Ėowyn, breathless and laughing, looked down into her brother’s face as he lifted her in the last movement of the dance. He lowered her gently to her feet and held her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head as he often used to do when about to part from her. Only this time it was she who would be leaving.

“You made the most beautiful of brides today, sister. We will miss you sorely, but your husband is a worthy man. I could not let you go to one who was not.”

“Speaking of my worthy husband,” Ėowyn said, looking around the Golden Hall, blazing with candles and happy faces, “where is he?”

“Out sulking in jealousy somewhere because I stole one dance, perhaps?” Ėomer asked, grinning. The musicians were tuning up for the next dance. “Since the villain has abandoned you, it will serve him right when I take this next dance as well.” He held out his hand.

A tiny shadow dimmed her smile and she hesitated. “I had best go and find him. Something may be wrong…”

Her brother stepped closer and took both her small hands in a comforting grip. “What could be wrong on his wedding day? Faramir loves you, sister. Never have I seen a man look happier that he looked when you were joined.”

“I do not doubt his love. But there was something…,” her voice trailed off. She forced a smile and said, “Go and find yourself a pretty girl to dance with, brother. I am going to find my husband.” She kissed Ėomer quickly on the cheek, lifted her trailing skirts of cream and gold and walked toward the massive doors at the front of the hall.

She scanned the stone portico and the steps leading down from Meduseld, but her new husband was nowhere to be seen. She stood looking for a moment out over the distant mountains and at the stars that glittered above them. Their light reflected back her own joy; no cloud dimmed their pure brightness. She sighed. There was a small cloud on her own horizon, and it had been gradually spreading over the last few hours. Ėomer was right – Faramir had seemed the happiest of men earlier on this day of their joining. There had been a simple handfasting in the Great Hall, then feasting and many toasts to their joy, their futures, and to their children. Faramir had laughed and offered some toasts of his own. Then there had been dancing.

It had been when the dancing started, she realized, that the shadow seemed to fall on her husband. He was a graceful dancer, and she had not noticed, at first, in the general merriment that he seemed abstracted. It was only when she had looked around after that dance with her brother that she realized something was wrong.

She turned and headed toward the courtyard that flanked the right of the Great Hall. It had been one of her favorite places when she was growing up. Bordered by stone walls, it held nooks and crannies and stone benches half-hidden by vines. In the courtyard, one could pick a spot to look though the open side-doors and stone arches into the Hall while remaining unseen. She went half-way down the courtyard and found the low stone archway she remembered, the entrance to her favorite hideaway. At first, she thought no-one was there, he was so still. A glint of white from his silk tunic first betrayed him, then a prick of silver from the pendent of tree and stars that he wore around his neck. As she stepped toward him, she saw the glistening tracks of tears on his face, silvered by the moonlight that filtered through the trees overhead. At the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes, he opened his eyes.

He sighed. “I am sorry…” His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes again. She crossed slowly to the bench tucked in the corner of the alcove where he sat. She leaned down and kissed his closed eyes, then his mouth, gently. She sat down beside him and said, “You have nothing to be sorry for, my lord, but tell me what is wrong.”

He turned, put his arms around her, and settled her comfortably against his side. “I am sorry, Ėowyn, that I have marred this day with sorrow. I am happier than I can say to be your husband….” His voice thickened and he broke off. He leaned his head against hers, and they were silent for a time. She closed her eyes and waited. Now that she was with him, all was well. Whatever it was, all would be well.

Finally, he spoke again. “It was the dancing. When we were growing up, we had dancing masters, of course. He was so graceful and he loved dancing. I had two left feet, and I hated it. I just wanted to be left alone with my books.” Faramir gave one small, ruefull laugh.

Eowyn held her breath. No need to ask who ‘he’ was.

“He would tease me out of my sulks, and make me practice with him. He even took the girl’s part. He said that he intended to dance at my wedding one day, and that I wasn’t going to disgrace him by not knowing how to dance with my bride.”

Ėowyn leaned against his chest. She felt rather than heard his sigh. “I remember one day in particular. It was late autumn and rain was pouring down outside. He said it was a good day to practice dancing for my wedding. I told him that I wasn’t ever going to marry anyway, so he and the dancing master could both leave me alone. He picked up the book I was reading, threw it on the floor, and dragged me to my feet. He looked me in the eyes and said, with absolute conviction, 'You will marry a beautiful girl with hair like spun gold and laughing eyes. She will also dance like a piece of thistledown, brother, so I suggest we get to work, or you’ll be stepping all over the poor girl’s feet on your wedding day.' He took the tablecloth off the table in the corner, tied it around his waist and became my ‘bride’. We laughed and danced until we both fell on the floor with exhaustion. By the end of that day, I could dance.”

He rested his head against the back of the stone bench. “I miss him so much. When I saw you dancing with your brother, it brought it all back to me. He should have been here. He should have been able to have one dance with my wife, just once.” Bitterness and loss roughened his quiet voice.

“But he did. He did dance with me, my love.”

He turned her so that he could look into her eyes. “What do you mean, Éowyn? When?”

“I told you I had met your brother when he came for Théodred’s wedding, but I never told you how. You did not seem to want to speak of him, and, well… I have never told anyone about it. It was the night of the wedding feast. I was twelve years old.” She smiled, thinking of her young self. “I was a disaster, like an awkward colt that has yet to grow into its legs. I was gawky and self-conscious. I hated the dress they forced me to put on for the wedding. I had refused to learn to dance, just like you, but there was no-one to make me. They all knew I wanted to be a boy. I loved archery and sword-practice. I was going to be a shield-maiden, not a dancing puppet to be made fun of. I ran away from my dancing-master, the poor man.”

Her husband laughed, and squeezed her hand in sympathy. “So after the feast, I fled from the Hall, terrified that someone would ask me to dance, or terrified that no one would. I’m not sure which. I came here, to this very spot, to watch. I felt so alone, hating who I was, wondering what the future held for me.”

“Then he came striding around the corner, heading for the side entrance to the Great Hall. He was humming along with the musicians and smiling to himself. Oh, Faramir, he was so very beautiful, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, love, he was very beautiful.” He held her close. “Tell me…”

“Well, he must have been about twenty when Théodred married, and he was simply the most splendid thing I had ever seen. He was tall and slim and he moved with such grace. He wore a red tunic, wine-red, edged in gold and black, with black leggings and boots. He had a gold circlet on his hair, and his hair was gold. I remember everything about him. I shrank back as he passed the bench, because I felt more grubby and awkward than ever compared to all that. He must have seen me move out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped at once. He looked around and saw me sitting, right where I’m sitting now."

"He came over and sat down beside me and leaned back against the wall. 'You are missing the celebration,' he said. He didn’t look at me directly, he must have seen how skittish I was. I told him I thought such celebrations were silly, a waste of time. He did not contradict me, just ask me what I considered a good use of my time. So I told him, told him I loved riding and running and swords. I told him I thought it was unfair to be expected to spend time learning embroidery and dancing instead of preparing to defend Rohan for what was to come."

“Your brother was easy to talk to. He really seemed to listen to me. Finally, he said, 'Well, lady, I agree with you about the embroidery, but dancing can be useful.'”

“I was dubious, and asked him how. He explained that as a soldier he had found that if one learned to dance it helped one’s swordplay. It added fluidity and quickness to one’s moves. I admitted I had not considered that. He smiled, then stood up and held out his hand. He said he would teach me to dance, right then and there, one soldier to another. And he did.”

She took Faramir’s hand in both of hers. “He had such kind eyes, and we laughed and laughed. He taught me the rudiments, then when he was satisfied, he took me into the hall and we danced in front of everyone. I was the envy of most of the women in the room. So, you see, he did get to dance with your wife.”

Faramir swept her into his arms and buried his face in her bright hair. He took one long, shuddering breath, then laughed. “May I have the next dance, my love, one soldier to another?”