, a hope tempered after a time. “Yet, I say again, there would be naught to bind you should you not wish it; neither will there be aught to hinder you from whatever you might wish to do. Should you wish to walk, the doors would be open; should you wish to wield a blade there would be swords to serve you in the practice ring; all horses are your own to ride, wherever you may wish to, although you should take caution where you stray, for Ithilien is still untamed in all.” Then her lord paused, and his eyes turned softer where they gazed into her own. “I would not cage you, my lady,” he said, “and your will is your own.” And she wept within, for no man had spoken thus to her, nor had one given her freedom so lightly; and she was shamed to have thought ill of him. Yet on her face she let naught show, but nodded at his words and said no more.

“As to your duties, Ithilien has had neither Lord nor Lady for many years; there are no duties set but those you choose to make yourself. Yet I would have your ear and counsel, my lady, for we, the both of us, have laboured to see our lands made whole; I would hope that together we could make this one the better as well.

“I have but one request of you,” Faramir said in the end, and her eyes turned to him, wary once more, and bothered for it. “We are to be friends, I think, if nothing more. And in the long years of our lives I would rather you speak my given name, and not a title. Would you not do so? And let me speak your name as well?”

“Of course,” she answered, and they both nodded for it, then turned back to their meal. And Faramir’s words played in her ears while they both ate, and she was grateful for them. For he had sought once more to ease her fears, as he had done the year before, the night before; a night she had prepared herself for as she would have for a battle. And she was humbled that he showed such patience; and that, where he had considered their life together and what it would entail, she had instead kept it far from her heart and mind.

And it came to her then, the reason why she had sought to dwell so little on the lord Faramir in the last months she had spent among her people; caution it had been that drove her. For she had learned that thoughts might lead to empty hopes, and she had wished to keep astray of them, and what they brought. Never again would Éowyn be drawn to care for shadows, she vowed, nor lose her heart in dreams. Better to keep her distance, and her guard, and a clear mind to find her place here where she had none written out yet.

Yet, as she thought this, a silent smile played at her lips; for even with her vow she knew there was one hope not to be conquered – the hope that time would do its duty, and that her wedded days would know more ease than sorrow; that she and her lord would not dwell on as they were then – strangers sharing a house, a room, and a life.

~~~~

~~~~ 

Three days had passed since the Lady Éowyn and the Lord Faramir had wed, and in the Great Hall of Merethrond there were many who still rejoiced for their union. Fair and noble was the company that night, for there sat King Elessar and Queen Arwen – and on their right sat Éomer King of the Mark, with Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth at his side, and his sons and daughter by him; and on their left sat the Lord and Lady of Ithilien, next to then the Lord of Lossarnach; and many other high lords and ladies of the fiefdoms of the land graced the hall as well. And they were glad for the joining of so worthy a couple, and for the strengthening of their hope of yesteryear. For many hearts had lifted then, when the betrothal had been sounded, in joy for them, and confidence for the coming days.

Alone Éomer spoke little as he sat at table, settling instead to watch his sister as she smiled and talked with those sitting close by her; and he knew that already he missed her. For come morning he would make for home, and Éowyn would stay behind, left to her duties and her new life – as Lady of Ithilien and the Steward’s lady wife.

As he had stood at her side three days before, and listened as she spoke the words to bind her to another land and to the man who sat before him now, Éomer had understood at long last that his sister was lost to him. No longer would she be there to welcome his return; nor would the people of the Mark see their Lady stand tall upon the steps of Meduseld, hair and gown flowing with the winds, and scouring the distance. No longer was she theirs.

Indeed, the Eorlings had felt bereft when news came of the Lady Éowyn’s betrothal, for they were told her hand was fastened not in their lands, but where a new home would await her. And some had turned resentful towards the Men of the Southlands; for it was in Gondor’s earth that their fallen ones would rest, and the people of the Mark would have not even the graves of their dead to mourn beside. And now Mundburg would take their lady, as softly and swiftly as she herself had left them once before. And the joy for the return of Éowyn Shield-Arm, with renown earned and deeds of honour done, was lessened by the thought that she would leave them once again.

This sorrow had weighed heavy upon Éomer’s heart as well, yet in him it was tempered by one greater still – that his sister’s own heart would not go where she married. So troubled he had been by this that he had spared no thought to the place of her betrothal; instead his mind had set upon swaying Éowyn’s will at first, and later on to make himself accept that he had failed.

Dearly had he wished to see her by his side upon the end of the last battle, and know by touch and waking eye that she was safe. The sight of her broken body before the walls of the White City had haunted his nights from that day on; and for that, and for the many men lying about him, dead or wounded, no peace had found him in Cormallen. Yet she had not answered his call, nor had she given any reason for her absence. And troubled for it, Éomer had suffered to see his sister first upon entering the City. She had stood silent and pale before him then, weeping for the joy of his return, and seeming to be healed – as much as one could heal in the City of stone that had stood in the shadow of the East, and watched its rise and fall. And his heart had eased at last to know she would be well, and that they would leave for their home, and labour side by side to set it to rights.

But then Aragorn had sought his company one evening; and as the man had spoken of his fears, Éomer’s hopes had turned to dust, and when he had known the burden of his sister’s choice his heart had stilled. And so, bewildered still, he had summoned her to him - with little hope she would accept the news, and fearing for her sake. He had sat by the empty hearth as they had spoken, too numb to rise and greet her as she entered. And his words had been slow in coming, battling as they had been between pleading, disbelief, and anger.

“Sister… King Elessar came before me now…” he had begun, knowing not at the time how and even if he should finish his thought. Yet she had given him no pause to speak, nor think, for she had said to him at once:

“I know. I have given him my answer,”

“He did not tell me this…” he had whispered, feeling his hope diminish; and her next words had felt so cold as to cut him like a knife, and drive the spirit from his chest:

“I have agreed,” Éowyn had said in steady voice. “It is done.”

Then anger had flared within him, for she had stood there unfeeling and still, and Éomer had needed its fire for aid; and where he should have gentled, instead he had turned harsh in tone and rash in words:

“It is!” he had cried out. “Without my word or my consent? If your love for me has seen so little cause that I should know how you decide your future, then your duty to your land and lord should have kept you, my Lady of Rohan, from committing yourself so… so easily to such a bond…”

“It has been my duty that gave my answer for me,” she had said, her gaze kept downwards and away from him, as if seeking to think he was not there. But then, a moment later, her eyes had shifted cold and stern upon him, and her voice had been as hard as his in asking: “Do you deny it, then, that you would have wished for this, regardless of my heart?”

He had not. For that had been the reason he had called Éowyn to him – to take some measure of her thoughts and guess her answer, before placing upon her so difficult a choice. And, sitting silently before her, he had known he feared to lose her, then, when he had so soon thought her lost to him for good. More so to lose her to this land, and to a man he did not know; one he doubted she herself knew any better.

“You do not know him,” he had later pleaded.

“I know enough,” Éowyn had answered; and in her voice Éomer had heard acceptance and weariness alike, and his tone had softened.

“What do you know?”

“I know that he is much loved by his people, and held in highest praise, yet steps aside to let his true King rule. That he alone had hope when the world stood upon the brink of darkness never-ending; and that he made me see it. That he would not hide the truth from me, though it may pain us both to hear it.”

“I would not have you trapped in a loveless marriage,” he had sighed towards the end, when all his other arguments had been reduced to silence.

“But you would have me wed, my King and brother,” she had replied, her tone burdened and sad. “Which lord of your own choosing would I know better than the lord Steward? Which lord could I love before our wedding vows are spoken?” And she had silenced him, for her decision had been made, and Éomer had known it to be sound; and that she would not recant.

So he had stood beside her, and had given her away; and as the months passed he came to be thankful that she had been betrothed in a foreign land, before so few of her countrymen – for Éomer knew she bore it the easier. And now, a year thence, their people’s hearts had eased as well; for when the Steward came to Riddermak they glimpsed the nature of the man – grave, wise, and noble, and worthy of their Lady – and they were appeased. And all those who had come with them to see their White Lady wed were glad at heart, and true in feeling.

But he would not be settled, for he had learned in the months past that neither was his sister so. Of her coming marriage they had spoken little, for she would not be approached, and she had set to her tasks as if to drive all other thoughts away. And so, he had resolved only to mark the little things and signs that he only knew to see and make sense of. To glimpse her thoughts from the little she would say when it was late at night and her words escaped her; and to do little else. He had shied to mention the Lord Faramir, or what he had learned of the man from Aragorn’s many letters, and from his own insight when the Steward had come before him in both their cities; instead, he had kept silent, even as the knowledge had helped to set his mind at rest, and would have eased her own as well. For Éomer had been wary to give his sister any hope that was not of her making – once before her hopes were ruined, and he would not have her squander them once more should the man she were to wed not return them.

And now the deed was done, the pledge was sealed, and many were left happy for it. And looking towards her now, he saw once more Éowyn’s smile, the one she chose to let the others see; but from the stillness of her arms and shoulders, and the hiding of her hands upon her lap, he learned of her unrest. And looking to her husband next, Éomer thought that he too seemed in good spirits, and not troubled, yet if the Lord Faramir were so, then he would not show it. Of him Éomer was told he read the hearts of Men, and so he wondered if the man could glimpse into that of his lady wife, that night and in all of their days. He wished and hoped for it. For even as he knew the pair before him could indeed make a life steady and calm, and keep a well ordered princedom, he feared that if they took no care, and learned too little of the other, time would see their marriage fail.

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In the coming weeks, the people of Minas Tirith would watch the Lord Faramir and the Lady of Rohan closely and curiously – for many years had passed since the City had seen her Lord Steward and his lady walking her streets and greeting her people. And such was the habit of these two, who did not keep to their halls only, but walked among high lords and lower men alike; and at times they were seen marking the streets and the array of houses, the lighting of gardens and the setting of shops. It was said they were planning the lay of the city yet to be built for many years to come, fair Minas Ithil which would in later times be made once more.

And they would meet and greet the people, and the respect that they inspired into many hearts welled not from fear but from great love, and was a credit to their qualities; and theirs was the same admiration as that given to the King and Queen. But presently the interest of the people was held more by the Lord and Lady Steward, and more eyes were turned towards their apartments than towards those of the King. And words were quickly spread, from child to man to woman, and to man and child again, bearing news of their Lord and Lady’s habits and their ways; and so the people of the City went on to know those who would aid in leading them here, and whom they would bow to when Ithilien began to be settled at last.

And each of them was praised in their own right. The Lord Faramir was dearly loved by those who were his people - for he was known to them since infancy, and they were pleased to see that he was settled, and that his past struggles were now repaid. And they were grateful for his work, and the effort that he placed in all of his endeavours. Greatly had he laboured to make the City whole before the coming of the King; and, loving him, the people feared for him and for his health. For he had walked from highest level to lowest house amid the ruins and the disrepair to see what must be done, his face bright and his body drawn, and still bearing wounds that were barely healed. And their hearts had later filled with pride to see that he no longer walked alone, but instead surveyed the progress done by the King’s side.

Yet their worries were not eased, for their Lord Faramir’s tasks had grown to many in the coming days, as he also took upon him the raising of Ithilien. Not few had been those who counselled him to leave them for a later time, but he was undeterred: “How am I to lead my people,” he would say to them, “if I do not live among them? And why should they have to wait another year before they may cross the River into Ithilien, and prosper there? Nay, if the means want not, there shall be no delay. Dwellings will be built, and soon, if time and resources allow it; and mine will be among them, and will house my lady when she comes.” And Faramir stood true to his word, for that which was not in great need for the City, from able hands to building means and to his waking hours, was given to Ithilien. And the men and women of the City would watch and be troubled, for they knew what work awaited him, and how no pause would be forthcoming in the coming years.

But then his lady came and laboured by his side, and took some of his tasks unto herself, offering her steady hand and mind to give him balance and support – and she was greatly loved for this, and for the care she bore the people. For she would often be seen seated at table, maps and reports before her, the Lord Faramir standing by – a book or other papers in his hand. They loved her for her silent pride, that of a fair-haired daughter of the Kings of the North; and for her deeds of praise, and for herself alone, she was a thing of wonder to them. For here was a lady who would have her word in the affairs of state, and speak it boldly, and who would wield blades in the ring to match her husband; yet still she bore within her a grace akin to that of their ladies of old, and seemed almost shy in her lord’s presence when they thought themselves alone.

And in the eyes of the people they were a match. For they would both place the same effort in their labours, speaking of their tasks even during their meals, or when they met and walked the gardens. What little time for pause they allowed themselves was spent in silence as they stood and gazed over the City walls looking towards Ithilien, or towards the North. And from their meetings in counsel to their sparring in the ring they seemed to be of the same thought. And for this the people were glad, and smiled when their Lord and Lady passed them by; and for their many efforts they were heartened, and gave more of themselves as well.

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The Lord Faramir woke early that day, just as he did in all his others. Then, moving from between warm sheets and from his lady’s side, he left his bed and went to dress and greet the coming day.

Such had been his habit upon the twelfth day from their wedding, and thus it had remained this fortnight past; with the dawning of that day, he had vowed to give his lady mornings free from worry if the nights could not be so. For each time that they went to lay down to their rest he felt unease course through her, and saw her body stiffen when he approached their bed. She would not look towards him, nor speak a word to him that did not come as answer to his own, no matter her ease upon that passing day. And greatly did it pain him.

There was sense in her manner, he could see, for theirs was not a life willingly shared, and should she choose to distance herself from it through resentment, or even hate, he would understand, and lay no blame upon her. Yet there was no anger in her eyes, no scorn that he could see, neither towards him nor towards his people; indeed, her duties she embraced with little difficulty, and Éowyn would seem the most at ease when at his side and deep in planning for the raising of Ithilien – for it seemed that she would strive to see those lands made whole as if they were her own, and she would say her piece assuredly. Yet with the night she shied away from him; and, full of doubt, he wondered if there was any manner of trust between them; and if he was so terrible a man and husband for her to act so towards him. Surely she had come to understand that he would not… that he could not…

He knew her fears, even from her own lips, for she had spoken of them when the world had seemed to end around them; had she forgotten? Did she not think he understood? What had he done, by thought or by design, to bring this wariness upon her? Ever would these questions come to him in early hours. And neither now nor any time before had he found an answer to them. And there was anger in his heart, beyond the prickling of shame and guilt, anger both with himself and her, anger that such avoidance did not cease. That he had found no peace upon the ending of the war, and, meekly so, he thought, that should no other come upon them they would know not whether their bargain had been the thing to see it done.

At times, his heart felt heavy; and there were little things to lift it, more coming form the lives of others than his own. And even for his heavy heart he felt much gall. For such a life he had expected upon the answer that he gave his Lord and King. Such a life he had known to be his upon the pledging of his vows and the binding of his hand to hers. Yet to live it now, and feel neither sign nor hope of change in the days to come was a slow torment, made greater by the fact that hope would leave him not. Each night he hoped Éowyn would not shy away, each day he hoped he would care naught about what evening brought. But still he did. And still it pained him that though she was his wife by law, and his Lady to his people, their wedded days saw little of the joy they brought to others.

And turning towards her as he left he thought his lady to be peaceful in her sleep. And dearly did he wish to see that peace upon her when they spoke and walked together, far from the eyes of Court; when he came near. But there was none that he could see or feel when they did so. And he was saddened for it, for he had wished to help her ease the past away not long ago, promised himself to lead her from the darkness, if he could; had spoken his agreement, in part, for just that purpose. Yet till this day he had done little more than give her cause and ways to occupy her time.

And with his gaze turned downwards he left their rooms, his mind set upon the tasks before him.

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Author’s note: About where I’m taking this (for those wondering) – it will be a slow, smooth transition towards the end (although the end won’t be that far away, really). There will be no monumental changes, no sudden dangerous event that will provide the needed “hit over the head” for the Steward and his Lady to realize they’re in love (or better yet, love one another). From the very beginning I had imagined this to be a very quiet and settled process, lacking any great shocks; I imagined love coming softly here, and the two needing only a little nudge in the end. Yes, it would have been easier to place them in harm’s way and let strong emotions do the trick. But it is itself a trick used too often; plus, my first story about them included a kidnapping, Faramir defending her honor, Eowyn cleaning his wounds, a chase, a race against time, worry, angst and fear. I wanted something peaceful for a change, and tried not to repeat myself.

I also understand the fact that things seem a bit boring and static between Faramir and Eowyn at this time – that’s actually how I wanted and planned them to be; I hope in the later chapters it will become clear why. I also hope (read “pray fervently”) that the following chapters will depict a logical development of the feelings between the two characters, if it can be said that there’s any logic to how feelings progress. So, if there’s any sense to it, let me know, if not… again, let me know.

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Time passed in the lands of Gondor, and, with it, the Lady Éowyn came to see that her lord’s words had once more been true; little were the days she lay in sloth, for apart from her duties to her household she had taken to aiding her husband with some of his many tasks, offering her once idle hours to the raising of Ithilien.

To see this done, she had gone in search of him, a ten-day past their wedding, meaning to fill her time – for the house of the Stewards was well ordered, and in truth had little need of her hand in its keeping. And more because, although to be alone with him unsettled her, she wished to spend her time beside her lord, for she knew of no other means to learn better the nature of a man. That day, his study had been empty, and him she had discovered in his private chamber, seated at table and deep in thought for the many papers before him. And entering she had bid him for his time, and said:

“The seven days allowed to you have passed, and now the City calls you back to duty; time it is that I should begin my own as well. You have said Ithilien is ours to build together, and that you would have my counsel should I wish to give it. I wish it so. Tell me how I might aid you, and I will.”

It had seemed to Éowyn that his eyes had brightened then, and he had set aside his papers for a time to tell her of his duties. And she had marvelled at their number, and that they all had been his own to bear alone the year before. For he had looked to both the lands of Gondor and Ithilien, and had offered counsel as to his country’s dealings with the others; and from all that she herself knew of such things she had perceived the many tasks that had been in his care, and from his coming words – the way and order in which he had handled them all.

“Think not that I have seen to all at once,” her lord had said, “for such a thing would not have been to my doing even with the days growing longer with every coming week. Nay, there has been a rhythm to it all, an ordering.” And gazing at her searchingly he had went on to say: “I will tell you of it, if you wish.”

She had wished for it. And so, the Lady Éowyn had spent that day at the Steward’s side, the first of more others still to come when she would do so. And with the flowing of his words she had known his mind once more, and his notice in all things, great and small; and she had thought her coming tasks a challenge, where she would have to strive as much as him - and she had welcomed it.

“In the beginning,” Faramir had said, “much of my time was spent in seeing to the City, and all things tying to it. I did what could be done to ease the passing of the reigns of power from the hand of the Steward to that of the King, from the bindings of law seen to within the Citadel to the hearts of Men dwelling without it. Yet the greatest labour was spent in talks of peace with enemies of old – for the agreements settled upon the ending of the war had been but temporary, addressing only the wish for peace, and nothing more. Strained were the talks, this I do confess; at times it seemed the embassies had more a battle than a parley in mind, as if they had forgotten that it was they who rose against us, and they who fell; to say that the final agreements were difficult to sign upon would be little indeed.

“In this time still the City was in need of care, so too were her people – streets and houses that had been shattered and repaired in haste were made as they had been before; the ones left with naught were attended to, so that either through aid or their own labour they would not lack again; the orphaned and the lame were cared for; we called for an accounting, to learn the state of the country, and then see where stocks were in need, and where they were to spare - how better to aid and to be aided; at long last, we looked to our allies, and redrew the old ties and agreements into better days.

“No doubt, some of these tasks have been your own as well,” Faramir had said to her, “for so they ever claim time of the rulers of lands after a war is passed; and as you yourself must have received and given aid in them, so too I bore them with help from others, for I was not alone in my work. What was my own to bear, if only for a time, lay in my hours that were spared from duty, and in my deepest thoughts.”

And he had spoken then of his duties to Ithilien, and how he had begun to forge his plans even from the first days that he had known those lands were his to keep. From early on he had given thought to the lay of the settlements to come, to the people who would cross the River, to the time of the building and the means that would be needed. And he would, while not in Council or caring for the City, read through reports of scouts, and the numbers of orcs and other foul creatures that Rangers would find roaming the lands; at times he would himself lead hunts to scour the forests and the vales. And when at last he had known the lands to be safe for the work that would be done, he had gone with those plans to seek the counsel of the King; and, with his Lord’s approval, the building had begun.

And Éowyn had been shown that day by proof what she had thought and guessed without it – that her lord had laboured greatly to do his duties to his liking, even to the brink of his powers. And to see he thought so little of his effort made her regard for him grow all the more - for few were the men to do so much, yet expect so little in return. Indeed, she was nigh happy to be proud for him and to see the pride of his people, and lightened somehow to feel his own love for them when they walked about the City.

For so they had walked its streets during those seven days, and from then on, and Faramir had led her through the City’s every passage and around its every corner; and from it, in the coming weeks, the white stone around her had no longer felt so foreign, nor she so lost or trapped in its midst. Arm in arm they had strolled through the gardens of the City, and climbed up its stairs to its highest tower – and there they both had stood in silence to watch the lands of Gondor stretch before their eyes, and feel the winds as they blew around them.

And as they walked he spoke to her of Minas Tirith, of how it had once been, Minas Anor full of light, queen among queens, learned and wise; how he wished to see it in the years to come, made high and fair for all to love, as it had been of old. Too had he told her of the City as his home - hearth and world in younger years, haven and purpose in the later ones. And Éowyn had seen the streets that he had walked upon in childhood days; she had stood in the places where his brother ever knew to search for him; the tower he would climb to and the benches he would lie upon to seek a moment’s rest when he returned from duties in the woods that were now his to shape.

And whither they would go her lord would have his eyes upon the street on which he trod, or the house he would pass by, as if to seek their state; odd she had found this way of his at first, until in later days some words had reached her of his habit of the former year, when he had strived to make ready the City. And from that day she had been glad for the white chiselled stone before her, for it was a sight for his once tired eyes, and served to wash away the memory of rubble, shade, and ruin. Too had she welcomed what tales of the Lord Faramir were told to her by those who knew him, for in that way she knew that she would learn of him what she could not have brought herself to ask. Yet not long was this habit hers; for apart from pleasant tales from when he was a child, and honoured accounts from his days as a Ranger, they too had spoken - only the passing fortnight - of the late Steward’s dreadful end, of Faramir’s own brush with shadow, fire and death, and of the bitter words that passed between father and son before the coming of the end.

Stricken she had been to hear this, and pained for her lord and for the grief she knew he must have borne alone; but to the teller of the tale she had shown little of her heart, for how could the lord Faramir’s lady not know of this before? Indeed, it had been with much disbelief that she had wondered at her ignorance in this, but as the blow of the harsh news had settled she had at last seen what course of events had made things so. For in those darkened days she had cared naught for news, unless they told the fate of the host riding for the Morannon; that the man who had till then kept safe the City had met his end had been all her knowing at the time, and she had neither dared nor wished to ask the quiet man beside her of his father’s fate. Too lost she had been in her own sorrow and despair to have the heart to heal that of another. Then with the ending of the War there had been few to still speak of the dead, for there was much to do, and a bright future and a returning King were there for the people of Minas Tirith to expect; and what man would have defiled the memory of the dead one to call him mad in gossip? Nay, no words had reached her of the Lord Denethor’s passing, and from the day she was betrothed into the House of Hurin on, no words could have reached her either – for who could have believed she would know not, or that Faramir himself would not tell her? But Faramir had told her naught, for reasons understandable and just, and she still had not asked - neither of his father nor of the cause that drove Beregond of the Guard to forfeit his own life by slaying in the Hallows; and the months had passed.

Later that day she had retired to their chamber, and had given much thought to the words that she and her lord had spoken to the other, from their first meeting to the last. Thus was his bitterness of those first days made clear to her at last, and his haunted gaze of old tore now at her heart, when then it had only given her pause. For he had lost his closest kin to death, without even the chance to speak farewell to them when they had left this world, and him; worse still, he had received such parting words from his lord father that would blacken his memory and make it bitter, and of no help in harrowed times; and since the time of Faramir’s last battle a third of his men had perished, and his City lay under the siege of fear and doubt. All that he had loved and had wished to protect had gone, or had since been turned from his hand; and there had been naught else for him to do but wait for tidings, be they good or bad.

And Éowyn was shamed to not have known his anguish then, nay, worse still, to have known it and not have paid it heed, and ever more grateful than before that he had, with a so burdened heart, taken the time and care to try and heal her own.

Then when the War had ended, and life had begun to flow once more, he had been bound to flow along with it. And she wondered at his will, that he would in such a way master his grief as to still fulfil his duties to the letter, and in time overcome it, when she herself turned still to sadness when thoughts of her dear uncle came; or if indeed the past did pain him still, that he should keep it so well hid that but for the dreams which came to him at night she had seen no sign of it, nay, not even in the home that had once housed the ones he had both loved and lost. And then it was that she had seen at last the bleakness of her husband’s wedding day, to be bound to a lady whom he did not love, and have only his mother’s brother to stand beside them when his vows were spoken; and more that of his wedding night, spent in unrest in the chamber that once had been his father’s.

For all that she had learned then she had for him pity and honour; and for herself she only had contempt, to not have known of them before, and neither to have thought to ask. No wonder it was then, that he had spoken naught of his later years to her, for how could he have told such dreadful tales, knowing she could bring him no comfort? And, knowing them, she could no longer ask him to be told, dreading, as she did, to open old wounds that may still bleed at times.

And where before she had kept silent by his side for the awkwardness that she would feel when they were all alone – and how saddened she was that she had had spoken to him easily when once they had been strangers still, but for him as her husband she would have little words – now she would keep her piece for care; for, as she saw she knew not enough of him, she could not say which words of hers would remind him of hard times. And as Faramir’s grief of old was new to her, she would, of late, turn her face away from his when he would look upon her, to hide the pity he might see there. And when they stood or sat alone she was unsettled, more for his sake than for her own, and she would try to hide her thoughts – for she remembered well that he could read her heart, and she thought he would not want her pity, just as she had once wanted none of his.

But still, learn of her lord she would, and felt she must now more than ever. And wishing no more tales from others – for little justice it would do him to be spoken of unknowingly – and feeling that she could not ask them of the man himself, she sought them on her own, among his books. For through them she not only could descry that which he liked and agreed with, but, too, open a part of him he had till then kept hid – that of the scholar and the poet; for some of the books she opened would have stray pages bearing the writing of her lord, and verses that she thought had been coined by his mind. And yet, to think of it, such a discovery had not been a surprise – for ever had his words been chosen well, and flowing, for a fashion, as would those of a writer be; and she would hear their ripple most when he spoke of the things held dear to him, as was his City and the lands that they would both strive to renew.

And so it was that she had found her interest drawn, in part for the books and tales themselves, but more for what they would reveal of the Lord Faramir himself; her idle hours she would spend within his chambers when she knew he would be away, taking great care not to be found. Indeed, at times she could laugh at herself for stalking so her husband’s steps, yet in her new habit she would not cease; for too she knew that she would through it understand their people, whose very heart seemed to her woven in the words she read – which spoke of elves and fallen cities, jewels bright and battles great, of Númenor the fair that once had been and foundered, and of the Men who built their realms in later years.

At times her thoughts would stray, and she would wonder what her lord’s own thoughts had been to read the words that she read also. She would then see him in his childhood days before her eyes, leaning against some tree in the green woods, a book against his knee. And the image would be dear to her, knowing that, with the shadow so close to his gates, the Lord Steward’s early years would have had little hours free from care and worry. Time and again she would return to that one sight, until she found herself nigh dreaming and hoping once again; and she would flee from it, and from the mood that it would waken, and vow to leave his books until their lure and her own thoughts beckoned – and she would near them once again.

So it would be with her of late, that she would think of her lord at times, when she lay idle, or when she watched him read; and she would shy from her thoughts as they strayed to what might be.  For from her past fault she could no longer hide, as she was bound to dine beside the King nigh every evening; unwillingly, she would return then to the day when she had pleaded on her knees and had been turned away. And so, she would then stay her hand and thought more for fear that her lord would not welcome them than for any fear of him. Since the day they had been wed she had learned to place her trust within his hands – where it was guarded well. For he was kind and gentle, and wise to grant her time – for in that time they had begun to walk the path towards friendship, as he had wished from the beginning; and he would do no wrong upon her.

For even now, four weeks gone by after gaining his right to do so, he made no move to claim her. And for this time gone by she would still lie in shivers when he came to their bed beside her - their bed still, and not separate, because to make a change as that she would have to speak, and in this as in others, her words failed her. The fear that had her trembling at first had gone in time, as had her lack of trust in him; what would not give her rest at night was thinking that her husband of so many days would have till then had his fill with waiting – and so, to her, each night could well be the one when he would wait no more. And though during the day she strove to keep such thoughts far from her mind, she would, for them as well as for her others, keep silent when they remained alone, and look away. And she angered that she could not turn her heart towards him for such a thing, that the ease they had in sunlight left them at night; and more that he should feel it every time, and that she read it in his face.

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“So! Houses are built at last in all, lands are measured, and each man and his kin now have their deeds to both,” said the Lord of Emyn Arnen. “Have we the final count of those who come bearing means from their old home and those who come with naught? For one, what of the heads of cattle and horses each?” And his eyes told of weariness when they turned from the reports he held.

For much of his last five days had been spent in his study, his work stretching with little pause from sunup even towards six hours past the strike of noon. It was now the ninth day of the sixth month of the year, and little over a fortnight remained until the first of those to dwell in green Ithilien would cross the river to where their new homes lay. And with them would the Lord Faramir go, his lady by his side – for, though the Stewards’ manor House had not yet been rebuilt in all, there was one other dwelling ready for their use, close to the grounds of the first. That house itself was not as great, for they had seen no need in it; enough it was that they could live there whenever duty bade them come. As yet, no more than three villages had been completed, while others two still waited to be built.

And it was of the first three that Faramir asked in that very hour, and of the people who would settle in them. For summons had been sent some months ago to gather to the City at this time all those who would move to new lands; most had already come, and these last days saw final details settled, final accountings done. And there to aid the Prince in all these labours sat the Lady Éowyn herself, keeping to her habit of the past four weeks of giving counsel and reports - for of the many tasks to be seen to there had been ones entrusted in her care alone.

“All who have come and are now in the City are accounted for,” she answered. “From those who have not come as yet there are some who have sent word ahead, and so their needs are known as well. Commands have been given as to the ones who would arrive this fortnight coming – what they lack in and wish to have they shall be provided with, to the limits of the City’s stocks; they may pay for them in time, to make them theirs by rights.”

“Are there any yet who will not come, and would thus break their bond?” her lord asked then, a frown upon his brow. “Any for whom we know for certain?”

“Now there are none. Some three weeks ago, though, there was one, Dagrod by name, a carpenter; he spoke to Earnir, who had been sent to gather such men in those parts of the country, saying that in the end he would not come.”

“And this after four months of saying that he would…Did he give reasons for his change of heart?”

“Not a one, though I was told he had been quite remorseful for this deed. His household I have since then passed on to another, whose suit had been denied for want of room. Galdor he is called, a carpenter as well, and he lives closer to the City that most others – he has time enough to settle his business and arrive here in due time.”

“That is well, then,” said Faramir, and turned to the papers before him for a time, before raising his eyes once more: “Should Dagrod be barred from future pleas, what do you think?”

“I cannot say… ‘tis true, he gave no reason for the breaking of his word, and that his trade was needed in the village; if not for Galdor there might have been some hardships. Yet how can one know what drove his heart or mind in such a fashion? In truth, he did give us some time to set things right, if drawing close to little.”

“Indeed. And Ithilien would be a new land, and a new beginning; to overlook this would be the better choice for now. Let him press suit again if he so wishes, then, but let the others who have not proven false have precedence. If he fails in his promise once again, then let him lose his right to settlement.”

“Very well,” Éowyn said, “it shall be so.” And at her words Faramir gave a start, and his thoughts strayed. Unseen by her, for she was then putting his will to paper, the Steward  looked long at his lady wife, and sat quiet and still; for he had in that moment heard from her a tone of voice that one would have when doing the bidding of one’s lord. Not so much humble, but subdued somehow; dispirited. And lowering his eyes before Éowyn would raise hers, Faramir wondered in worry why he had not heard it before, or if, indeed, she had ever used it while in his presence; but mostly as to what that tone of voice could rightly mean.

And then before his thoughts were cleared his lady looked his way once more, pointing at the report he had thus held for nigh a quarter mark, but had read little from. “Is that the lay of the land you read of? Is it settled at the last?” she asked, her voice at rights. “For I know some trouble has been had with its measurements toward the end – the first and last accounts would not match one another.”

“It is,” he answered, his voice betraying nothing, and at peace once more. “And if what I read is true then it has all been righted. Here, the acres of each pasture are counted once more,” Faramir said, passing said papers onto her, “their worth is known, as is the measure for the lands that would be tilled for the needs of the families themselves and for those of the kingdom – what one ought by right to sow in each acre, and what each acre should return according to the lay and shape of the fields, and to the richness of the earth.” And reading from another he went on to say: “I see also there is winter seed enough to sow them this year, and beasts and ploughs to work the land – it is better that we had hoped.

“Now,” said Faramir, taking the final list of men into his hands, “as to the debts that these men and their own may have towards the City; whether they be for the building of their house or for their stock or for their stay, all such debts should be measured, added together to make the sum of it, yet kept apart in all, as it has been decided from the first, so that they may be masters of their own means one by one, and not when the last coin is paid. I would that the debt be laden by no interest and to this the Council has agreed – the better gain would be a prosperous land raised swiftly than what some coins might bring, the better a people helped in its growth, and not charged for it. Also, it would be better if each man was spoken to in part, so that for each there would be proper means devised to suit their trade, and they might thus repay that which they owe at their own ease.”

“For those who are accounted for so too is what they owe,” said Éowyn, “although in the first count there has been interest placed upon the sums that would be paid in later times. I shall see to it that the amounts are righted in all before the day of the move itself. And an account shall be brought before you by then.”

“My thanks,” Faramir whispered, his gaze lost downwards, for just then had remoteness returned to her tone. Yet as the time was not right to dwell on it, he raised his eyes to where his lady sat across from him, and with a smile he said to her: “It would seem we are done, then.” And Éowyn gave a fleeting smile in answer, and nodded at his words. And for a moment there was silence in the office of the Steward, and the sounds of the City outside came clear and loud to them – men treading upon streets of stone, their voices carrying, and now and then the laughter of a child.

“Well then,“ said Faramir at length, “if we are finished, what should we do from now till supper?”

“For my part, I would visit the stables; Beor has seen too little of me this week past and I of him – he would well care for a ride.”

“Then go; I should at first put these away,” he said while waving to the many papers and scrolls before them, “then see what draws my interest.”

“You would not…” Éowyn began to ask, to then turn silent suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Nay, it was nothing,” she said in haste. And her words seemed to Faramir like to a swift retreat from some sortie he had not glimpsed in time to meet. “I shall see you this evening, then,” Éowyn then went on to say while standing from her chair. And then she quit the room before he gave her any answer, and left him in a daze. So it was that, for many moments after, the Steward thought of her and of her manner, seeking the true sense in it. For it would seem to him at times that his lady wife could not decide or even know how to carry herself around him – she would be now nervous and shy, now strained and awkward, as if her words and his would break upon her like to the waves of the sea against the shore; and there were other times – more often in their coming with the passing of the days – when he would feel her eyes upon him; and he would wonder what she saw, what she looked for, but did not turn her way, for fear that she would withdraw once again.

And, as he moved from one answer to another, he wondered also, one more time, if it was sound to wait still for some change, or if he waited all in vain. At first he had pleaded for time to pass for his lady’s own sake, so that it would not be a stranger who took her to his bed. So that they knew each other’s way and nature from living one next to the other – for sharing pasts and memories would not have been enough. And at that time he would have been content with that - a mere ease brought to the duty they had been sworn to. But now, now that the fear he had once felt from her had slowly died away, now that the sight of her brought to his lips a smile – one he struggled to hide – and that the thought of her was dear to him, and came swiftly and often, now he would not be so content. And so he waited more for his sake than for hers; for now he wished for more: not only that she did not fear him, or that she would not turn away, but come to him of her own will, and not for some agreement to their countries.

For many days had passed since he had felt a stirring in his heart deeper than any admiration or care he may had had for her before; a stirring which could turn to even more if he took neither care nor guard. And though he would the happier let his heart wander on its path he was wary to do so; for if Éowyn could not grow to love him he could not turn away as some unwanted suitor, never again to cross her path. Instead, he was already bound to her, and she to him, and they both were bound to live their days together, and seem happy to boot. And so, his love for her could turn to burden for them both. And even more, he thought, how could she come to love him? For he spoke no words of love to her, nor could he with the ever present doubt that she could think them false, driven by matters of the state and not of a true heart - a mere play to ease his way towards the begetting of his heir and nothing more. From the beginning he had worked to earn her trust by keeping a steady distance from such matters; to this day he had given her no sign of his thoughts, and what to him had been a change of heart so slow that he had barely seen it, to her would seem too sudden to be true. And for all this he thought he could not court her as he could have and would have, were they not already wed.

But how he wished to let his restraint give way, from heart to thought and then to word. For he was weary – weary with the distance between them, with the game he had been bound to play – both with her and with others – in noticing no split between he and his wife; but mostly weary with the wait. More than five weeks had passed from the day of their wedding, and he had seen too little change between them; her fear of him had gone, that was a blessed fact, yet awkwardness refused to pass in all, and even now she kept her guard. In all this time he had chosen to overlooked her distance, hoping that his extended hand would somehow reach alone beyond her shield and help her lower it. But it had not. And so he could no longer say whether the passing time would do more good than naught, for, with it, his lady could also be estranged for good. Yet there was little good that could come in that moment if he spoke of his heart to her, and so he would wait still. But he would know that day what kept her so withdrawn, if she would answer him.

And so Faramir left his study with its papers settled at the last and followed his steps towards the stables of the third circle, where, in the training grounds nearby, his lady wife was riding the dark-grey she would take as hers alone to their lands in Ithilien.

The sun was close to setting as he reached those grounds, but the day was warm still, and the air held a breeze; around him there were songs of birds and neighs of horses, and he caught the scent of hay and grass nearby. Not too far off from where he stood close to the stable doors there was his lady in her riding habits, her hair bound in a single braid and winding slightly from the turning of the horse she rode. And she glowed with the red-hued light about her and the strength within her.

How long he had been lost in watching her, Faramir could not say; but after a time he heard the clear sound of nearing steps, and so he turned towards the stable master when he drew close. White was his long hair, bound like to the tails of the very horses he looked after, and many were the lines upon his face to tell of the years that had passed him by. Minardir, for thus was he called, was well known in the City for the loudness in his step and the kindness in his heart – for he loved all good beasts in his care as if they were his kin – and the people of Minas Tirith would stake that even the horse lords could leave their mounts into his care and not be troubled.

“Good day, my lord,” he said.

“Good day, Master Minardir,” said Faramir. “What troubles you this day?” he asked; for there was a frown upon Minardir’s brow, and his arms were crossed at his chest before him.

“In truth, my lord, not much,” said he. “’Tis only that which troubles me each day her ladyship takes out that mount.” And he pointed to where Éowyn raced Beor along the fence of the encircled space, never breaking their stride.

“Is aught the matter with him that is yet unknown to us?”

“Nay, my lord, he is a fine horse, as fine a breed as ever I have seen, and as you know well, the Lord King of Rohan did gift the Lady with many horses of great breeding upon her wedding day. But, lord,” Minardir said, and then faltered a little, “he is so spirited! Ever does he stomp and snort when any of us pass his stall, and-”

“And yet, look how straight he bears your Lady. Many a time have I watched them together, and he was ever cool and mannered at her side. Worry not - the Lady Éowyn’s hand is as steady as it is gentle, and Beor bends to it of his own free will.” Then Faramir looked sideways at the stable master and smiled: “Doubtlessly, horses have borne her before they had either you or me; and has she not handled a one in the midst of battle? Nay, Master, in this you should worry not, as I do not.”

“You speak as to your own beliefs, my lord, and right they are,” Minardir said then, ”but still I will watch that horse, and my lady, today and in all the days to come. By your leave, my lord.” And he went on his way, leaving his lord gazing in the distance. 

And Faramir smiled to himself for the man’s well intent, but mostly for the sight of his lady before him; for whether sitting in the saddle or treading on the earth her bearing held such grace and pride that ever caught his eye, one he had seen in no other lady before her. And he would watch her at times, how she carried herself and how she did a sword, enthralled by the play between the steel in her hands and that within herself. A daughter of Kings she was indeed, wherever her steps led her, in the court and in the ring alike; and Faramir still marvelled at the air about her, not silent and stern as that of the Kings of old, but living and burning before his eyes.

And, for it, there was little wonder to him that Éowyn had ridden into battle and had stood before the creature that would have brought her kin to death; and he was grateful for the fire in her blood, even as it had put her in harm’s way to make her long for battle - for it had kept her safe, and strong enough to fell an enemy so foul and dreadful that a great many men, her elder in years lived and spent in serving the sword, had cowered before it. Strange it was – and yet not so, to think of it – that he would see her fastness all the clearer when she would wake from some dark dream at times, trembling and frail within the circle of his arms – for there is no courage without fear, nor greatness without frailty.

But of that fear and frailty no signs were left during the day, and how gladdened he was to see at last that she had set aside the grief that had threatened to smother when first they met; that the strength he had then read within her eyes could now be read into her bearing also, and that with every move and word she now turned towards the light. The very light which shone upon her now, and made her hair glisten with gold, so tempting that he longed to draw his fingers through it, then touch her tresses with his brow.

Indeed, the day seemed brighter when she came, and the air cooler somehow. For she herself seemed clear and fresh, and could be more if only she would leave behind whatever strain she might still feel. And he laughed at his thoughts, and at his foolishness to have them, and turned away from her. To a stone bench he walked, close enough that he could see her still if he so wished, and so too for her to see him waiting when she came down from her horse. And as he sat he turned his face towards the sky above and to the listless air of the moving twilight, and closed his eyes; and for the smells and sounds around him he felt as if he were no longer in his City, but out in some rich field, the heavens and the earth the only boundaries in sight. So he sat for many moments, until the neighs quieted in the distance and the sound of measured steps came to him instead. And opening his eyes once more he saw his lady come towards him, her gait slow and her eyes fastened upon him in such a look that he could not make sense of.

For Éowyn had seen him from the distance, and the sight of her lord - resting in peace, his eyes closed to the world like to the image of her very thoughts - had suddenly struck her somehow, as if she had for the first time laid eyes upon him. And so she walked towards him, watching him as he watched her, and how some strands of his dark hair strained against his neck in the soft wind. And it seemed odd to her that she should notice such a thing, yet know not in that moment whether his sight brought her gladness or not; but nonetheless she sat down by her lord, hands gathered in her lap and shoulders straight for the fey air between them.

As she sat, Faramir turned towards her; and as she did not break his gaze he saw her eyes alight in the wake of her ride, searching and open. Then he caught sight of the flush in her cheeks, and of her parted lips, and he thought unbidden: ‘Here, here is a time to kiss her – but alas, she would not welcome it.’ And they said nothing for a time, but looked upon the other as if in search of something; and in the end Faramir turned his eyes a moment, to then ask:

“Are you content, my lady? We have not spoken of this for quite some time. If you are not, I pray you, tell me, so that I may do aught to bring amends.” And he sought her face for answers that her voice would shy to give.

But startled at his words and at their nature Éowyn merely looked at him, and at his eyes that would see much and reveal little if he so wanted them to. Something from deep within begged her to speak words from the heart – the heart she had of late questioned more often than before – and that her words be true. And in all truth she said at last: “I am so… content… I am, my lord. I am proud and much gladdened to be part of this labour” – ‘and that you treat me as an equal’, she thought but did not say. “Truly, it does me good to see to things that grow, to men, and fields and homes alike.”

And she grew quiet then, although her eyes moved still. And touching his mind to her heart for the first time in many days, Faramir read a strange blend of both gratitude and unease, as strong one as the other, and the faint makings of some hope that was so deep he could not fathom. Yet he could feel no great misgivings from her – and for that at least his heart lifted. But from her answer he could draw no comfort, for it spoke only of her duties, and not her life; and so, he spoke once more, and his voice was quiet:

“That is well… and, truly, I am glad for it; but I do not see you so at rest, at least not when we are alone and there is no duty before us to occupy our minds. I asked you once, upon our wedding, to call me by my name – so that you might see past titles or honours, and to the man himself… simply to me. Yet you do not. And more, to every word you speak, I nigh expect ‘my lord’ to follow. But I am not your better in this life between us, nor do I wish to be; why do you treat me so?”

“Neither do you call me by my name…” said Éowyn after a pause; and, as she sat, her eyes were set upon the ground, and her arms were stiff with unease and surprise – for she had waited for that question from her lord husband for some time, but had not thought to hear it then.

“I do not… that is true,” Faramir spoke once more, “for I cannot if you do not; yet it is not our names of which I truly speak, but of some other thing that I myself know not what name to give. There is… a distance in you; a distance you have from no other, unless they are a stranger to you, or merely a face, and nothing more. And though they are a start, names alone do not bring closeness, so it is not them of which I speak… Why do you keep away from me?” he asked after a pause. “What is it that I do that-”

“Nay… nay, m-” Éowyn stopped her words from coming, while still looking away. And Faramir could see her shake her head with the corner of his eye, but heard no other words in coming. For Éowyn’s part, she had no answer to his question, for when it came unbidden in days past she shied from it. And now she sought in vain for answers, ones that would be the truth, and also do right by her lord – by Faramir –  who sat beside her, silent and waiting still.

“There is naught in your manner or your words to drive me so,” Éowyn said at length; to then stop when he looked her way, and she could feel his gaze upon her cheek. And for a time all her thoughts still seemed wrong to say, until at last her courage found her, and words were given leave to be spoken aloud: “I am the one to blame, if there is any to be laid…You are my husband; you were made my husband and I was made your wife. Yet we were brought together before any such ease of which you speak was made between us – at least for my part; what… ease might have once been was barred and turned away, by no wilful design of mine, when I agreed to wed you… nay, when we were wed… You see,” she said and turned her face towards Faramir’s, although she would not meet his eyes, “I knew you then, I know you now, as a high lord of these lands; and in those terms I spoke to you, and in those terms I thought of you. And now I see no way to go about it differently.”

“So… I am to believe it is merely… habit – or lack of it – and not myself alone which keeps you from-”

“Calling you by your name, aye,” Éowyn said, to leave the rest unspoken. And Faramir discerned from her such awkwardness that he himself felt awkward by his lady’s side. But when he nodded to her words he felt relief wash through her; and, thinking that all things have their beginning, he gently took her hand in his, delighting that but for a surprised start he felt in her no doubt – but only wondering, as she sat waiting for his coming move. And then he slowly raised it to his lips.

And Éowyn felt a shiver pass through her at what she had thought a small thing, as it was somewhat unlike to her lord’s fleeting kiss to the same hand when he would take his leave of her and they were in another’s company. For now he lingered, and she could feel the softness of his lips against her skin, and the warmth of his fingers; and with a ring of tension in her chest she could only stare as he rose from her side, holding still her hand in his.

“It is nigh time for supper…” Faramir said, but she did not look to the sky to see whether he erred or not. “Come then, my lady – Éowyn; we shall see if new habits can be made – in time, perhaps?”

She nodded at his words then, tongue tied for more than she had spoken of already. Then she rose to stand by him, taking great care not to withdraw her hand, not even to strain it at all; and in the lighting of the twilight they walked together to their house. And till they reached its gates Éowyn felt a shiver, and her hand cold where her lord had released her, and wondered why that was.

~~~~

Author’s note: In this chapter, the events take place about three weeks from those of the previous one, and also two months from Éowyn and Faramir’s wedding (give or take a day or two).

The dance I described is completely made up, a variation from a something my sister and I used to dance when I was little. It might certainly seem clearer to me than I’ve actually made it out to be; which is why I’d like to ask you whether it makes any sense at all. Thanks!

I’ve come across crowths (instruments alike to violins, either bowed or plucked) when reading Walter Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe’, and I figured if he placed them in England in the time of Richard the Lion-Heart then they might very well exist in Middle Earth as well. But if I am wrong and no such instruments were used in Tolkien’s universe then, by all means, let me know.

~~~~

Upon this day, the ending of the sixth month, the hills of Emyn Arnen witnessed the gathering of many Men from those who had settled near to them in green Ithilien. For, when seven days were passed since the crossing of the Great River, their Lord Prince gave a great feast in honour of the new beginning. And in his and his Lady’s company, close to the setting of the manor-house, all who were there raised a glass for what once was and from then on shall be again. Spirits were gay, dances were light and swift, talk and foods alike were plentiful and rich. And, by the golden shining of the sun, and then the white of moon and stars and yellow of the fires, they all rejoiced for their good fortunes.

The people had come from all three villages, and for this night their homes had been left all but emptied, and left so in good faith; for their bounds were well guarded by the same companies of Rangers which had once held fast against the orcs and soldiers of the Enemy. Of these men, some had taken to settling down into the very lands they had roamed in the days past, others had chosen to patrol them still, to the safety of their kith and kin. And it was they who in this hour kept watch over the silent houses, and they who heard rumours of song in the distance.

Ten hours had now past since midday. And as most children were settled to their sleep even among the singing and the dancing, tales of the War began to be told, as they were wont to be in all gatherings of Men, and would be for many years to come. And they spoke of strength and honour, of worthy deeds and worthy men; of lives saved and lost, and of the return of light into the land. The fallen were given thanks and remembered, the ones left standing were praised for their endurance. And in this hour the people of Ithilien turned also to their Lord and Lady, and told of their bravery in song and verse; and they were proud that such strong and valiant souls would lead them in their days to come, and loved both their open nature and their noble look.

Upon this happy day they both were clothed in finery; their garments were made of the finest silks, their colours clear and true, and their adornments simple. Flowing and light were Éowyn’s green skirts, and white braided ribbons streamed at her elbows and round her slender waist. Many a fine braids bound back her long hair, to then leave it falling golden round her shoulders. About her neck a silver-threaded chain lay, upon her brow a silver circlet; and she was a light among lights. By Faramir she walked, and he shone with the light of the moon at her side. His habits were wrought in black, and grey threads were woven at the hems and round his neck; underneath his dark tunic he wore a shirt of grey. Upon his chest, gleaming in starlight, he bore embroidered the tokens of Ithilien. His hair ran straight and dark down past his shoulders, and a circlet of silver held it in place. Together they had first stood in welcome to the ones who came, and walked the grounds where the feast was held, and had speech with their people; and now that dinner had been served they did so once again.

Like to his people, so too was Faramir merry this night, light of heart and light of step; for he saw all about him the fruits of their labour, and he thought that no reward could be held more dear to him than the joy he read in every face, and the hopes in every heart. And Éowyn was glad to see his smile and hear his laugh, and felt foolish to ever have thought that in living by his side she would find more care than quiet. In truth, she could no longer say what had once spurred her fears, for they now seemed unfounded. Once, she had thought that idleness would waste her; instead her lord had sought her aid in settling a country, and even now she would sit in the Council of the Citadel at whiles, to gain knowledge of the Southern rule and law, and thus be learned in the keeping of Ithilien when Faramir would be away. Once, she had mourned the loss of sword and horse; instead her lord would cross his blade with hers when both their time allowed it, and school her still in ways unknown to her, while from the stables there was not a one to hold her back.

Nay, if she now had any cause to be unsettled by her lord it was not of his making, but by the workings of her own mind. For, while together or apart, she would puzzle his looks, and deeds, and words, in doubt as how to read them, and how to read into her own heart. In what her mind would tell her of them she had little faith remaining, and gladly would she walk the path to the Unnamed One’s lair as it once had been than find a wrong meaning to them. These were her last doubts of all others, and the most wearying of all, so greatly would they twist her thoughts with meanings.  

That her lord left her side when morning came had once been such a cause for doubt, made greater by the shyness and confusion she would feel to think of it; at first she had deemed it a blessing, a sign of his good heart and his regard for her, that he would think to spare his lady wife the awkwardness of waking in the arms of a man she cared naught for. Yet, as the days had passed, she had begun to fret that the Lord Faramir did so for his own sake, indeed, even renounced his right to her not out of courtesy but because, in truth, he would not have her in his bed. That perhaps there was another to whom he had bestowed his heart a great many years before, one he had kept concealed when speaking of their bargain; one he would love from afar – or even from close by. Bleak images of being scorned in such a way would come before her, and they would burn her greatly – why, Éowyn would still shy to admit; but she would battle such thoughts with all that her reason could bring forth, and take herself to task most harshly for ever having them, cursing herself for little trust and groundless fears, and being shamed for thinking wrongly of her lord. For he was ever true towards her, ever had been, in this and others, and had she not supported his suit even to her own brother for just such a quality?  

Nay, she was wretched and unjust to ever have felt such doubt, one that had faded away, as others had; and she had let it pass, though it now seemed strange to her mind that the unease she had once felt when standing by her lord had subsided even as she became assured of his draw to her. At whiles, she would feel his eyes upon her, a steady, burning gaze; and in the few times she would meet them with her own, the look of his eyes – fleeting or not, as he would hold it – would turn her still. No man before him had she known to look upon her in his manner – as if he saw in her all that was fairest to his eye and held in highest praise; true and clean admiration, and a deep sense of desire also, as yet restrained and quieted – the enriched echo of his look upon the night of their wedding, one she had since then forgotten.

And for his gaze Éowyn would wonder, when walking by herself or reading from his books, what manner of expression would be in his eyes should that restraint give way. And such thoughts would startle her, for she would no longer know herself when having them, nor would she understand her heart, except to feel it was unsettled and unquiet. Seeking her calm once more, she would then tell herself that what might stir the body could well not stir the heart; wiser it would be, and safer, to keep her mind clear and her heart still, for such looks of his brought little warrant, and little of the certainty that she so needed to trust to feel again with all her heart. And even as she found no such sign from her husband that her reason could not dismiss – he might mean naught in the kiss of her hand, she would tell herself, he might mistake his tone to sound so pleased when calling her name, or that he chose to spend by her side what idle time he had might be only for the eyes of others, and naught more – still she blamed herself for little faith.

As for the man himself, he had sought her company in the fortnight before the crossing to Ithilien, whether by walking at her side in the gardens of the White City or riding far outside its walls. And, in those hours spent away from duty, Éowyn perceived him more as Faramir the Man of Gondor than the Lord of the City, and so too she began to think of him. For while ever proper in fine dress when she saw him in Court, when they met alone and went where no other followed – and it was often so – he would many a time wear but the simplest of garments, as if only awhile ago he had returned from caring for his horse or tending to some garden. And he would speak to her in such a manner as if for many years they had done little else but wonder how warm Ithilien and Gondor both would turn during the Summer, how rainy with the Fall, of the strange draw the halfling’s leaf would have over their King, or of the oddities some of those serving in their household would display at whiles. And so it was that only little time did pass until Éowyn had made her own the lack of care her lord would bear when at her side, and, soon enough, her own words flowed with ease as well. And it was only towards the end, when their idle time drew shorter once again, that she knew herself to be looking forward to their meetings; and that, without much thought, she had learned to speak to him once more as she had when first they had met, without the ever-present thought of him being her husband and her lord to curb her words.

And yet, the thought wormed its way to her mind, for all his openness and easy nature he never once had repeated that kiss upon her hand which had so unsettled her, many days ago – and therein lay the doubt that it had meant little. To think of it, he rarely even laid his hand upon her, except in offering his arm in walking, as he did even now, or when he settled her to sleep when she woke from her dreams at night. And even if to think of it would turn her chest to flutters, still a part of her wished that he would, for once, hold her close, if only to know the feel of it, or even if she would recoil.

And it was that thought which turned her to the waking world once more, starting that she should think such things about her lord with him so near. And so, she broke off from her musings and closed her mind to any cares, and, turning her eyes about herself, she looked out in earnest once again. In the distance, and to the left from where she and Faramir walked, stretched the great tables of the feast; and from them she caught the sound of talk and song, and glimpsed the sight of cups being raised. Closer by, in a circle, many were seated round a glowing fire, to hear high tales, both old and new, and spoken proudly. And to her right the minstrels raised their voices, while drums, harps and crowths raised their song; and many pairs of dancers, clothed in many a bright colour, turned to their chimes, slowly or swiftly like to the rhythm of the tunes. And the light steps and flowing turns before her caught her eye, for never before had she seen them arrayed into a dance after that fashion, nor had she thought to see their like within the Southern lands; and she rested for a moment, the better to admire them, staying her lord at her side.

For his part, Faramir looked towards the dancers also, but paid them little heed; instead, his notice was settled upon his lady wife, for he had reached towards her heart when she had fallen silent for too long a time, and felt it turn swiftly from one mood to another. Her thoughts had wandered in the last quarter mark, and he greatly wished to have know their aim; for while deep in them she had woven together certainty, flashes of doubt and guilt, a slow understanding, and, towards the end, a wisp of longing. What she had longed for in that moment he could not have said – indeed, it could have been any one thing from the lands of her home to the very same dances they witnessed, and to another altogether – and he gave it much interest. But, as her heart came to be settled, Faramir also caught her feeling of delight at the sight of the merry dance; and so, he turned to her after a little time and asked:

“Do you like such dances?”

“I do,” she answered. “I have not seen their like till now; they are both swift and light somehow, and look, they all who dance them seem the more to glide than walk the earth.” And then she turned to Faramir and said: “Our own dances of the Mark are alike in rhythm, but not so sudden in their turns, nor so varied in their steps. It seems as if they each alone step to their own design, and yet they come together.”

“And would you like to learn them?” he went on; then at his lady’s nod he took her by the hand and walked towards the dancers’ circle. And, as he faced her still, he saw the fresh look of alarm spark in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked him. “In this very moment? But… I do not know the steps… any step!” And she pulled back at his hand to stay him.

“There are none,” smiled Faramir. “That is why you think them so many and so strange. This song has no such steps laid out; the dancers need only move at the same pace.”

“But how can that be?” she frowned. “They dance in pairs – would they not encumber one another? And if there is no sense to it, how would any of them know to move together?”

“But there is sense, only not in the steps, for they are missing as you know them. The dance of the circle, so it is called,” said Faramir, then turned and walked around her till he was standing at her back; and with his left arm outstretched he pointed towards the pair closest to them. “All the trick of it lies in the moving of their arms, do you see? For they make and break a circle between them; and the dancers themselves turn this way and that, in circles or half circles, in keeping with the song. These turns themselves are the ones numbered and measured to the tune, and where man or woman may place their steps makes little difference, for their breadth changes as the song does. I know the turns, for now you would need only to follow.” Then he lowered his head close to her shoulder, and said in a lowered voice: “Would you not come? Would you not dance with me?”

“I would,” she answered without thought, and, in the same way, she turned her head towards his just as he took a step away. Then she followed where his hand led, near to the place where their people danced to the last measures of the song, and where many cheers broke out when they settled to their place. And with a warm smile to his lips Faramir placed his hands upon her arms; and when Éowyn did in kind he said to her:

“Listen to the song, for it will aid you; our turns are made to follow it. And keep your arms bent and a little stiff, so that you may guess my move before I make it.” 

“Guess?” she asked, and turned her eyes from their feet to his face.

“Aye, you will guess it,” he said, “you shall see.” A moment later a new song began, slow in its pace and seeming to flow like the waters of a river, and Faramir stepped to his left while turning his body to his right, stepping that way like to the rhythm of the tune and taking his lady with him. “Turn at the waist,” he said to her, “your arms should indeed be set, but not the rest of your body.” Then after a time he turned his arms and body to the left while stepping to the right; and he smiled again when Éowyn followed with little trouble. “There, you see? It all lies in our arms, for they are the ones to support us, and make us move in the line of a circle.” But his lady had no answer, for she was looking downward once again, watching her steps to keep from tangling them to his. But when he called to her she raised her gaze once more.

“Have you taken notice?” he said. “We make this turn from left to right after four measures of the song are gone by.”

“I have,” said Éowyn just as they turned once more. “It will not always be so, will it?”

“Aye, you have guessed it,” he answered, and a wide smile fleeted across her lips. “For now we will keep to it, even as the pace grows swifter – for so will the song keep turning swifter as it nears its end – but there will come a point when we will turn at two measures, and then at only one. I will tell you when the moment comes.”

And, indeed, it was not long before he called to her to turn at the second measure; by then his lady had well learned the dance, and she looked no longer towards the ground, but kept her gaze upon the crescent moon and seven stars woven in silver thread upon her lord’s chest, at whiles raising it to his face. And when she did so she caught the gleam of laughter in his eyes, and wondered how the sight of it should warm her heart.

Yet the song went ever on around them, and the drums and flutes and crowths turned stronger still, just as did their pace turned swifter; and the time came when Faramir cried “One!”, and from then on the world began to fade before Éowyn’s eyes, veiled by brisk twists and turns. Then, of a sudden, a change came to the song; the flutes were silenced and the drums grew louder, while the strings of the crowths were plucked in sudden jerks. And in that moment Faramir took hold of her waist with one hand, while with the other he guided hers upon his shoulders; and once they held each other thus, he said: “Small steps, turn on the spot now, as swiftly as you can.”

And she did so, and they turned swifter than ever they had before, and ever to their left. And Éowyn closed her eyes for their haste and for the thrilling blend of fear and delight she felt. But then she heard Faramir’s voice come crying, strained and broken with the effort: “Do not close your eyes… and do not look round; you will only grow dizzy. Look to me. Only to me.” And her eyes opened, and she looked at him, and his eyes became her bearing, and his hands her shore; and the song played ever faster, and she turned with it until she deemed she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet.

“Worry not,” Faramir called to her, “I have you, I will not let you fall.” And as the song twisted once more he drew one arm around her waist, and the other across her back, and her own crossed over his shoulders. And she leaned into his arms, warm, firm and trusted; and all she saw was that her lord’s eyes were smiling, and that his dark hair was flowing wildly with the dance; and all she heard was his laugh beyond the swift beat of the drums; and she felt the twist of his tunic beneath her fingers, and the shape of his body, close and strong.

Then just as she thought that she could take no more, and that her legs would give way beneath her, the music shifted once again, and Faramir’s hands moved swiftly round her back, so that before she knew it he had her his arms, her feet high above the ground, her arms round his shoulders, and the breath out of her lungs. And as the music slowed at last he spun her round, and the feel of the world returned; and from where her head had rested at his shoulder Éowyn caught with the corner of her eye the light flowing skirts of the maids who were still twirled about.

And they both laughed when they stopped altogether and she could feel the ground beneath her feet once more; but for her weary legs she clung to him, and for his comfort he held on to her, and they both took their breaths in heaves.

“I did not- I did not think the dances of Gondor to be so-” Éowyn began to say, but did not finish, breathless still.

“Nay, but we are in Ithilien, and these are her dances,” Faramir said, a smile clear in his voice, and relief deep in his heart, “they always have been so… spirited, is it?”

And they laughed once more, and stood contented; and it was only when another dance began, and they had to move away, that she noticed their arms around each other still, and that she had not fretted at his closeness. And from then on they spent the night in dancing and in talk, and lending their ears to tales that told of old Ithilien, as it was know by those still living to remember it; and Éowyn had little time or cause to be lost in thought once more. And the feast went on into the early hours, until the night drew close to its end, and dawn was not far off. Then it was that Lord and Lady retired from their people, taking the last drink from the grace-cup. And then, bearing their cloaks to ward off the chill and a torch to light their path, they walked alone for a little while and made their way towards the place where their future home would be completed in the year to come. And Faramir bade his lady follow to where the windows of their chambers would face in their coming days; and there he built a fire and lit it from the torch. He then sat down to lean against a tree nearby, and, as she took his outstretched hand, Éowyn followed. 

“The sun will rise here every morning from between those trees,” he said, and pointed at a clearing in the distance. “I have seen it. And I may for the first time glance East at the time of the sunrise from my own home, and see a thing of wonder and not one of dread.” And, as he spoke, Éowyn heard the clear sound of hope in his voice, and saw how his face brightened from some light within, more even than from that of flame nearby. And once again she felt herself turn glad at the sight of his gladness, and light of heart for his own joy.

“I have told you how I used to watch the sun rise in days past,” he said, and saw his lady nodding at his words; “ever did I gaze west when it pierced over the horizon, seeing not the sun itself, but how its first rays shot between towers and through darkened windows, and how the white stone shone with their light. The shining of the stone – that has been my only sunrise for many long years. But no more, for those days are gone, and shadow has gone with them.” And saying this he closed his eyes a moment, drawing his breath in, deep and pleased.

And as they sat in silence for a while Éowyn thought that she had seen no shadow cloud the sun from high upon the steps of Meduseld; instead, hers had dwelled within, and had come from a different Tower. But it too had gone, leaving the chambers of her brother’s Hall open to light and warmth once more; and for the years that she had spent in care and dread of it she would not waste another moment more dwelling upon it. And so, she welcomed the sound of Faramir’s voice when he turned to her and spoke once more:

“I have brought you here to witness it with me, with all its changes wrought into the sky, from beginning to end; for even here I have caught only glimpses of it. But if you would not care for it, we may even now make our way back to the house that we have settled.”

“No,” said Éowyn, ”I would rather watch it, more so now than any other time. Is it not fitting, after all, that we should do so upon this day, when Ithilien was heralded by song and dance and the cries of its people? And I have never watched it run its course before. Yet what to do until such course begins?” she asked, having her growing drowsiness in mind. “For look, the stars shine still with their bright light, and the moon is yet unhidden.”

“And so they all shall last, even as only half the mark remains until the dawn itself,” Faramir answered; “but until the time when the sky shall first turn its shades, from black to darkest blue and scarlet, little over another half mark remains.”

“That is well, then,” she said, and lowered her head a little, so that she might conceal the stifling of a yawn; for the hour was late indeed, and she had had little rest that night. Yet even so her lord took notice.

“Are you certain you would not better wish for me to take you to your rest?” he asked her then. “Verily, you seem in need of it, all of a sudden. Perhaps I should not have brought you here this night.”

“Nay, worry not,” said Éowyn, a faint quality to her voice, like to the clouds that come to cover sun and sky after high noon. “If sleep does try to claim me it is only because we are seated, and resting even now; we have done little of it through the night, and now my body seeks to make amends even against my will. But speak to me,” she asked, “and keep me wakeful; for I do so wish to see the sun’s rising, if only because it is so dear to you.”

And at her words Faramir started, as for her tone of voice; for beyond the drowsiness he also could discern a kindling of care. And in that moment she no longer seemed so apart from him; and even though he could not guess the reason for it, still his heart lifted in hope.

“What would you have me speak of?” he asked instead, his gaze fastened upon her; and it seemed to him then that his words were spoken by another, falling strange and empty on his ears, so intent he was upon the slightest movement from his lady.

“Whatever you might wish,” she answered, resting her head against the bole of the tree, and her eyes upon the stars; “of the heavens above and the ground below, of the making of the Sun and Moon and the foundering of great lands; of what is lost by history yet remembered still by lore.” And, as her eyes closed as she said the last, she thought: ‘Of what your mind holds hidden for these lands you were entrusted with, and of what your heart might hide’.

“Then wake,” said Faramir, clasping her hands to press them to his own, “and listen to the tale of the coming of Men, as legend tells it.”

And on the brink of giving into sleep Éowyn said to him: “But that I know. Tell me another.”

“I would,” he smiled, “but I do fear that little tales remain that you have not read of from all the books that lie settled onto my shelves.”

At that her eyes started open, and her sluggish mind awoke. And she turned towards him to take in his look; then, seeing it was open, and that it held no hidden thought, she asked: “For how long have you known-?”

“Not long,” he said, “about a fortnight only.”

“Yet you have said no word.”

“What cause would I have had to? Are they not also yours, to read when it so pleases you?” said Faramir. And at his words Éowyn softened once again, relieved. But then a glimmer came into his eyes, and he went on to ask. “Yet, now that we do speak of this, would you not tell me why you read from them?”

Later on, when recalling this moment, Éowyn would think that had she been more rested, had he not held her by the hands, or looked upon her as he did, she would have found an answer to her liking; as it were, she heard herself reply instead: “Because they are different to the tales I know. They tell me of your people – our people; and of you.” And she was certain that her cheeks burned as she said this, and wished that her hair would lie unbound upon her shoulders as it used to, so that she might hide behind it; and more, that her hands were free to be clutched in her lap together, and held still, even as in that moment the touch of his fingers alone seemed to hold her mind and body steady.

“Am I so foreign to you even now that you should seek to learn about me from the books in my chamber than from myself?” he asked in gentle question. “Am I so difficult to speak to still?” And for the kindness in his tone and the warmth of his hands Éowyn thought her heart would break; and staring at their hands entwined she could not bear to meet his eyes, shying to learn of their expression. But answer him she would; and so, with her eyes closed she shook her head and whispered “No”. And with the slightest movement to her left, where her lord sat gazing upon her, she bowed her head and took a single breath, then opened her eyes once more and said:

“I do not read from them to learn of you; not now. I have in the beginning, but no more. I read from them because they have since turned dear to me, but I have no other need of them.” And then, after a moment’s pause she turned her head fully towards him and looked into his eyes. “I know you now,” she said. And even as she did so, Éowyn knew her words were true, and that, for all of her doubts and wavering over her heart and his, she did indeed know this man beside her.

And Faramir looked long at his lady wife, his eyes roaming over the contours of her face; and greatly did he long to trace them with his lips and hold her in his arms – but until he knew for certain that she would not stand frozen and stiff in his embrace he would do no such thing. And so he merely smiled at her a slow and steady smile, delighted to see her answer in kind; then, turning his head a little to the side, he pressed on in asking:

“How well do you know me?”

And even to her own surprise Éowyn faltered but a little, in the slight startle of her hands and the blink of her eye. “Enough,” she answered, “though not in all; for I trust there are some things about you that I know naught of, and some of which I know too little.” Then lowering her gaze once more, as if her coming words were discomfiting to say, she added: “I also trust that I shall know more in time; if you would have it.”

“Gladly,” said Faramir, “and even now, if there is aught you wish to know.” But when she kept quiet for some time he added: “Perhaps another time, then;” and if his spirits lowered a little for her silence he paid no heed to them. And glancing towards the sky a moment he went on to say: “Still, the stars are out, and they will take their time to fade; we spoke of tales and legend, yet settled upon none. Would you still now care to hear one?”

“I would,” Éowyn nodded, at ease once more now that her lord had changed the subject. And as she rested back against the tree she saw and felt that their hands both had till then remained entwined, but she made no move to break their hold. And then she said: “Some time indeed will have to pass ere the sun rises; so tell me then of Númenor the fair of which you dream at night, of its bright days of light and learning, and how her children found these shores and built anew; but, if you will, speak little of its downfall, for I would rather hear no tale of woe in waiting for the Sun.”

And so did Faramir begin to speak to her of the land of Westernesse, the Land of Gift, and of the many gifts said to be held within its borders, crafts and herbs and things of beauty; of the White Tree the Elves had brought to it from shores even farther West than those of Númenor itself, and whose sapling was later brought to the lands of Middle-Earth. And as his words flowed ever on, soothing and even, the drowsiness returned to Éowyn, so soft and slow that she took no notice of it; and it was not long before sleep claimed her at the last, bearing with it the lull of her lord’s speech.

Of tall ships she dreamed, swaying in the deep waters of the Sea and basking in the clear light of morning, and of soft winds which blew cool and fresh about her. Then from without the depths of this calm realm she heard Faramir’s voice once more, calling her to awake; and for a time she was caught between both worlds, of dreams and waking. And she thought to feel the weight of his arms upon hers, and she recalled, as one sometimes can only do by the memory of the body, the same comforting arms drawing her from the abyss which would at whiles open before her in her darkest dreams, his hands warming her own, and keeping her still and safe when shivers came about her. And when she woke in earnest, and still felt his arms around her shoulders, she knew that such comfort and safety that came to her upon the ending of her dreams were of his making, and that till now she had for the most part forgotten it. 

“Look there,” Faramir said, and pointed in the distance, where, in the clearing he had spoken of at first, the glowing rays of the Sun pierced over the earth and between green leaves; and the sky was of the lightest blue around it, and the clouds parted before its warming light and shone golden and rosy in the heavens.

And as its first light fell upon them and the blades of the bedewed grass shone like to silver gems about them, the thought came to Éowyn that the man with whom she would from then on spend her life sat even now beside her, and that she wore his ring upon her finger; and such a thought no longer seemed so daunting to her. And so it was that she felt her heart decide at last – that it would open to him, stand at the ready for what he had to offer; that she would see her questions answered and her remaining doubts scattered away, and she would settled fully in this life that she herself had helped to build – as Lady of Ithilien and wife to Faramir of Gondor.

~~~~ 

~~~~ 

The land to the East of the Great River had well been named the land of the Moon; for its forests held a sweet fragrance which seemed to call one to one’s rest, to soft dreams and higher thoughts. And as evening fell upon Ithilien so too did the scent blossom, stronger and lighter altogether; and troubled hearts would find their ease at times when near it, and the unrested would find rest. And in the Summer time wild flowers added their fresh scent, and soft winds bore it here and there, to all the corners of the forests.

In the cool air of morning, the Lady Éowyn stood before such winds and felt as they caressed her face and whispered about her; and she could sense the fragrance of the land flow in the air. The hour was early still, and for it the sun brought little warmth; but its light shone bright upon her and made the leaves and grass glitter with gold and green. And as she saw it come to life beneath clear skies she felt the beauty of Ithilien flow through her, to then leave her at ease and full in heart.

Atop a grassy knoll she rested, her gaze stretched over forests and dales, and before her she held a sword unsheathed; like to the body of a tree it stood in her hands, straight and unmoving, and for the first time since touching the steel of blade Éowyn was uneasy to wield it. The sword seemed to her no heavier than before, nor would the swing of it be any less familiar than it last had been in the City of Gondor; yet to lift up a weapon in a land which brought peace and calm into her heart seemed to her unseemly. For such was the manner she looked upon the fair Ithilien, as a realm of ease and healing; its lands had been tainted by shadow for many long years, men had fought and died within its bounds and their blood had wet its earth, and even now its once greatest City stood empty, sullied and forlorn - yet this realm would rise again, to be once more clean and unmarred, even as the view laid now before her. And for the hopes that had burned bright in the faces of its people not three days ago, when all had gathered to their joy, Éowyn had wished Ithilien to see no more of battle.

For this, the Lady of the Shield Arm stood now in wait and in thought, holding her sword before her and shying to begin her practice. She had walked to the mound that she now stood upon bearing that thought in mind – for she had not handled her sword in the past days for lack of time, and in the house she lived in here there was no place prepared for such a task. Yet, before she could take to it, her heart had failed her - and she could not now bring herself to wield her sword before the beauty she beheld, for fear that such a thing would slight it. And in the end Éowyn gave a smile, and in good heart yielded the challenge set before her – the open ground of Ithilien would not serve as her practice ring, though to protect and keep its lands she would herself take up the sword. And feeling for a moment longer the soft touch of the winds and the fresh scent they bore she resolved to make for the house. 

Then when she turned to gather up her sheath she saw the Lord Faramir near to the old tree it rested against; by its roots he stood, his arms folded before him, and where soft rays of sunlight pierced between branches and leaves there were patches of light upon his tunic of blue silk. And, watching him, Éowyn made no other move, but kept to her place in waiting and surprise.

“Good morrow,” he said to her, his voice that of a man rested and glad.

“Good morrow,” Éowyn answered. “I did not hear you come.” And before he could reply she said: “Why did you stand in wait, and did not call to me?”

“Because you are a fair sight for my eyes to behold,” her lord answered; for so she seemed to him, fairest among the fair, as she stood with her long hair flowing unbound upon her shoulders and the blade steady in her hands, both lighted by the sun and gleaming. And hearing this Éowyn smiled and bowed her head, feeling abashed for his regard and foolish for her mood. Much warmth was in his words, and they fell new upon her ears even if it did not upon her heart – for such had his address been upon the night and morning of the feast, and such had been his gaze from that time hence; and when she felt that warmth she knew she had had need of it, and now that she had heard his words she saw she had awaited them – but knowing not how she could answer she said no word to him.

And to her husband’s lips a swift smile came, and he bent down to take hold of the sheath beside him; and as he walked toward her in soft and measured steps he said: “Also, because you seemed to me deep in your thoughts; I wished not to disturb them.” When he reached her he stood still, and with both hands he handed her the sheath; then looking long into her eyes he asked: “What did you dwell upon?” And as she took his offering Éowyn saw a glimmer in his gaze, and felt strange to think that she had brought it.

“I wished to wield this,” she answered, and looked down at the sword she now held with one hand; “I wondered if ever I would have need of it once more.” And, with her sight kept lowered still, she asked: “Are there any signs of war? Of that which was once feared?”

“We have discovered no such signs,” said Faramir.

And for his answer Éowyn was glad, for it matched well her hopes from earlier. And she turned away the sudden thought that their wedding had till then served its end, for not two days had passed since her resolve to think no longer of the purpose for which they were joined. Instead, she wondered what would come to pass if war indeed rose to these lands again, of the men who would set out to peril and great deeds, of her lord who would lead them, and of herself; and then another thought came to her mind, swift and challenging, and she raised her eyes to his.

“Yet if war was to come again,” she said, sheathing her sword at last, “what would you say if I wished to ride to battle?”

For a moment Faramir was silent, his grey eyes intent upon her, and then he bent his head a little, and in an even voice he said:

“I would hope you no longer have cause to do so now.”

“Why would you have such hope?” asked Éowyn, steady of voice, and waiting for his words to prove her right or wrong; for she had set this trial less for her husband than for herself, and for how well she thought to know him.

“You told me once of that which drove you in your ride to War,” Faramir answered, “a feeling of despair deep in your heart, a dread of uselessness – the fear that you would be forgotten by the years that passed you by. In that battle you had sought for death,” he spoke in quiet tones, “and, in your death, escape; a reprieve from grief and unrest by whatever means. If they indeed have been the cause to bring you to the crushing of helms and spurring of horse, then, yes, I hope that they will never drive you once again.” His eyes had turned grave in speaking, and at the last his voice was deep; and for the first ever time Éowyn thought that she might not have been alone in doubt and worry in the two months that had nigh passed. And she wished to say to him he need not fear, for such dark thoughts had left her long ago, and in this land and by his side there could be no sorrow. But that thought was new to her, a sudden understanding which she could not bring herself to share as yet; and having still need of his answer she pressed on instead:

“Yet they were not alone to drive me; I rode to do battle, to stand beside my people in what could well have been their final hour. I rode for valour and for glory and for the songs that would be sung.”

“And now you have such songs, and the honour you have wished for,” her lord replied; “no other battle of Men could bring you any greater. And if Gondor alone would go to war tomorrow you could well have no people for whom your heart would call you to the fight, for you might not yet see them as your own; such love of land is born at times from the passing of many years, and only months have to this day gone by since you became a lady of this realm.”

“Then I would wish to ride for the rush of the horse alone. But would you still avoid my meaning? For surely you must see it.” And, as she spoke, Éowyn hoped her lord could also see her true design - that she had asked him this not from some doubt of him that lingered in her heart, but from the need to prove the very faith she had in him, and in his answer that would wrong her not. 

“I would rather you do not see battle once more,” Faramir said at length; and she could see his words had been chosen with care, and felt his gaze upon her, searching and keen.

“Why would you keep me from it?” she asked; and her voice was even, and bore no defiance. And as she looked into Faramir’s eyes she saw them clear and quiet, and thought that he had understood her purpose.

“I would not keep you, Éowyn,” his answer came, “for, if indeed you wished to join the host that would assemble, you would well find a way, even by riding once again in hiding. But, for my part, I would not know you in harm’s way.”

“You say this even as you yourself would go to meet it, and would take your men alongside you.” And she drew back from him, for her words called for it even if her heart did not. With baited breath she waited for her lord’s reply, her hands held fast once more to the coiled hilt of her sword, as if its weight alone could steady her should some betrayal come her way.

“I say this with my faith in you,” said Faramir, “for you have done great deeds, and I call fool the one who would deny them, but knowing that men of greater strength than yours have died in vain, and fast; and that, for all your skill and spirit, you have, in truth, weathered one battle only, upon only one day.

“The enemy has never harried you,” her lord went on, nearing her slowly as he spoke, “you have not suffered cold, and rain, and heat for days on end while waiting for their strike; despair you know, but you have not had to raise your sword when fighting it as well, wearied in mind and body, and fearing for your life. These and more you would have to learn, as all soldiers have to, and as all those who live on after battle do; but I would not risk your end for such a thing.”  

When he fell silent Éowyn was at a loss; for those were not the reasons she had thought to hear for keeping her from battle – if, indeed, she had thought of any beforehand – nor were they reasons she had heard before. Men had spoken to her of duty, of the part she had been set aside for, of little worth and little strength – none had considered her skill in earnest, none had brought forth such arguments as her lord had. And for the ban his words had placed before her, however softly spoken, she was at once saddened and surprised – for it seemed to her then less of a burden than she had once thought it would be. And of her questions she only had one other left:

“From your answer,” said Éowyn, “I am to think that for the too little times that I have taken up the shield you would have me take it up no more. Why, then, cross your blade with mine if I should never see another battle?”

“If for nothing else,” Faramir answered, “because harm may befall you still even outside the field of battle – you know this well; and, either by my hand or yours, I wish to know you safe.” Then his gaze fleeted from her eyes a moment, and in a softer voice he said: “I would wish for it in the field as well, for you could never be to me only another sworded arm; to you… I would be husband first and Captain after – and in the field that must not be.”

And for a moment her breath caught, and for his words a rush of wholeness and relief came upon her, like to the soft touch of summer rain; and it was as if her heart had shifted, and a knot had been untied. And with her gaze settled upon her lord she saw no other thing, but felt cool winds about her wrists and the hilt in her hands, the sun as it warmed her back, and the warmth in her heart.

“Éowyn, you have seen battle, aye, and know well that which war may bring,” spoke Faramir once more; “but you have not lived it – and I do not wish you to. And if I want to hold you far from harm, from pain and hardship, from cares of any kind; if I would rather see you well, and strong, and smiling in the sun – is that so wrong of me?”

“Nay, it is not,” she said, her voice but higher than a whisper; and as a gentle smile pulled at her lips, and her husband answered in kind, she knew the trial was over.

“You are not angered,” he said.

“I am not,” Éowyn answered; and, in truth, she could say little else. For he had spoken to her both as a Captain to a Rider and as a Lord to his Lady – and that had been the true wish which had driven her, to know his thoughts for both those sides and see that they were fair. Yet he had done the more, and let her glimpse into the husband’s thoughts as he never had before – and that single glimpse had brought to her such hope and ease that no thoughts of battle ever had.

And, as she stood beside her lord in the clear air of morning, her mind and heart both let the Rider rest, until some dire need would call upon him once again. But till that time she would receive the shining of the sun in easy heart, and dwell on lighter things – the gardens of Ithilien, the growing of her people, the flowing of her life; and she would draw her joy from them as she did from songs of battle and feats of arms. And, thinking this, Éowyn took notice of her sword as it rested sheathed in her hands, and she felt herself none the weaker for it.

And then she turned to Faramir and said:

“I had thought to return before you came to me. But now that you are here, what would you wish us do? Or is it that you have some duty that calls you now away, and so you wished to take your leave?”

“I have no such duty now,” he said, “nor have I yet any design on how to spend the morning; I came only to see you. But now that I am here, would you walk down with me and then see where our path would take us?”

And she walked by him towards the house, then past it in the forests; and they spoke of what was to come, of the harvest that was nigh and the fall sewing that would follow, of their home that would be finished, and of the second crossing to Ithilien that would come once the raising of two other villages would see its labours done. And as they trod through the green grass and passed beneath tall forest tops she felt at peace to walk beside him, and happy for the days that were to come. 

~~~~ 

Beneath his back there stretched a hard, cold surface, like to a block of stone, immovable and dead. A heat flowed in his chest, and for it his breaths were stifled. His limbs seemed shattered where they lay, bound to the earth and still. Utter darkness was around him, for his eyes were closed, and his lids too heavy to be lifted. In body he was weak, as he could not remember ever being, but in mind he was alert; and he could hear the crackle of flame drawing ever nearer, slowly and steadily, its heat smothering and dry. Smoke rolled about him, for he choked to breathe it, fire closed upon him, for the air about turned warm and leaden, and from under the stillness of his body he screamed in agony.

All things seemed to move at their own pace, soft, hidden and tormenting, and so too would the flames move when they would burn through his clothes and lick at his flesh. And in a flicker of thought it was just so; but he could not move away, could not cry out for the pain and the dread. And he thought he could feel the moves he could not make, and hear the moans that would not pass his lips. And he was lost in smoke and shadow and stillness, and they were one with him, and one with the fire; and he trembled without for the coldness beneath him, and trembled within for his fury of thought, body and mind shattered at once, and the Lord Faramir awoke in shivers and in broken gasps for air, to a starlit night and to cool hands upon his arms.

Darkness was about him still, but little lighter than that of his dream; the hour was late. But the clear air he felt mended his heart and helped him find his ease, for the waking world was close about him, comforting and raw. His breaths were full and rich, and he drew them in hunger while his chest heaved; about his legs the coverings lay warmed and twisted, and his hands had moved to clutch at them when he had sat up from his troubled sleep.

The world was well, he told himself, the world was well and so was he; no burden was upon him, no true peril by him – and at his side was only soothing and relief. And so he closed his eyes against the darkness and took one last deep breath; and he willed his body loosen and the strain in his chest abate. Then, when he was still at last, he let his head fall heavy to his chest and his shoulders sag, and as the moments passed he found his peace. And, suddenly, he felt the tangle of his hair along his face and the soft touch of slender hands upon his arm and shoulder – for he could now remember their slow move from the time of his waking – and for a moment Faramir wondered whether they would retreat in all.

The feel of his lady’s hands to ease away his dreams, and now the warm whisper of her form close to his side – that, he had not awaited; yet he had hoped for it, as he had for her quiet voice to drive away the silence, and the fresh scent of her hair to cover the bitter one of ash – for he had foreseen when settling to his sleep that he would find little rest that night.

Upon that day, the dusk had come and deepened before his work was set aside, for, with the summer labours nigh, there was much to see to. His duty at this middle-month was to Ithilien and to its people, to know how much of every seed was reaped, what was lost and for what grounds, what men would be in need, if any, and who, for that reason, could not pay their debts owed to the City; then, later on, when all accounts of gains and losses would in the end be gathered from all the provinces together, he would see to the whole of Gondor, and to the possessions of its King. Less than a week remained before the days of harvest; and since the setting of the sun the Prince of Ithilien had been surveying the early reckoning for his land’s crops when a fresh lighted candle fell knocked upon his desk and set some of the scrolls aflame.

Fire alone was not a daunting sight; he did not fear its flames, their warmth and light still he would use and welcome. But there were times when to behold them would leave him struck somehow, and he would think to catch the scent of ash and burning cloth from close at hand. A shiver would pass through him, and Faramir would know his coming dreams would hold no peace.

So he had guessed that he would dream of smoke and ash and fire, even as he had dispatched the flames and set to rights the papers they had ruined. And now that he sat upon soft linen sheets, his breath at ease once more, he was relieved that such a care was past and over. And so he left behind such shadows, and turned instead in heart and mind towards the lady by his side, naught more than a shape barely perceived and an airy breath coming forth from the darkness.

Her touch to his arm was gentle, still new to them both, it seemed, and strained, but she offered it with care; and as he placed his left hand upon her own she withdrew it not. For a time they remained so, listening to the beating of their hearts, and in the end he pressed his hand to hers and ran his thumb along her fingers. And he wished their chamber would hold some light, so that he could glimpse her eyes as he turned to face her. For he wondered whether such a gesture would trouble her or not, indeed, whether his very presence did - for some time had passed since Éowyn had last stiffened by his side, and even now he could read no unease from her. Yet in the room there was no light. And so, he raised her hand up to his lips, then held it to his cheek a moment; and in the end he let it go, and lay down upon the bed once more.

But in the stretching silence Éowyn did not follow; instead she sat beside him still, and, for the tiny rustle that he heard and the gentle tugging that he could feel at his right side, Faramir guessed that she was worrying the sheets, twisting them in her lap perhaps. It seemed to him she was deciding something, for he could feel her dithering; but there were no cares weighing upon her heart, and so he lay silent in the dark, gazing toward the place where he perceived his lady’s form, and waiting; and in the end she shifted slightly, and in a quiet voice she said:

“Are you well?”

“I am,” he answered. “Was my sleep so restless that it woke you?"

“Nay,” she said, “you barely moved your head upon the pillows… then, at the end, clutched at the covers; but your breath was strained and broken. It was your breath that woke me.” 

“My apologies, then.”

“Nay, do not…” she answered, and Faramir imagined he could see the small shake of her head. Then after a pause she asked: “What did you dream of, would you tell me?”

A little while passed; then, before he even knew it, Faramir reached out his left hand and slowly sought her own. Her hand felt warmer now, and once again she turned not from his touch; and as he gently drew his arm back across his chest, and moved his other one away, she settled easily against him. Her right hand came upon his shoulder, his right arm round her back; and, as they lay together so, a warm feeling came upon him; and he could hardly believe that at last he held his lady, that she was at ease and resting in his arms, and that it was a darkened thing that had brought it about.

“I dreamt of fire,” Faramir said in the end.

“Fire?”

“Aye…”

“Does it haunt you? The fire…”

“It does, at times,” he answered; and then he felt her head turn slightly where it rested at his shoulder, and how she took her breath.

“You know what haunted me…” said Éowyn, “what haunts me still at whiles; and when I dream of it you help drive it away. Yet of your pains I know but little, and even less from your own words; when your dreams come… there is but little I can do, though I do wish-…” And here she paused as if searching her words, and Faramir allowed her time to find them; yet in his mind he had already guessed what she would ask of him, and, as he waited, he made ready for it. “I would hear what troubles you, what has once troubled you, if you would speak of it… so that-… I would not have you troubled.”

“What is the little that you know?”

“What I know comes only from the words of others – rumours, and whispers, and some accounts that may well have been halved, or twisted; I do not know the truth.”

“Yet if you know the words of others you must know the events such as they were, or some of them, at least; that my brother fell in sight of his City, that my father turned to madness from using the Stone of Anor; that he ended his life upon a pyre, like to the heathen Kings of old, and that he sought to take my own.

“As to the truth,” he said, “I myself do not claim to know it. But I will tell you of the House of Húrin, such as it was upon the brink of War; such as I saw it.”

And, at his words, Éowyn closed her eyes against the darkness, for her heart filled with pity to hear him tell such grievous things, and she doubted now her right to bid him speak of them. And she felt the steady rise of his chest, and heard his voice come even – and, for the sadness she could guess behind them, a deep sense of caring stirred her.

“My brother you must have known by more than name,” said Faramir, “though to Rohan he went seldom, and waged war instead upon the eastern borders.”

“Aye, I have seen him,” she answered, “for when he did come to the Mark he climbed the steps of Meduseld to greet Théoden King. A noble Lord he seemed to me, hardy and strong, and more like to our Riders than to the grave Men of your City.”

“And so he was, a great Captain to our people, ever in search for mighty deeds, ever desiring our City’s victory… I loved my brother dearly, with his merits and his faults alike, for he was not without the latter, as no man is; yet in the end his very nature was his undoing.”

And Faramir felt his voice catch, and, for a short moment, thought himself within the forests of Ithilien, his men arrayed in a half-circle behind him; but there were no Halflings before him now, only his lady wife as she lay by his side – and he felt bound to speak.

“You must know, as others do, that Boromir was one of the Nine Walkers,” he began again, and Éowyn nodded at his words, silent and sad. “You would know not that I should have been chosen to set out to Rivendell, for that very departure was brought about by a far-seeing dream, which had come first to me, and later to my brother. No news that the weapon of the Enemy was found had reached any in Gondor at that time, and so, the meaning of the dream alone was though to be the errand. Yet for his age and hardiness he argued for my place… and so, left to his doom… And even now, when the Dark One is fallen and all is set to rights, I wonder what would have come to pass should I have left in his stead.

“His horn, cloven in two, came as the second sign of my brother’s passing in those days; it left us with broken hearts and lessened hopes, and father was the dourer for it.”

And here Faramir paused, and his silence filled the room, ringing out in sorrow and regret. A sigh escaped him, and his eyes closed; and soon enough the world nearby seemed like the makings of his dream. Caught in the crook of his right arm, and also spread upon it, he felt his lady’s hair flowing and tangled, its weight a soothing warmth; where his fingers rested at the small of her back her night-shift was soft and warm to the touch; apart from their breathing there was little else to hear, and he cared little for the quiet.

“My father…” he began once more, “I knew him as a stern man; proud he was, learned and wise, and he held sway over all things in his realm – for so he reckoned it; it might well have been that he would have challenged the King’s claim had the heir of Isildur come before him, for so did Mithrandir say to me when I asked him of my father’s final hour. This he revealed as the Lord Denethor’s true wish; and I wondered then as I do now whether that indeed had been my father’s will, my father as I knew him in his younger years and mine, and not some false and twisted thought brought about by countless battles with the mind of the Enemy. And yet… perhaps this very faltering of mine comes from pity alone, and the desire of the son to see not his father’s memory dishonoured, and I am in the wrong to have it – for who could have known his mind, as he spoke little of his purpose before seeing it fulfilled.

“He spoke little… and trusted even less; and towards the end, when hope was dearly needed, he fell into despair; such were his later years, such was the last part of his rule, when pride and despair must have vied one with the other to weaken his wisdom…

“Yet I was told it was not always so, that even stern and quiet as his nature was there still were times when he was merry, when he delighted in the world – but I cannot remember them, for they have faded with the years. It may well be so because such fair and lighter days passed away with my mother – and she herself is to me only a fleeting touch of warmth, the echo of a voice I cannot rightly hear; I was only a child of five when she died – withered under the Shadow, the people said – and from my early years I knew only brother and father.”

‘And he has lost them both’, Éowyn mused, and that thought pierced her heart.

“Yet more so of brother than of father,” he went on, “for we spent little time together when I was young, father and I; I do not begrudge him that, nor did I even then – times were dark in Gondor, there was too little time for him to spend with any of his sons; and I had not yet turned a year into my life when he became the Steward of the City… And with the years… he was to me more lord than father, just as Boromir was more brother and friend than Captain of arms – and yet I loved them both the same.

“But while Boromir and I were mostly of like mind – and when it was not so we could agree to each hold to his own opinion – my lord and father was displeased with many of my judgements, at times blaming the well from whence he thought they came – for there was no love between him and Mithrandir, or Gandalf as you know him, and it was from him that I learned of many things; and there were other times when I myself agreed little with his designs. Yet he was Lord of the land, and his bidding was to be done – and so I did.”

Then of a sudden his voice turned grave and lower than before; and for the first time since he had begun to speak that night Éowyn thought she could in truth sense his distress.

“In the end,” said Faramir, “I cannot rightly see whether I knew him well or none at all – he alone could answer that; and he is gone…

“And even of my father’s passing I cannot see what to believe… That the palantir played a great part in it – therein lies no question, but… however unseemly it may be, I cannot but wonder whether my fall did, indeed, rush his end… If so, then I am guilty of it, if not…

“They told me I called out for him – I cannot remember it; they said that for a moment he recovered his wits, but then… drew forth a knife to slay me. And in the end, when he was stayed, he… set himself aflame upon the pyre – and I cannot know whether denying life was yet another touch of madness, or it was done instead full knowing and full willing – and that, for all his weeping and remorse, and love remembered at the end, still he renounced me… from pride and mistrust.”

And Éowyn was grieved to hear this, and wished that she could speak to him, for she had spoken naught, had done naught to offer comfort or any sign of care; but all the words she had lay silenced in her throat, for they seemed weak and frayed. What could be said by any to comfort such great hurts? What words would not fall hollow on his ears? And she cursed herself for her dumbness and for calling such thoughts upon him; and she feared that he would say no more, and that any chance to do right by him would pass her by – but after a little time Faramir spoke, and his voice, though saddened, was even once again:

“I walked in both their steps for a time, for so did my duties compel me – I had need of my father’s study, of his scrolls and books and notes; before that – of my brother’s logs and plans and maps, and all his written thoughts on the defence of Gondor and the City. And there was little time for grief and sorrow, and lesser still to judge any and all… Time passed… anguish subsided into ache, and was the easier to bear. As does happen for all who lose any one dear to their heart, whether in the wage of war or not. For no man in this world may live without some sadness or regret; or, if they do, then they are blessed, but know not of their blessing.”

And when he said this Éowyn thought that she would weep – for even as her heart welled in the pride that he had bowed not under such heavy burdens, but rose instead the stronger, it also stood to breaking for his trials. And she would have kissed his brow and held him to her while he took his rest – but she could not bring herself to move; she would have hugged him where she lay upon his chest – but her arms felt leaden. For there was still a voice inside her saying that it was not her place, and that her words or touch would bring no comfort, and she would be so forward all in vain. But he was there beside her, her husband, sorrowed and restrained; and when at last she knew how dear he was to her she could bear it no longer. And so she gently raised her hand toward his face, her move awkward and shy. And she pressed her fingers to his cheek, and he turned into her touch, cradling her hand into his own; and as he kissed her palm and drew her closer to him she knew it was comfort enough.

And when, for once, the morning found them in each other’s arms, Éowyn also found she felt her awkwardness no more.

~~~~ 

Author's notes: In “The Steward and the King” Éowyn turned to the thought of being a healer and looking after “things that grow” after being healed at heart (so to speak) and finding love; I would think that, even if in this AU story love would happen later on, she would still turn to the same things, since she is the same character – thus the need to approach the subject of bearing arms again. However, her questions are not meant to determine whether her lord and husband would ‘let’/’want’ her go to war, but to understand what exactly would drive him to that decision, both rationally and emotionally – just another step in knowing him better on both grounds, though made with less doubt than ever before. I hope I’ve managed to put that across fairly well.

Also, Tolkien described Faramir as being “modest, fair-minded and scrupulously just, and very merciful" in one of his letters; I imagine that, even when aware of them, the greater part of Faramir would have him forgive his father’s failings and his end, if only to find some peace. Also, as he wasn’t really there to see Denethor’s reaction to his being wounded, or hear his words first-hand (or, more importantly, read what could be read of his heart), he would wonder about them even with the accounts told to him. Faramir could later speak to Gandalf for a more in depth account, but perhaps not even that would satisfy…

I tried to give to Faramir the point of view of a person who doesn’t have all the facts and doesn’t know all sides of the story – or at least he doesn’t think he knows them. I’m quite curious to see how you think it turned out – I’ll be grateful for all and any reviews. Thanks!

Author's note: The first part of this chapter takes place about three weeks after the final events of the last one

~~~~ 

During the days of harvest most men would be found working in the fields, their other crafts forgotten for a time so that they might assure the safe gathering of all crops before the fall of summer rains could bring them any harm; such had been the habit of the land in Gondor for many long years, and so it was again within the realm of Ithilien. And, for this reason, most other works beside the garnering of crops had for a time been paused in the lands of the fair-forests, from the new settlements that would be made ready to house those new to come, to the manor-house of their lord, which would be raised in all before the coming year was ended. And so it was that even as the Lord Faramir’s duties grew, his lady’s work diminished.

For a time, the ordering of the household alone was left to her, but Éowyn minded not the idle time she had, for she knew that it would last but little; and the days were fair and bright, and she took joy from them. A sense of peace had come upon her in the fortnight past, and such calm that she had never known before. From the morning when she had first woken to find her husband still sleeping by her side – nay, even from the night before – she had begun to known her heart; with every day that passed she knew it more, and she fled not from it, nor feared that which it held, but welcomed it instead – and it was from there that her peace now flowed.  

Content she had been for some time; now there was gladness in her heart. Her life was settled, her tasks were worthy, and she knew that she had turned to Faramir at last. For she would walk into his study when he paused from his work, only to speak to him and sit beside him, to hear his words and see his face. And she would smile to see her husband, and he would smile in kind; and their hearts would lift and their hours would brighten, and all was well. In the mornings she would watch him sleep, and see the same calm dwell within him; and she would wish to settle closer in his arms, or trace his features with the tips of her fingers – highness of brow, paleness of cheek, softness of mouth. Yet she would never do so; and she would wonder at such whims, for they were new and foreign to her.

At times she wondered at her feelings also – how softly they had come, how right they seemed. And she was glad to have them, and heartened to know them well returned – aye, they were so, she saw it in his eyes when they brightened, heard it in his flowing voice, felt it in the warm touch of his hand to hers; there was no longer doubt, there was no longer wavering – alone, words that would bind them remained to be said, but they both bade their time to speak.

And so, the days had passed, the harvest had come to an end, its reckoning as well; and now Faramir was bound to make for Minas Tirith to do his duty to his lord and land. Even now he waited in his study, and standing before his desk with his back to the doorway he gathered what papers he would need in the White City. And as Éowyn watched him from the corridor the thought struck her that from their wedding to this day they had never been parted, and she had never watched him leave. And, thinking this, she entered his study, her gaze held fast upon him, her steps soft.

“You are nigh ready,” she said as she came by his side; and she expected him to turn towards her startled, his eyes alight as they would often be when he looked upon her. Yet he was not startled when he spoke, although his eyes were bright indeed.

“Aye,” he said, “I was told Amrod, Garadh and I could set out in no more than a mark.”

“Aye…” Éowyn answered, and as a breath of sadness stirred within her she was silent for a while. Then with an unsought thought to spur her question she asked him in a lighter voice:

“My lord… Faramir…” she began, and smiled as he smiled at the sound of his name, “how is it that you knew my steps so easily? For it seemed to me they were not loud, yet I see now that you heard them still.”

“For one,” he answered, “I have learned them well; for another, I am trained to hear and know the steps of any man.”

“And to walk lightly,” she replied, “for though you may hear my steps I rarely hear your own, if ever.”

“Aye, that too,” said Faramir; “to walk and hear so are the makings of a Ranger, along with stealth and the use of the bow; and with the years it seemd this manner of walking has become my nature. Yet I daresay in these rooms I am not as silent as you make me out to be, and upon the City’s paths of stone such a man as the King could well hear me when coming from afar.”

“Could I?” she asked without a purpose.

“You could,” he said; “with proper teaching and long enough practice you could perhaps walk as silently and hear as well.”

“How would you teach me? How were you taught?”

“To walk in this manner, I was taught how to step and to hold my balance, how swiftly to move and how softly to turn. To hear so, I was taught to listen.”

“Listen? Surely you do not mean that there are different ways to do so.”

“Indeed, there are not; but there are different things to listen to, and it takes some skill to set them apart and follow. If you would, I could show you what I mean even now, ere I depart.” And as he said this Faramir looked down upon her and knew that he would rue their parting; for their later days had been peaceful in their easiness, gladdened by some understanding and brightened by the sun, and to be apart now that the time was drawing near – near to what, he could bring himself not say – seemed a sudden wrench to him.

“Show me, then,” Éowyn said, and he smiled at her answer and came out of his thoughts. They would need some open space, he said to her then, although quiet enough that she would only hear his steps when he made them; and they went in search of such a room or chamber, and in the end it was his own that they settled upon. And as they walked towards it Faramir gave bidding to be summoned when all would be ready for his departure.

When they entered the chamber they saw it was well aired and lit by the morning sun, whose rays fell softly upon a writing table and the chair set before it; and they caught sight of the clear skies directly, for three narrow windows were opposite the door. To their right stretched many shelves of books, and across them was a covered bed, never slept in yet kept ever ready; facing it, the fireplace stood unused. Against the leftward wall there was a dresser of fairly carved wood, a bench and two other chairs beside it. Apart from this, the room was mostly bare, and there was much open space near to its middle. And Faramir closed the door behind them as his lady walked towards the windows, then walked to the dresser to fetch a piece of cloth.

“Two things I must now show you,” he said as he turned to her, “and this will serve as blindfold, and will be used for both. For the first, your eyes will be bound and your hearing will be tested; you must speak not, only listen to the silence awhile to use your ear to it. Then you must seek out my steps, and try to take hold of me as I pass you by – I shall be as silent as I can. For the second, I shall judge the lightness of your step; my eyes will then be bound, and you must walk by me so that I cannot hear you. Take a step only when you know where to place it, and do so slowly, but steadily, so that you do not waver; walk as a cat would – keep yourself well balanced, your weight on one foot at a time as you move.”

“This seems to me a children’s game,” Éowyn said, to him; and a sudden thought came to her mind, of their own children, and if they would play such a game with them – and a great wonder and relief coursed her to know that she would indeed wish for his children, and care for them, and love them dearly, as she would the family they would then make together.

“Aye, you might see it thus, if you will,” said Faramir, and for the lightness in his voice she paused her thoughts, though her smile lessened not; “it is a game, then. And as part of such game, once you do catch me you must also guess which way I am facing.”

“But surely if I have hold of you I would know this from the start? I would have no need to guess.”

“Do you think so? Take hold of my sleeve, then, closer to its hem. Now, you see that I may face you,” he said, then turned his body, “or face well away, and your grasp does not change all that much.”

“It may be so, but what need would there be for this? Except, perhaps, to grab at one when my eyes are bound.”

“Aye, and to find your bearings when seeing little or naught; and your eyes need not be bound for that, a darkened room or the hour of midnight on a moonless, starless night would do quite the same. And if you had to grasp at one, then strike to save yourself, you would need to know without much thought where the chest would be, at what height the heart, where to grasp the neck, where to strike the middle.

“In truth, such a purpose was not imagined from the start – that the rangers would not be seen or heard, these alone mattered; and, as a test for how silently a man could walk and how fine a hearing another one had, this game was made. Yet, with the years, the skills of the ‘blinded’ were made better as well, and their benefits understood; and these days they are entered into the training, be they still of lesser import.”

“Blind me, then,” she said, “and see if I can hear you.”

And Faramir reached out to fasten the cloth around her eyes. And he wondered that they should play such a game on the eve of his departure, and that she would so easily accept to have her eyes bound with him so near, even in this very chamber; and he was heartened for it, for such trust, he knew, was the very best of signs. Then when the knot was tied he placed his hands upon her shoulders, and, after a moment more, he moved away to reach the barren wall behind him. From the distance he watched her, her head bent to one side as she strained to hear, her hands held ready at her side, her fingers spread. Sheathes of light fell upon her, for she stood before the windows, and her tresses glinted golden from them, and the cream coloured skirts of her gown melded soft shadows with light gleaming folds. And she was beautiful.

And for a time he was bound to his place, for there before him stood Éowyn Shield-Arm, the Lady of Ithilien, in strength and grace – and he loved her; and gazing upon her now, and thinking of their days together, he felt and thought the feeling was returned. And for this sudden knowledge, till now perceived but kept hidden somehow, Faramir would have walked to her to take her in his arms and press his lips to hers, to remain by her side and no longer part from her. But there had been no proper words spoken between them, and he felt they were needed before any such shows of love. Nigh three months had passed since their vows had been spoken – but they had not been meant and so, were empty; and even as he would were they not wed, Faramir wished they would speak of their hearts before all else – for to rush the beginning when for so long a time they both had watched and waited did not seem right to him.

And so, he reigned his thoughts once more, though his heart remained light and lifted; and as he walked around her softly, meaning to near her from behind, he let the game begin.

In walking he made little sound, and, now and then, her head would turn to hear it. But in the end he came upon her, and she took little notice of it. And he watched her for a moment more, how she drew her breath so lightly that her chest barely moved; then, with a smile upon his lips, he leaned towards her and blew a light breath of his own upon her skin. And she whirled towards him swiftly, her hair and skirts flowing in waves, and, with a gasp, she reached out to grab his arms; but he moved away in haste and her hands did not touch him.

So Éowyn straightened, and strained to listen once again; and, as her eyes were bound she knew not that Faramir was standing only three steps before her, and that his eyes were laughing. Two more such breaths of air she felt upon her skin, each time a shiver passing through her; and on the third she reached out just so that she managed to grasp her husband’s sleeve. Then as she took hold of his left arm with her other hand she let out a laugh both merry and proud. And it struck her as she stood there that she would no longer see him for seven days or more, no longer hear his voice, nor feel him at her side in sleep; and she knew she would miss him sorely. And for that thought her fingers twisted in the silk of his shirt, as if afraid that he would slip from her grasp and move away once more.

“There… you are facing me,” said Éowyn; and she was saddened that their game would thus draw closer to its end, and he would leave her side before too long.

“I am,” Faramir answered, and watched her as he rarely had before, so close to her and she to him; and he took in her shape, her scent, her very being, as if to brand them to him memory for the long days to come when would not be near her.

“Were you not meant to remain silent?” she asked; and he said: “I was; but you have seized me now, and I may speak.” And they knew not that the words they spoke felt empty upon their ears, meant only to stall for time and little else.

“Seized?” she asked. “Then if you are the prisoner, and I the blinded man that seized you I should well know where to strike – middle, heart, curve of the neck.” And even as she spoke she felt a strange mood come upon her, bold and full of mischief, and she wondered whether it was because her eyes were bound and she could not see his own; but that thought was fleeting. And then the fingers of her left hand raised from about his wrist and trailed slowly up his arm to reach his shoulder; her other hand moved from his left arm and rested against his heart, and for a moment she merely stood and felt its beatings. Then her left hand moved once again and settled lightly about his neck; and she wondered what his thoughts might be, and wondered at her doings, but mostly at the beatings of her own heart, which she could feel steady and mounting.

Some moments passed, and Faramir neither spoke nor moved; and her hand rose up to his temple, then to the edge of his brow, lowering next to settle upon his cheek. And her touch was light, like to the softest breeze or smallest drops of rain; and he turned to it, and she felt his heart quicken. And for a time Faramir only stood before her, knowing not what had spurred her actions thus – perhaps his leaving, and she wised to remember him as well – but welcoming her touch and wary to move himself lest she would shy away. And before long the light touch turned to light caress, and Faramir’s breath lowered even as his heart skipped. But when her right hand reached his neck a shiver passed through him, and he raised his hands to hers and encircled her wrists.

And Éowyn started in turn, then came back to herself – for his touch was sudden, and his hands warm. And when he lowered hers down to his chest she felt the hurried beatings of his heart, and her breath nigh stopped in wonder. And for her deeds she dared not speak, and dared not move once more; and she fell still.

Then his hands left her and he took one step back; and she felt bereft without the feel of his body close by. But then she felt his hands fumble with the knot tied over her tresses, and with her hands still raised she stood like frozen; for she both wished to see and not to see his eyes, hear and not to hear his voice. But he unbound the cloth in slow and steady moves, saying nary a word; and just as he took it from upon her eyes he bound his own, so that neither of them could see the other in the eye just yet. For a moment he paused, then drew one step backwards, and then another; and Éowyn knew the game would begin anew.

And so it was, indeed. And soon enough Faramir caught his lady as she walked softly by, his fingers clinging at the folds of her skirt. And he expected she would turn away, but she stayed rooted to the spot instead, watching him with baited breath, and waiting. So his hands moved, rising slowly and lightly to rest about her middle, barely a touch at all; and before she knew it Éowyn moved closer to him. Then Faramir’s head lowered slightly and his hands moved to trail along her arms; with his fingers he traced the hem at her shoulders where bare skin began, but went no further. A moment passed, and then another; they both were still, and Faramir was waiting.

But then Éowyn raised a warm hand to his tunic, and she neither pushed away nor pulled in close, but simply let it rest upon his chest. And so, at length, his own hands came to her face, and he traced her brow and the edge of her cheeks, and brought his fingers to her chin. And even as he told himself once more that no words had passed between them, that it would not be proper, still he longed to press his lips to hers; for her skin was soft and her hair breathed of Ithilien, and he could feel no fear from her – only a wisp of expectation and some soft threads of desire, barely woven and barely known. And when he reached the corner of her lips he felt her mouth was parted, and his head lowered with a short gasp; and her hand tightened against his tunic, and her lids lowered and his head bent the more, and her breath hitched when she felt his own, light and heavy altogether, and warmer than his hands at the back of her neck. And she lost hold of herself, and her eyes closed, and her mouth lifted, and she waited – and he could feel her waiting.

And suddenly a knock came from outside, and a voice, deep and muffled, said: “My lord, we are set to depart…” And Faramir drew swiftly back, startled and stiff. And for a time they both stood breathless, he with his head bowed, she with her hand upon his arm; neither moved.

Then Faramir reached up to take away the cloth that bound his eyes and slowly raised his gaze to meet her own. And they looked long one at the other, and read in each other’s eyes longing and love, and joy, and all that which they could not say. For he was soon to leave, too soon for both their comfort, and little time remained to speak of such things, though they dearly wished to.

“My lord…!” the voice came once more then, and they both started for it.

“I come!” Faramir answered; and with his eyes intent upon his lady wife he thought of his return, when they would speak together and have their words make for a new beginning. But till then they would wait, and set an order to their hearts and thoughts; and they would think of the future lying before them now, and of their hopes returned. And with his heart brimming he smiled at her, and Éowyn smiled in kind, and there was sunshine in her eyes where she beheld him.

And then Faramir took one of her hands in his, and he walked slowly towards the door gazing upon her still. And hand in hand they made to where his horse was readied and the two other men were mounted. And in the view of all they stood silent one before the other, their hands clasped still; and Faramir leaned gently in and kissed her brow. Then he released her hand and mounted, and with a final look as his farewell he left for Minas Tirith.

~~~~ 

Three hours had passed since noon, yet still the sun shone warmly upon the walls of Minas Tirith. Here and there, its rays came down in sheer curtains of light as they broke through from between the clouds, and not few were the ones to look out at whiles and marvel at the beauty of such a sight. The Lord Faramir stood at the windows of his office, his gaze settled upon the sky as well; and he thought of Ithilien and the road home. Ten days had gone by much too slowly, but in the end his duties were fulfilled, and now he could depart.

It had been good to see once more Minas Tirith and her people, but within the City’s walls he had found little of the rest of old. His rooms had felt empty in the mornings and at night, his bed too large; and for the first time in many months he had not felt at ease to walk the halls of the Stewards.

His lady had been often in his thoughts, for many sights in the White City seemed to bring her image before him: a horse that caught his eye summoned the thought of the Lady of Rohan and her graceful bearing astride; white flags or banners would bring to mind her figure clothed in white, the paleness of her skin; the dark-haired ladies of the Court reminded him of golden tresses which glinted in the sun.

Too, he had given thought to his departure, and the little time before it. In the cool of the night and the bright light of morning, he remembered the feel of her body, the touch of her skin, her breath upon his lips before another’s voice had made them part; and he wished to have delayed the moment of his leaving for a time, if even for an hour – enough to speak to her that very day and know her heart for good, and share his own. Well could he imagine their words, how he would have taken her hands in his, how they would have sat together or stood together and listened to the other speak – how their eyes would have brightened and their hearts would have lifted and soared at the end. And he would wonder why he had left instead, saying not a word to her, having no words from her in return, only to find the answer a mere moment later, clear and unwavering: an hour, ten hours more – they would have brought too little time, and though he could not have brought himself to leave her side then, he had been bound to do so. To begin their days together by a parting of ten days or more had seemed unthinkable to him – better it had been to delay the beginning itself. And Éowyn had seemed to understand and think the same as him.

And now the days had passed at last, and once again Faramir waited to be summoned when all would be prepared for his departure; and he smiled at the thought that there was none now here to fill his time until that very moment came. Yet barely a quarter mark went by before he was proven wrong, for his Lord King entered his office with a deliberate shuffle of feet. And after they offered greeting his Lord said:

“Night will have fallen for many hours ere you reach the hills of Emyn Arnen and your home.”

“Aye, my Lord, that is so,” said Faramir; “yet I have spoke with my men – they also wish to depart this day. But, if I may ask, why do you say this? Is it that I no longer have your leave?”

“No, my Lord Steward, it was yours when you asked it of me this morning, and you have it still. But I would ask you now, as I did not at first – why this rush, for you could well leave with the dawn of the coming day? Does the City stifle or are you anxious to return?”

It seemed to Faramir then that the words of his King were perhaps meant to hold another meaning, and from his tone of voice he thought that he could glimpse it; and, after a little while, he said in the same manner:

“The City will ever be dear to me.”

A fleeting smile passed over the face of the King, and he gave a nod. Then looking still at Faramir, his eyes piercing and keen, he asked him in a lower voice:

“I have asked you this when you came before me not two weeks ago, and you gave me your answer then – but we were in company, and your words might have been hindered for it. So I would ask now again, my friend: how do you fare? And how fares your lady?”

“We are well, my Lord,” he answered, and thought to say no more; but in the eyes of his King a question lay unanswered, and he could feel worry in his heart, and unease as well. And Faramir said: “We are both well… and we are well together.” And he smiled in earnest for what was left unsaid, and held his gaze open for his Lord to search and understand. For though in any other matter Faramir would welcome his word and counsel, of this he would not speak with him; but still he would have his worries rest. And after a little while Aragorn smiled as well, and his eyes cleared and filled with joy.

“I am gladdened to hear it,” he said, and Faramir saw that he was heartened indeed.

And then King and Steward remained before the windows and watched the light of the sun glisten and shine; and they spoke for a time, of Gondor and Ithilien and of the years to come, until a man came to announce that all was ready, and Faramir took his leave. And so, he left that day for Emyn Arnen, making haste and good time. And he cared little for what his men or the people might think of such a flight, but wished only to be close to his lady once again, thought only of her sight, her voice, her touch. But even so the hours flew past him, and the night fell, and the moon and stars shone bright upon him ere he reached his home and her side.

And he knew not that his lady wife watched those very stars as she looked out from her window; for so she had done since the dusk had fallen and a messenger had come to say that the Lord Faramir would return that night.

From that moment on she had been anxious for a sign of him – but none had come; and now that the skies had darkened so that no sign could be perceived in the distance she waited for the time when her lord would come to her side, bringing with him the calm and peace that she had missed since his departure. For even with no proper care to cloud her days Éowyn had been restless and uneasy.

His absence she had felt most keenly, in the forests that had seemed plain to her, even with the many changing colours of the leaves and grass, in her barren room, in the cold and empty bed. Much too soon, it seemed, she had begun to miss the sight of him, the sound of his voice, the knowledge that she could have them both simply by walking to his office, the knowledge that he was near. And she had thought of him often, wondered how he fared, how his days passed – whether his dreams and sleep were restful; for hers had not been so.

In their days together she had grown accustomed to the weight of his body by her side at night, and without it she would for a long time twist and turn under the covers before settling at last; and when she started awake in the early hours of morning she had trouble in finding sleep once more. That very day she had awakened with the first changes wrought upon the sky before the dawn, though sleep had claimed her only after the hour of midnight the night before; and she had watched the sky outside the window for a little while, but then had turned away – for Faramir was not with her.

And now she sat by that very window and watched the sky once more, and she waited for her lord’s arrival; for they would speak then, and she would tell him of her love, and he would tell her of his heart, and their bright days would begin in earnest. Of this she thought as she tried to ward off sleep, but the hours passed one after the other, and in the end it claimed her, and Éowyn gave into dreams while thinking of his voice. And when she woke again, only moments later it seemed, she heard it close beside her through some haze, caring and warm.

For Faramir had come at last, and had rushed to her side, knowing the hour to be late, but hoping still that his lady would be awake and waiting. Upon entering their rooms he had found her sleeping, but his spirits had not lowered – instead, the very sight of her had warmed his heart, even as she sat before him by the window, with her slender arms resting upon raised knees and her long hair unbound and tangled along her shoulders. And he had neared her with slow steps, and had whispered her name while kneeling at her side, needing to say it and hear it once again.

“You are here, you have come…” she whispered then as he placed a kiss upon her brow, and she raised her hands to cling to him.

“Aye,” Faramir answered, “and now that I am come so too must you come away, to your rest… “

“Nay, but I wished to welcome you-“

“And in the morning so you shall, and we shall speak, of what we must and long to – but in the morning only; for now, come, to your rest and mine.”

And saying this he took her in his arms and carried her to their bed; and he laid her head upon the pillows and covered her body, and set her to sleep in the very robes that she had worn that day. And he laid beside her in his shirt and breeches, and did not change into night robes from the draw of rest and of the comfort of his bed. And in her sleep his lady reached for him, and he held her close; and so it was that when Éowyn woke the coming morning she felt the weight of his arms around her, and the softness of his shirt beneath her cheek.

Then, when she moved her head upon his chest and made to raise, his right hand came up softly to caress her cheek; and she felt a shiver run through her for the warmth of his fingers and the tenderness of his touch.

“Good morrow,” said he.

“Good morrow,” she replied; and as she held her eyes fast upon his shoulder a smile came to her lips. Then she looked up at him, and, with eyes bright, she said: “It was not a dream, then.” And Faramir smiled in kind and shook his head; and as he gazed at her he felt his chest fill with great happiness.

After a time they rose, to see the other better if for nothing else; and he leaned against the dark frame of the bed, while she sat back facing him, close by his side. And only then did Éowyn realise that he was in his shirtsleeves, and she wore still the white gown from the day before; and with the white coverings around them they both seemed clear and new, like to the fresh, cool breeze of the first snow, or the bright light of morning upon the coming of spring.

And they looked long one at the other, as if no other thing could bring them any joy. And so clear was the look that passed between them that now, with the days gone by and the time set for their thoughts to be spoken, such words seemed nigh of no use. And for this thought that they both had Éowyn gave another smile, amused and abashed altogether, and Faramir grinned. But in the end he reached out for her hands, and lowered his head even as he raised them, then kissed them long and soft; and with a smile still on his face he said:

“I am home again, my lady, ten days from my departure; and I would ask you tell me of these days that you have spent here – for many times has Ithilien been in my heart and mind while seeing to my duties.”

And she said: “The days passed as any other, my lord; Ithilien neither grew nor lessened in them; but my hours were long. But you? What of your duties, were they well brought to an end?”

“They were,” he answered, “and what they told of was most pleasing. In all the corners of the realm of Gondor the crops were bountiful this year; it may well be the richest one yet.” Then he was quiet for a little while, and as he traced her fingers with his own he said in a deep voice: “I have missed you.”

And Éowyn smiled and said no more, for her heart had filled with warmth, and no other words came to her that could speak of it better. Then Faramir leant towards her, and with his hands along her face he pressed his brow to hers.

“Éowyn,” he breathed, “I have longed for the sight of your face, the sound of your voice, your words, your very presence, in all the days that I have been away.” And leaning back a little to look into her eyes he said: “As my lady wife, my very light and life, my happiness – I love you.”

And raising her hands to take hold of his wrists Éowyn closed her eyes to stay the tears of joy that had begun to flow; then at last her breath came easy and clear, and she looked at him and smiled, blissful and secure. And she said to him:

“And I you – as my husband, my lord, my peace of mind and ease of heart – my Faramir.”

And he was overjoyed, and his eyes were bright as he looked upon her; and in the end he leaned towards her once again, and his lips lingered upon hers in a soft, gentle kiss.

“And here do we begin again,” he whispered after a time, then kissed her once again, pressing their bodies close.

And upon that day, and in the ones that came, they were ever at the other’s side, walking together arm in arm and hand in hand, speaking, and hoping and dreaming. And they knew that new days would begin indeed, and that they would be free from cares and worries – that their future would be bright, and that both their trials and burdens would at last have come to an end.

~~~~

~~~~

~~~~~

~~~~~

Upon the ninth day of the ninth month of the year the King of Rohan entered the gates of Minas Tirith. Thirty men rode with him, their helms and shields glinting in the sunlight as they passed through the City streets, and all were looked upon in wonder, for they were tall and fair of face, and strength was in their arms. Among the cheers of the people Éomer made his way up to the Citadel and the Tower Hall, and there he greeted King Elessar and the Lords in attendance; and he spoke with them for a while, of agreements and matters of state, until all men took their leave and the two rulers found themselves alone. And they greeted each other once more, as brothers in arms and friends; and these were the words they spoke:

“Well met, brother,” said Éomer.

“Well met, indeed,” Aragorn replied. “You are well, I hope?”

“I am, as you seem to be also; as many things blessedly seem to be these days. The land itself looked as if at rest as we rode here, and even the night at peace. My heart lifted to see it.” Then the smile that he bore in his eyes shifted, though it lessened not, and he said: “Better still it would be if I could greet my sister, also; is she not here?”

“Not yet, my friend; we received news of your early coming only the day before, I did not bid her hasten. She and the Lord Faramir shall arrive here in the morrow, as had been decided from the first.”

“I see… I shall await her coming, then,” he said, and nodded. Then after a little pause he turned his eyes upon the King of Gondor: “But until that moment, would you tell me how she fares, how she has seemed to you to this day? Nigh to four months have passed since last I saw her, and what letters she has sent to me have told me little all this time.”

“How her days have been of late I fear I cannot answer, for it has been many weeks since last I saw the Lady Éowyn. Yet I venture to think that she is well.”

“Not once has she returned to the City? Then you spoke to her outright, before she made for Ithilien?”

“Nay, that I did not do; but nine days ago I had speech with Faramir for a fashion, and he led me to believe so.”

Here Éomer turned his gaze away and parted from Aragorn’s side a little; then in a careful voice he said:

“I mean no slight to the Lord Steward, for truly he is a man of honour. Yet, would you trust his words alone in this matter? If they were both unwell, would he not try to hide it from you? Would not my sister try to hide from me? For we were those who brought them together.”

“I trust him to speak freely and be true to me, even in this. I doubt that we ever shall speak of his wedded days at length, but in even so little words he told me that he and your sister were well, and I saw no deceit in him. For now, I am contented.”

“Yet I myself cannot be so satisfied; he may be well, but she may not…“

“My friend, Faramir would not lie-”

“But he might be blind; he may indeed think my sister at ease, but can you not remember what she has had to hide from? She knows well how to keep her heart hidden, and her mind also.”

“Even from a man who can read one and understand the other? I know he can do both. Come, Éomer,” Aragorn said as he walked towards him, “Faramir is a good man, and wise – you have been told so by others, you have seen it for yourself, and I tell you it again this day. For his goodness he would not let any harm fall upon your lady sister, for his wisdom he would not overlook what hurts she might have.” Then he fell silent for a moment, and watched his friend with a steady gaze. “All this you have known for many months,” he said, “and you have had less doubt before than you do now.”

“Aye, that is true,” Éomer answered, and his voice was lowered as he spoke, “for she was still by my side then, and not so many leagues apart. And it was that distance which led me to such thoughts, the distance and the passing days; so much have I thought that mere words will not suffice, be they from the most honest man in Gondor. Nay, I shall not be satisfied until I see Éowyn for myself, and she and her lord together.”

And so, he waited for his sister’s coming, his heart but little eased, and his thoughts wandering still. And when the morrow came and the Lord and Lady of Ithilien arrived, he was ever watchful of their bearing and their manner towards each other, and mindful of their words. And after a little time he felt some comfort, for there was naught left of the strain he had seen set upon Éowyn’s shoulders four months before, and she seemed to be in good spirits indeed. Yet that alone would not suffice, he thought, for her ease beside her husband could well have come from habit, and her mood from his own arrival; and with the Lords and Ladies of the Court beside them Éomer thought she could be little else but smiling and content.

So he bade to be shown the fair gardens of the City, decked in gold and brown and copper-red in these, the early days of Fall; and soon he found himself treading white polished alleys of stone, his sister at one side, his brother by wedding at the other. And he was heartened to see the Lord Faramir walk proud and untroubled beside him, for surely he would not do so were he at odds with his wife and their marriage a burden to them both. Indeed, a light shone in his eyes, as did in Éowyn’s, and, when Éomer asked of the lands of Ithilien, the smiles they gave alongside their answers were true. Verily, his doubts did lessen, and it was Faramir himself who aided him to put the final ones at rest.

“My Lord,” he said at length, “I would leave you now, for you and your sister no doubt have words to be said that are meant for yourselves alone.” And with a parting look between he and his lady, and a kiss to her hand, the Steward took his leave.

So it was that brother and sister walked alone for a time; and Éomer gave much thought to that leave-taking, for he had once more caught a glimpse of his sister’s gaze as her lord withdrew, and for the love and happiness he thought to read there his heart lifted in hope. So, in the end, he paused in his walk, and by the shadow of an old tree he bade Éowyn wait, and said:

“Sister, the Lord Steward spoke rightly; I have indeed wished to speak to you alone for quite some time, even from before I came to Gondor, for I rode here desiring to know if you are at peace with your life and at ease with your husband. What I have seen of you and he together has set my heart at rest, yet for the love I bear you, still I would hear your own words. So do not think ill of me now if I ask: how are you and your lord?”

And Éowyn smiled at her brother, and his heart lifted even for that, for rarely had he seen her smile so readily in their later years.

“Be not troubled, Éomer, for our days come light and peaceful, and I am glad.” Then looking into his eyes she said: “I love him, and he loves me in turn,” and her own eyes were laughing as she spoke.

“That is… that is most well!” Éomer cried, and they embraced, and laughed together. Then he stepped back to hold his sister by the arms, and in a sterner voice he asked: “Why not tell me, then, and leave me to my worries all these months?”

“Because such time has had to pass before we could come to these feelings; I did not hold Faramir so dear to me at first, brother, and less than a month has passed since I began to know my heart. As of my telling you since then, how was I to begin? Such news I could not convey by way of a letter, and you yourself did not ask.”

“Nay, for I thought you would not answer. Therein lies the fault,” said Éomer, “and I shall have a care not to repeat it, for I would not have silence come between us. But until we are apart once more, and written words alone are there to serve us, would you not speak more to me of these, your light and peaceful days? And of your lord and husband who has made them so?”

And as she gave answer to his questions, and she herself asked other still – of the lands of her first home, of her kinsmen, and of her brother’s days without her – evening nigh fell around them; and they returned to the Halls of the King and the Great Hall of feasts, and her lord joined them once again, in easy talk and merriment. Then night came and brought its soothing rest, and after night the new day followed, heralded by the dawn; and, when Éomer rose and walked to the edge of the balcony to watch the first ray of sunlight pierce from between the clouds, another glimmer of white and gold caught his eye to his right. And turning towards it he saw the Lord and Lady of Ithilien as they watched the sky from their chambers.

A chair had been brought out upon their own balcony, it seemed, and Éowyn sat in the arms of her lord, her hair unbound and glinting, and her head resting upon his shoulder; a white coverlet was draped around their shoulders, and their hands were clasped. And watching them Éomer wondered whether they had barely risen, as he had, or if instead they had been awake for longer. And so, he saw not the sun rising above the pale horizon, but instead its first breath of light as it fell upon them both; and in that moment he thought them happy and blessed.

And he retired with a smile upon his face, and through the coming hours he slept with a lightened heart; for he now knew his sister had found joy and comfort, and that the healing of the New Age had truly come upon her also.

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Author’s note: I thought I should give them their sunrise in the end, from top to finish, seeing as this story was finished as well. Also, as the last year of the Third Age would be the coming year, Éomer was only thinking metaphorically…

Well, it seems this story is complete at last, after the basic plot line came to me ten months ago. I’d like to say thank you to all who have read and reviewed this tale, it really helped me get a move on and write. Special thanks (in the order of the helping hand being lent) to: my pal Base for reading the first chapter in the beginning and encouraging me to continue, Raksha for her comments and especially for the Faramir and Ithilien “ramblings” – the storyline from the middle onwards turned out so much better because of them – Speak Friend And Enter for her help with parts of chapters 4, 5 and 7, and, of course, Yvonne for being endlessly patient and listening to every single one of my chapter developments before I began writing them.