This story wouldn't have been possible without the help of my good friend Rose Gamgee, whose hobbit stories appear on this site. Not only has she helped me through every chapter thus far, she's also been kind enough to let me write in the sandbox she's created, though I'll admit that it'll be a while before we actually get to the point where the two fic universes collide. Big thanks also to Miana and Ilmarë, who have been very supportive throughout this fic.

At any rate, I hope you enjoy this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

*~*~*~*

PROLOGUE

Vows

*~*~*~*

Among the Rohirrim, wedding ceremonies were simple. The bride would be brought to the bridegroom's house, and there her father would perform the rites. A grand feast would follow that night, but no one would dream of coming in style. Even for a King's marriage feast, the lowliest peasant would be invited and all would come. The horselords considered it a celebration of a new beginning for two persons, among a people who more often than not in those days had found ends.

But in Gondor, it had never been thus, and Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and sister of Éomer-king, was learning this most intimately as she stood in a preparation room, surrounded by the elven maidens who served Queen Arwen. They were assisting her with her attire, a gown of purest, richest white silk that rivaled even the Queen's wardrobe. She found it excessively grand and impractical, but she still smiled when the maids placed the tiara on her head. The gown was perfect, for there would be no riding today.

Just as the elves stepped back to examine their handiwork, there was a gentle rap on the door. At a nod from Éowyn, one of the maidens opened it, revealing her brother standing tall and proud on the other side. Éomer smiled when he saw her. "Dear sister, our people lose a treasure today," he said.

"And Gondor gains a burden," she replied. "But at the least, my Lord Faramir did know of this before he asked me to wed him."

At that her brother laughed and crossed into the room to embrace her. "He would have been a fool to do otherwise," said Éomer. "But I believe our people know and understand why he came to love you."

Éowyn pulled back, wary of the tears that were threatening to form in her eyes. Éomer looked at her kindly. "Our uncle would have loved to see this day."

She nodded. "But I believe he does see it, from wherever his spirit rests."

The Rohan King was silent for a time. At last he said, "Then let us away, sister, and I will give you to your new lord."

It was with those words that a hint of nervousness settled in Éowyn's mind, though her heart was free and clear of all such concerns. Her heart knew that Faramir would give her the life of peace which Rohan could not offer her, but what else came with giving her heart to the steward of Gondor? She would be giving up everything she knew, everything that, in its familiarity, had given her comfort during her life. What could her husband offer her in exchange for that?

Unfamiliar statues gave her passive looks as she walked by them on her brother's arm. Éowyn was sure that those statues had observed many brides as they walked to the Hall of the Kings. How many of them, she wondered, had felt as she did then, as a woman going not to her death, but certainly to the end of her way of life? What secrets could those statues tell, of brides that walked along that path?

A thousand such thoughts flew through her mind as she walked down the stone corridors on her brother's arm. For his part Éomer seemed to sense it, and when they reached the door he gave her a reassuring smile and kissed her cheek. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Éowyn nodded. The page who stood before them opened the doors wide, and the King of Rohan led his sister into the hall. It was significantly smaller than one would have anticipated for a royal hall, but it was elaborate even in its sparseness. Columns lined the perimeter, leading the gaze upward to a painted ceiling displaying the splendor of the night sky as it would appear in a few hours' time. On a dais at the far side of the room stood two thrones, and beyond was a stair that spiraled upward as if into the painted heavens.

The maid of Rohan was hardly aware of how she was moving forward as she took in her surroundings. But then she tore her eyes away from the stars that seemed to sparkle and looked ahead, where a small group of friends stood. Four hobbits stood alongside King Elessar and his elven Queen, and elf and dwarf stood like brothers. Mithrandir was there as well, but Éowyn's attention was fixed almost immediately on Faramir. He stood with the King, and as Éowyn and her brother drew nearer, Faramir smiled at her. She had never seen him so happy, and that smile wiped all doubts and fears from her mind.

When she reached the apex of the group, Aragorn stepped forward and addressed them. "Éomer-king, what brings you here today?"

His voice was solemn as he replied, but Éowyn could not take her eyes off Faramir. "I come to give my sister to Lord Faramir in marriage."

Aragorn turned to his steward. "Lord Faramir, what do you say to this?"

Faramir met Éowyn's gaze. "I say that Éomer-king could give no greater gift, and that I am hardly worthy of so beautiful and valiant a lady."

The King of Gondor looked to the King of Rohan once more. Éomer replied, "Then I say you are worthy of her. Take my sister's hand, Lord Faramir, and love her as you love yourself."

With a nod from Aragorn, Éomer gave Éowyn's hand to Faramir. She stepped away from her brother and faced Faramir as Elessar continued. "Long ago there lived an elf maiden named Lúthien and a man named Beren, and despite all they had been taught, they loved each other. For loving a mortal Lúthien Tinúviel gave up her immortality, and for loving the daughter of Thingol and Melian, Beren risked his life to retrieve the Silmarils. The story of their great love for each other has been immortalized in elven song, but the strength, depth, and passion of those feelings still live today." He paused and turned to Éowyn. "Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, do you give your whole heart to Lord Faramir today, as Lúthien did give hers to Beren, that you would give your life in exchange for his?"

Éowyn took a deep breath and nodded. "I do."

Aragorn turned to Faramir. "Faramir, son of Denethor, steward of Gondor, do you do the same, and give your heart to Lady Éowyn, as Beren did give his to Lúthien, such that you would give your life for her?"

Faramir did not hesitate. "I do."

The King cradled their joined hands in his and spoke a few words in Elvish, and then their translation. "May the grace of the Valar be with you, friends. May your love carry you through times of joy and times of grief, and may you find your strength within each other."

Aragorn smiled at them then, and their friends began to gather around. But Faramir pulled her to him, and before the small audience he kissed Éowyn, unashamed to show his love for her. They stayed long in that embrace, till Éowyn blushed and pulled back from her husband. He smiled down at her, and they turned to their friends.

After many congratulations and well-wishes, Éowyn looked up at her new husband, who held out his hand to her. "Our people await us, Éowyn," he said.

Almost shyly she placed her hand in his, and Faramir led her up the stair behind them to where she could almost touch the starry ceiling. Then he led her through an open doorway and onto a balcony. As the couple stepped into the brilliant sunset, Éowyn saw the crowd that had amassed in the streets below, and the people cheered. Faramir waved to them, and she did likewise. His people—their people—were welcoming her home.

*~*~*~*

It was late in the evening when Faramir and Éowyn finally left the King's palace and the grand party there and journeyed on to their home on the outskirts of the city. They talked and laughed as they rode in the small chaise through the moonlit streets, and Éowyn felt much happier now than she had before the wedding. She no longer doubted any of this, in head or heart—marrying Faramir was the best decision she had ever made. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes for anything but love, and the feeling in her own heart could be nothing else.

But when they arrived at their new home, they both fell silent as they crossed the threshold hand in hand. A servant approached and bowed before taking their cloaks, leaving the young couple quite alone. A few awkward moments passed before Faramir finally said, "Would you like to look around?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord. This gown is not as comfortable as it was when I put it on."

He nodded and took her hand again to lead her up the stairs. Soon they were in a spacious suite with three more doors, one on each wall. A fire was lit at the hearth, giving the room a gentle glow. Through the open door on the wall directly opposite from where they entered, she saw a large bed spread with white blankets—their marriage bed. Éowyn turned her gaze away from it, blushing slightly. Faramir must have seen her embarrassment, for he touched her cheek to turn her face to him. "Your dressing chamber is through there," said he, indicating a door behind her. With a small smile, she slipped through the door.

The room was lavishly furnished, and Éowyn suspected that for any night but this she would have had servants to assist her. But for tonight, she was content to be alone as she slipped out of her wedding gown and into the light nightgown that had been laid out for her. It would have been very simple, had it not had the appearance of fine, spun gold. The fabric lay in light and smooth folds against her skin that swished when she walked back to the door and into the main room.

Faramir walked through a door on the other side a few moments later and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. For all his decorum and formality during the day, there was now a look of untempered desire in his eyes when he gazed upon her. To Éowyn's surprise, she did not blush. She was too occupied herself with her husband, who had apparently forgotten his tunic in the room behind him; whether by oversight or intent, she knew nor cared not. He appeared before her a man in his prime, the fire highlighting the sculpted definition of his upper body as he crossed the room to her. And before she realized it, she was moving to meet him. He first took her hand and kissed it, then pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her to kiss her lips as well.

By then Éowyn was used to Faramir's desire to show his affection for her, but she had not been expecting the passion he showed in that kiss. He lifted her off the ground as he deepened the kiss, pushing further than he had ever dared, and she knew that the fire in this kiss was only the surface of the passion within them both. Before she had time to think about what was happening, she had buried her hands in his raven hair, and was wishing that this joy she felt when he held her would never end.

Finally the kiss did end, and Faramir set her on her feet again. Their eyes met, and Éowyn saw confusion in his countenance. "What is it, my lord?" she asked.

Tenderly he touched her cheek. "I was thinking of when I first kissed you," he replied. "I do not believe I ever got an answer to the question I asked you then, though your eyes might have said what your lips did not."

On his last phrase, he rubbed his thumb across her lips, and Éowyn shivered, remembering the blissful day when the shadow had been lifted from her heart and she had realized exactly how much Faramir had come to mean to her. Before she could properly respond, however, he wrapped his arm loosely around her waist and pulled her a little closer. He began to trail soft kisses down her neck, leaving her quite breathless and wondering if she even needed to respond to his words. But her heart compelled her to speak. "Faramir," she managed, as his mouth lingered against her pulse, which by then could have outpaced any of the Mearas. "Faramir, look at me."

With some obvious reluctance, he drew back. "What troubles thee, Éowyn?"

"I am not troubled," said she, then shook her head. "You say that on the day you first kissed me, I did not answer your question, but that I did not need to."

He nodded, stroking her cheek. "Some things speak more clearly and more honestly than our words, my love."

"I know," she replied, "but those words are still important, are they not?"

Faramir lifted a long blonde lock of her hair and brought it to his lips. "Yes, they are."

She took a deep breath. "I did not answer you that day, Faramir, because I feared awaking myself from a dream. I feared that if I told you, it would all slip away, back into shadow."

He took her hand in his and held it to his chest. "I am real, Éowyn, and my love is as real as you or me," said he, his voice an intense whisper.

"As is mine," she replied, marvelling at the warmth of his skin beneath her hand. "And I do love you, Faramir, as I never dreamt I would love. I once said that I feared nothing that could come in battle, and I still do not. But now I do not fear because I know that neither death nor pain will end my love for you."

Eyes half-lidded, Faramir rested his forehead against hers, running his fingers lightly through her hair. "I never doubted it," he murmured. "I could see it in your eyes, even when you would not see it for yourself."

"Oh, Faramir," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him, wanting nothing more than to be near him.

"My love," he murmured, his words almost lost as he pulled her against him and kissed her with a passion that surpassed Éowyn's every expectation. Yet she found that all her expectations were to be forgotten as the fire burned on late into the night.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 1

Tidings

*~*~*~*

The sun was dying in its vernal splendor as Faramir rode up to the top of the hill. Down below was another rider—had he not known exactly who it was, he would have thought it odd to see a woman riding astride, white as winter frost and radiant as the summer stars. Faramir smiled in exasperation and called, "Éowyn!"

From the valley, the white lady looked up, a playful smile on her face. Instead of riding up to meet him, she turned the horse's head the other way and galloped off. Faramir spurred his stallion forward and down the hill. Two could play that game.

If any of their guards had managed to catch up with them—which was unlikely—they would have found the Prince and Princess of Ithilien in the most immature game of chase anyone could devise. It was possible that an indifferent observer would have thought that they were merely practicing evasive riding, except that Éowyn would let Faramir get within arm's reach of her before spurring Alassë ahead. The two of them shared a kind of kinship which Faramir never would have imagined possible for a horse and her rider. And that made these games that much the harder for Faramir, whose horse, while swift and obedient, did not have the sympathy Alassë had for her mistress.

At last Éowyn and her white mare reached the crest of the next hill, and she dismounted. Faramir slowed to a canter, preferring to watch his wife in the crimson light. They would be riding back by starlight anyway, so he didn't see much point in not taking the moment he had to watch her, almost glowing in the sunset. It was no wonder that they had called her the White Lady of Rohan. Everything about her seemed to exude purity and grace.

Faramir reached the hill's peak and dismounted his stallion. For a while they stood in silence, until he felt a slight twinge of annoyance. She always won these chases, but then, they had never determined what winning really meant. He was suddenly reminded of a game he had once seen the hobbits play. So Faramir turned slightly and tapped her arm. "Tag."

Éowyn turned to him, startled. "What?"

He smiled slightly. "A game I saw Merry and Pippin play once."

"What is the objective, my lord?"

Faramir returned his attention to the reins to conceal his amusement. Even after two years of marriage, Éowyn was sometimes more likely to call him by title instead of by name. "I believe their purpose was to alleviate boredom by torturing Frodo."

"Poor Frodo." Éowyn was silent for a while before poking him in the back. "Tag."

Faramir blinked before remembering one of the fundamental rules of the game: that is, to make up the rules as the game progressed. "You can't do that."

"Why?"

"You can't tag the person who tagged you," he clarified.

"There is no one else to tag- you made up that rule," she accused.

Faramir looked over his shoulder. "That was how they tortured Frodo."

She shook her head. "Then it is no wonder that Frodo grows weary of this world, if his friends and companions treat him thus." There was an uncomfortable silence, and then she backhanded him before turning to Alassë. "Tag."

Faramir raised a brow, grabbing her by her arm and spinning her around. "I told you that was against the rules," he murmured, taking a step closer.

"You made that up, so I made up a rule as well," she replied, though, he noted with great pleasure, breathless already.

"I have that right," he said as Alassë whinnied and stepped about nervously. "I am your lord."

"Then I must be your lady," Éowyn replied, her eyes very bright.

"In every sense of the word." Faramir drew her into his arms then, and Éowyn did not protest as their lips met—she never did. Her kiss was as fiery and passionate as the blood-red sunset. It was comforting too, in a way he could never explain. It was as if the horrible end they had faced and survived had bonded them with magic stronger than that of the elves, and Faramir could taste it now. Theirs was a magic sweet and pure, like the snow that had melted just a few weeks before.

When they broke the kiss, Éowyn was clutching the collar of his tunic, and Faramir had buried his hands in her golden tresses. As she attempted to recover herself, he tipped her head back, exposing the alabaster column of her neck to his lips. "Faramir," she breathed.

There was a catch in her voice which he dearly loved to hear, but with great reluctance he drew back. Éowyn remained motionless, and after the passage of a few heartbeats, Faramir resumed his ministrations to her soft, almost delicate skin. Yet there was nothing delicate about her—though she was unearthly beautiful in his eyes, he knew that she had the strength of forged steel. How such a prize had come into his possession, he could never understand.

"My lord," she said in husky tones, "should we not ride back?"

Faramir paused, inhaling deeply and close to her skin. She was right; it was dusk now, the magical moment in the evening when knocking at the door but had not yet been admitted. Still, he tightened his arms around his wife. "The stars are not yet out," he murmured, "nor the moon."

Éowyn sought his eyes and brushed her lips against his. "I know." There was a soft earnestness in her voice.

Slowly he nodded. "Home," he said, then kissed her again as the sun's last rays died around them.

*~*~*~*

After the long, slow ride home and a late dinner, Faramir and Éowyn finally arrived in their chambers in front of the fire. They spent most of their days apart, Faramir working with King Aragorn while Éowyn quite often spent her time at the Houses of Healing. They spent their evenings together, but surprisingly they often spent their evenings in silence, as they sat then. Faramir was reading letters rather disinterestedly while Éowyn sat at his feet, spreading herbs out to dry before the fire. Finding them had, after all, been the real purpose of their ride out of the city that day; it would not be good for her to let them rot.

There was a sudden, rapid rustling of pages, and Éowyn looked up sharply. "My lord?"

Faramir held up a somewhat battered letter. "We have news from the Shire."

Éowyn smiled and stood to read the letter over his shoulder. "Are our friends well?"

He handed her the first page as he perused the second. The letter was from Merry, who cheerfully acknowledged in that page that he had been the only one with enough concentration at that moment to write a letter which conveyed much information. In the first few paragraphs he described the troubles they had had when they had returned to the Shire, but it lifted Éowyn's heart to hear that they were all doing so well.

"Bless that little Halfling!" her husband suddenly exclaimed.

"What is it?" Éowyn asked.

"Listen," said he. "'Earlier I said that I was the only one who was in the proper frame of mind for letter-writing today, but I didn't tell you why. Our dear Samwise, who married his Rosie when we returned from war, is now a proud father. Rosie gave birth to little Elanor only a few hours ago as I write this, on the twenty-first day of March. She is as lovely a babe as you would ever see, with golden curls that set me in mind of you, Lady Éowyn. She will be the fairest of the Shire, I would venture, as hair of such color is beyond rare among Hobbits.' There, my love, are you not pleased to know that this child is compared to you?"

The smile which Éowyn had worn since Merry's salutation had broadened into a wide grin. Faramir's hand found hers and guided her into the chair with him. But there was not room for two to sit side by side, so his hands pulled her down atop him. She rested her head and her hand against his chest, feeling his strong, steady heartbeat as he continued to read the letter aloud. "'We hope this letter finds you well. Pippin and Frodo send their love, and Sam would too if he could spare a moment away from his little one. We all miss you, and hope that we may meet again soon, under happy circumstances. With fondest love, yours, etc.'"

Still smiling, Éowyn took the second page from Faramir and read over it herself. "I am happy for them," she said at last. "What think you?"

"It is the best kind of news," Faramir said, kissing her forehead. "Tomorrow we shall have to send gifts for this little Elanor and her parents."

She nodded sleepily. "I would we could visit them."

"I too, dearest," said he. "But I fear I cannot long be spared from my duties here, not while the King has need of me." Éowyn took his hand in hers and began to trace the lines of his palm as he continued. "Lord Aragorn wishes me to go to Ithilien."

"When?"

"I do not know for certain, but I would venture by the end of June. I will not be gone long," he added.

Éowyn paused. "Can I not go with you, my lord?"

He stroked her hair. "Would you not rather stay here and study with the Healers?"

She shook her head. "I would rather be with you, wherever you are."

Faramir was silent for a time. "We will see when the time comes."

In the ensuing silence, she wondered at his reluctance. She knew that the road to Ithilien was still rough and unsafe, but her husband knew her abilities. It surprised her that he seemingly did not wish her to accompany him. With a sigh, she decided to change the subject. "Do you suppose," said she, "that the other Halflings will follow Sam's example?"

"Marrying and having children?" Faramir asked. "I would imagine so. Their valor would recommend them to any ladies of their choosing."

"And yet I hope they do not choose to marry where it is easy," she replied. "I hope they choose to love."

He held her a little tighter. "I cannot imagine doing anything else."

"Nor I," said Éowyn. "I could not imagine bearing the children of a man I did not love."

Ever so slightly, Faramir stiffened. Éowyn immediately regretted her choice of words. Since the summer before, Faramir had seemed insecure about the idea of having children. He never gave her a definitive answer, but she never pushed for one. In truth, the idea was a little frightening to her as well, but she could not tell if Faramir even wanted children anymore.

She sighed and stood. "It grows late, my lord."

She had taken a few steps toward her dressing room when Faramir said, "Éowyn." She looked over her shoulder. "I am sorry."

She gave him a strained smile. "It is nothing, my lord. I did not mean to upset you."

She turned away, and a moment later felt his hand on her back. "You did not upset me, Éowyn. But I have upset you, I believe."

She could not deny it, as much as she wanted to. Her lower lip began to tremble, and an unexpected tear fell. Éowyn did not understand why she was crying; this conversation had come and gone more than once in the two years they had been married without affecting her thus. Then another tear rolled down her cheek, and another. Valiantly she closed her eyes and willed herself to stop, but she couldn't. The tears kept coming.

Éowyn did not know what Faramir said or when he moved to embrace her. She did not react. She merely stood and cried while her husband held her, indifferent to his attempt to console. And yet she was not so wholly indifferent: she ached for him and craved his comfort. Especially when he was so very near.

At last her ears seemed to work properly again, and Faramir spoke. "Were your brother here, he would challenge me."

Wiping her eyes, Éowyn said, "Why, my lord?"

"He would give me a blow of his sword for every tear you have shed tonight." He tightened his arms around her. "And he would be right in doing so."

"My lord," Éowyn began.

"No, dearest," said Faramir, nuzzling the curve of her neck. "Please, do not contest this. It was wrong of me: I am sorry."

Éowyn swallowed hard. "Do you not want children, my lord? If it be so, you will hear not a word on the matter again."

His embraced loosened. "Éowyn, look at me," said Faramir. She turned and saw that his eyes were very bright. He cradled her face in his hands. "I want children. I want you to bear my children."

She looked at him curiously. "Then why this reluctance, Faramir?"

He looked away. "I am not ready, and I fear you are not either."

Éowyn touched his cheek. "Why?"

Faramir glanced back at her and rested his forehead against hers. "Forgive me," he whispered.

There was more in his voice than his words alone conveyed, and Éowyn felt that he was asking forgiveness for more than that evening, and from someone other herself. Still, she would forgive him as she could, and she pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss of absolution. It seemed to catch him off-guard, so when she pulled away, she stood on her toes and in his ear she whispered, "I love you, Faramir. That will never alter."

Nothing marked the passage of time as they stood in each other's embrace, save mesmerizing, tender caresses. Two years had not lessened what she felt in these sweet night hours when Faramir stroked her neck or ran his hands into her hair; if anything, the effect had intensified. Despite what had just transpired between them, Éowyn still found herself needing him intensely, painfully. He was forgiven, and there was no reason to hold back. Not from him.

She threaded her fingers into his hair; he looked at her for only a moment before mutual understanding passed between them and their lips met in a kiss far more passionate than the previous. There was nothing gentle about it as Faramir seemed to seek comfort for himself as much as he sought to give it. Éowyn could taste the desperation and powerful, driving need in him as he deepened the kiss.

Some time later she pulled away, gasping for air, needing it more but wanting it less than Faramir's kiss. When she finally met his gaze again, she felt his hand freeze upon her back, a silent, almost guilty question in his eyes. A moment later she knew his meaning and she nodded. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek, finding with his mouth every inch of skin he could. And one by one, he unfastened the buttons of her gown, and with each one he whispered her name, soft as the rain just beginning to fall.

*~*~*~*

It was not often that Aragorn, King Elessar, rode from his palace to the house where his steward lived, just outside the city. This time it was late at night, and merely sending a messenger to Faramir would not do. He needed his steward's advice on a matter that had to be dealt with in person, despite the rain.

The servant who opened the door to him was surprised, to say the least, at the King's appearance at the door in the middle of the night. Aragorn was ushered into the sitting room with as much ceremony as the man could muster. He waited for a few minutes, and the door of the sitting room opened, admitting a tired but alert Faramir. "My lord," the steward said, bowing to him.

"Thank you, Lord Faramir, for meeting me. I hope I have not disturbed you too much."

"It is nothing, my lord," Faramir said. "But something must be amiss, if it brings you here at this hour."

Aragorn nodded shortly. "I've had a message from Ithilien," said he.

Faramir looked at him sharply. "Is it about the construction of the new city?"

The King nodded again. "There is some fear of witchcraft in the woods now. Men have disappeared without a trace, and some of the search parties have not yet returned."

The steward went very still. "Is there by chance some mischief we have not seen?"

"I do not know," said Aragorn. "It would seem that something is lurking in the forests of Ithilien."

The younger man thought on it for a moment. "I will retrieve the messages I have had from the master of the construction."

With a small bow, Faramir left, leaving Aragorn quite alone with the crackling fire that leapt about and filled the room with a warm glow. There was something very familiar to the steward's house, something that made Aragorn feel welcome, no matter the hour. The chair in which he seated himself was inviting, and the fire gave him a feeling of drowsy comfort.

By the time Faramir returned, Aragorn might have drifted into sleep, had the door not opened. Muted footsteps entered the room from the door behind him, and Aragorn heard a woman's voice. "My lord?"

He stood to face the woman, intending to tell her that Faramir had stepped out of the room, but he did not see a maid, as he had expected. He saw Éowyn, but Éowyn as he had never seen her—eyes bright with midnight alertness, her hair disheveled and tumbling wildly past her shoulders, and in place of her normal gown, she was wrapped up only in a bed sheet, having obviously just woken up. At the sight of the King, her eyes widened and she gasped. Quickly she took several steps back, nearly tripping over the sheet wrapped around her slender frame.

"Lord Aragorn!" she cried. "I had no idea—"

The door opened again, this time revealing the steward of Gondor. Éowyn, already flushed with embarrassment, turned in horror at her husband. Faramir, by contrast, looked on with somewhat mystified amusement. "M- my lord," she stuttered.

He gave her a soft smile. "Excuse us for a moment, liege-lord," said he.

Aragorn nodded, and Éowyn fled the room, Faramir stepping out close behind her. The King finally allowed himself an embarrassed smile at the thought of the proud shieldmaiden of Rohan coming upon the King of Gondor thus attired. He always felt a degree of awkwardness around the steward and his lovely bride of Rohan. Éowyn had been so infatuated with him when they had first met, and had spent so long in shadow because of him, it had seemed. Yet when he had seen her after Sauron had at last been destroyed, she had been radiant, as Aragorn had never seen her. She had been at Faramir's side, accepting his attentions and affections with such true joy that Aragorn could not doubt that she loved him. But he did not know how it had happened.

Faramir returned then, a little flushed and avoiding his lord's eyes. "I am sorry for the interruption, my lord," he said. "I did not wake Éowyn when I left our chambers, and she was concerned when she woke alone."

"I understand," said Aragorn. He moved to the fireplace and sat in one of the plush chairs. Finally his curiosity overruled the matter he had come to discuss. "Lord Faramir, I have a question to ask of you."

The steward seated himself across from the King. "Anything, my lord."

Aragorn smiled slightly. "How did you come to ask for Lady Éowyn's hand?"

Faramir blinked. "An odd question," he commented. "But a worthy one, I suppose. I loved her immediately, as much as I pitied her."

The King nodded. "She had much to be pitied for then."

"Kindness and gentleness won her heart," Faramir continued. "She had thought that she could only love a man for his actions on the battlefield, and I flatter myself to think that that perhaps I showed her that battle was not the end, even when we thought the end was coming so swiftly upon us."

Slowly Aragorn nodded. "She loved me once, or thought she did."

For a moment Faramir was silent. "I know, my lord. She admired you greatly, but I am not sure she truly loved you."

The door opened then, preventing Aragorn's reply. Éowyn walked in, this time clothed in a white gown, though her hair was still untamed. She carried a flagon of wine, and after a curtsey to Aragorn, she walked to a small table on which stood several goblets. She filled two of them and brought them to the steward and the King. The wine delivered, she turned to leave again, but then Faramir caught her hand in his and she stopped. There was something very personal and intimate in the gesture, especially when he moved his hand up to hold her wrist, and Aragorn looked away, feeling as though he had intruded. "Stay," said the steward, his tone speaking far more than the single word.

Éowyn did as her husband bade her and sat beside him, nearer the fire. At last Faramir held out the bundle of letters in his hand. "I do not recall hearing anything from the construction master about this mystery, but I have not had a message from him in some days."

At this Éowyn looked up. "What mystery, my lord?"

Aragorn answered for Faramir. "Several men who are laborers at the site of the new city have disappeared. We know not what has befallen them."

She fell silent, a pensive look upon her face. Her husband took a drink from his goblet of wine. "Is it possible that there is some remnant of old magic there?"

Aragorn nodded. "Even with Sauron gone forever, some traces of the dark magic he wielded have scarred the land. They will take time to heal."

Quietly Éowyn asked, "Where were these men sent?"

"To the source of the river," said Aragorn. "It was thought perhaps that the city would be centered there."

The woman nodded slowly. "There is a legend in Rohan," said she, "of the protection a spring gives to a city. They say that one of the spirits of old rules the waters, and when a city is built there, he will lend his help to its citizens and protect them."

The King furrowed his brow. "Arwen has spoken of similar tales among the elves. The spirit was one of the ancient Valar."

Faramir looked at him curiously. "Do you think it is true?"

Aragorn stared down into the wine, as if it would give him an answer. "I do not know, but it is possible. Sauron would have known to lay his own webs and traps around such places, though he could not directly counter the power of the Valar." Slowly he stood and returned the goblet to the table from whence Éowyn had first retrieved it. "I must consult the elves on this matter. I shall speak on this with you on the morrow, Lord Faramir."

Faramir stood and bowed to him. "I shall look forward to it."

Éowyn stood as well. "Good night, Lord Aragorn."

As the King left the room, he heard Éowyn say something to Faramir, only to have her words cut off abruptly. He looked over his shoulder and saw the couple embracing, Faramir kissing her tenderly. Smiling, he slipped out of the house, suddenly eager to return home to his own wife's arms.

Yes, the idea of the hobbits playing tag to torture poor Frodo was straight from the FotR Extended Edition DVD. However, it did sound like something Merry and Pippin would do to alleviate their boredom.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 2

Gifts

*~*~*~*

The sun had scarce been up for an hour when Faramir arrived at the King's gate, his mind already occupied with the information Aragorn had given him the night before. He was ushered in immediately and with little ceremony; his visits there were frequent. A few minutes passed in the silence of the sitting room before Aragorn entered. Without prologue, the King said, "I am glad you are come, Faramir."

The steward bowed. "Is there any news, my lord?"

Aragorn shook his head. "None. But perhaps today we will be free of certain distractions."

There was a knowing amusement in his expression, and Faramir allowed himself a small smile. "My wife would be mortified to hear us take light of that."

"It was good to see her, despite what embarrassment she might have endured," Aragorn replied. "How does she fare? I had not seen her these many weeks, before last night."

Faramir nodded. "She is well."

"I am glad to hear it." The King gestured his steward to a seat, and Faramir set his documents on the table. "For I fear she must endure the time here in Minas Tirith without you soon."

Faramir nodded, having wondered if this would happen. "Is my presence needed in Ithilien earlier than we had planned, my lord?"

Aragorn seated himself as well. "It is. This parting will not be easy, I gather."

Faramir deliberately did not answer straight away. He and his wife had not been apart for more than a day since their wedding day two years previous. The idea of being away from her for the weeks he would likely be needed in Ithilien was unsettling at the least. But he would do his duty to his King. "She will not wish to be left behind," said he.

The King laughed shortly. "Nay, I would not imagine she would," he replied. "But you are reluctant to take her with you, after last summer."

Faramir nodded. Aragorn was one of the few people who truly understood why the last year had been so difficult for the steward. "If the danger is as real as we have been led to believe," said he, "I will not have her with me."

Aragorn sat back in his chair. "It is a two days' ride to Ithilien, less if the horse is swift. If she cannot bear the empty house and you do not object, she will not be far from you."

The steward smiled. "Her horse is swift, as you well know, Lord Aragorn, as the mare was a gift from you."

The King smiled. "She had no horse whom she truly enjoyed to ride. I did what any friend would do."

"Yet from time to time, I do believe she loves Alassë more than she loves me."

Aragorn laughed heartily. "Though she be Princess here in Gondor, the Lady Éowyn will always be a woman of Rohan. Her attachment to the mare is in her blood, and neither you nor I can shake it."

"She tries me," said Faramir, "yet I would not exchange her even for a bride from among the Elves."

"Then it is well you married her. You give her your patience and your love; let me give her horses to ride."

"Have you not a wife of your own to dote upon?"

Aragorn smiled. "Arwen needs so little. In giving Alassë to Éowyn, I please one friend and embarrass another."

"And you ruin that friend's plan for his wife's birthday: I had intended to give her a horse myself." Faramir smiled as he said this; he had not truly been angry with the King over the gift. Though he had thought of giving Éowyn a mare, he had easily thought of something else to give her for her birthday, with which she had been equally delighted.

After the King's laughter, Faramir sighed. "I had thought perhaps to ask you if Éowyn could stay here while I am away. I do not wish to inconvenience you, but I would rather she be here, where there is more protection."

"Would she agree to it?"

"Perhaps. I know not." He coughed slightly. "In truth, I doubt she will agree readily."

The King smiled. "I doubt it as well. Yet she can be persuaded."

"Not with ease, my lord, as you well know," said Faramir, and he stood. "Have you anything else for me, Lord Aragorn?"

"Nay, friend, save to wish that you will be among us again, in speed and safety," said Aragorn as he stood. "I will see you off on the morrow; for now you should attend to your own house."

"And that I shall." Faramir stood and bowed. "Good day to you, my lord."

*~*~*~*

Faramir was gone when Éowyn awoke. She was hardly surprised when she saw how high the sun was in the sky; it was coming nigh to midday as she pushed the sheets aside and arose. As she glanced in the mirror after she dressed, she flushed, remembering the night before as if it were the worst of nightmares. She did not rightly know how she would ever face the King again. With any luck, she would not have to soon.

As she bent to fasten her shoes, she felt a sudden wave of sickness overcome her. When her attendant entered, she found Éowyn seated on the end of the bed, her hand to her stomach. "My lady!" cried the girl. "Are you unwell?"

Éowyn shook her head. "It is nothing, Mithlomi," she replied. "I only felt a little faint."

Mithlomi touched her lady's forehead and found no fever. "Are you certain, my lady? I do not mean to be impertinent, but this is unlike you. You've slept away half the day and now you feel faint. . ."

The Princess smiled, a little surprised that Mithlomi had not woken her earlier. "I shall have to blame the King for that. He called here in the middle of the night."

"King Aragorn called here last night?" said the maid. "What business brought him here at such a late hour?"

Éowyn did not deign to answer with specifics. "He had business with my husband."

"Of course," Mithlomi replied, obviously knowing not to press the subject. Instead, she touched her pale, slender hand to Éowyn's hair. "Would you like me to wash your hair, milady?"

Éowyn smiled up at the dark-haired girl. "That would be lovely, Mithlomi."

Some time later, the lady of Rohan descended the stair with her maid close behind her. Mithlomi was a sweet, attentive girl who had the eye for detail which Éowyn herself had never developed. She was a good companion when Faramir was away, which was more often than Éowyn would have liked.

"My lady," Mithlomi began as they arrived at the foot of the stairs, "why were you awake when King Aragorn arrived? It must have been quite late indeed."

Éowyn started to blush a little. "I was not awake when he called."

"But you said that the King was responsible for your indisposition this morning?"

The elder lady shook her head and entered the dining room. "I was not serious, Mithlomi," she said. "I woke while he was here. My husband was not with me when I awoke, and I found him with the King in the sitting room."

Mithlomi blushed a little, and Éowyn looked away. She had forgotten that in Gondor, it was not traditional for a man to sleep in the same room as his wife. Both she and Faramir had considered that somewhat absurd, and they slept in the same bed, not particularly wanting to spend those hours apart. But the notion made Mithlomi, who was well-schooled in traditions of Gondor, uncomfortable, though she had lived in the house for several months.

"I am sorry," said Éowyn, taking a seat at the long table and gesturing for her handmaiden to do the same. "I know how that makes you uncomfortable."

"No, my lady. I should- I should be used to that by now."

Éowyn smiled and rang the tiny bell before her. "What a scandal it would cause if you were like other ladies."

Mithlomi looked up, startled. "What do you mean, my lady? I do not understand."

"I meant that other ladies might spread a rumor that the Prince and Princess of Ithilien engage in scandalous activities," she replied. "Elessar's court would be abuzz with the news that the King's steward will not conform to the traditions of society."

"I would never do such a thing, my lady," Mithlomi said, a look of shock on her pretty face. "I serve you, not those who would take joy in shaming you."

Another servant entered then and gave Éowyn a questioning look. "Tea, please, Abaradun, and some bread," said she. When the servant had left, she turned her attention back to her handmaiden. "It would not shame me to have that known, but it would be a detriment to my husband's work, I fear. But I see no shame in loving my husband and wanting to be near him."

Mithlomi blushed again as the servant reappeared with a tray, but once he had left, she said, "It may not conform with our society, milady, but I think it is beautiful that you love him that much." She sighed, a little wistfully. "I hope to meet a man and fall in love as you have, someday."

Éowyn poured two cups of tea and lifted hers to her lips, pondering what the girl had just said. She was so very young, and her ideas of love were not unlike those Éowyn had had until she had met Faramir. "Love is not something you fall into, Mithlomi," she said at last. "It may take you by surprise and you may find it in the darkest watch of the night. You may find love in the strangest, most unlikely of places, but you will never fall in love. Love is an action, something you must do, and to fall you must cease to act."

"I understand," Mithlomi replied. Éowyn suspected that she did not understand, but she would, more than she knew was possible. She would understand pain and joy and love eventually, as it seemed all men were doomed. Yet it was not an unpleasant burden—the greatest of sorrows in Éowyn's life thus far had led her to the greatest of joys. The loss of Théoden, dearer than father to her, had opened her heart with a wound that had seemed impossible to heal, because she could not join him in death. Then had come Faramir—

"My lady?"

Mithlomi's voice cut through Éowyn's thoughts. She looked up abruptly. "I am sorry. Did you need something?"

The handmaiden smiled softly. "No, my lady. I asked you a question." At a prompting glance from Éowyn, she added, "How did you and my Lord Faramir fall in- come to love each other?"

Éowyn smiled at the correction and took another sip of the tea. It had a soothing effect on her nauseous state. "We were both injured and in the Houses of Healing, and drawn back from the shadow by the hand of our King," said she. "He had lost his father, and I my uncle. I cannot tell you when I first loved him, or even when I first knew that I loved him, because it was the last place where I had expected to feel such a bond form. I had thought I loved Lord Aragorn, but it was nothing but a silly girlish infatuation. What I felt for Faramir was stronger, richer, and truer than any emotion I had ever felt before. It was overwhelming." She smiled fondly. "It was love."

"Was?" Mithlomi asked, tea forgotten in her hand.

"Someday you will find, Mithlomi, that love does not stay the same," Éowyn said. "The sweetness and innocence of those days when Faramir first told me that he loved me are gone, but it is merely a flower continuing to bloom, and never fading."

The girl smiled and shook her head. "It sounds like something out of the old stories, my lady. Too fantastic to be truth, and yet too true to be fantasy."

Éowyn laughed. "Yes, it is," she replied, setting her tea cup aside. "Every morning I awake, expecting to find myself in the Houses of Healing, on the cold, hard bed there on which I languished, having dreamt the last few months."

"And what then, my lady?"

"Then I find myself in my husband's arms," said Éowyn. "And there is nothing more comforting than that."

Mithlomi smiled and reached over to take her lady's hand. "Are you feeling better now?" she asked.

Éowyn was surprised by the question as much as she was by the answer; talking about Faramir had made her feel much better. "Yes, I am," she replied in a somewhat mystified tone. "I feel as though I might be able to eat something more substantial than bread now."

The handmaiden released Éowyn's hand and rang the bell, and the lady of Rohan smiled. Consciously or not, Mithlomi always knew how to help her.

Thanks for all the replies! A big thank you goes to Rose Gamgee again in this chapter, for basically holding my hand as I wrote the middle scene. I've also been told that a tissue warning is in order on this chapter.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 3

Separation

*~*~*~*

Faramir left the palace and had returned home in time for the midday meal. In the foyer of the house, he removed his cloak and handed it to the doorman, but before it was put away, Faramir saw his wife's handmaiden descend the stairs. "Mithlomi, where is your mistress?" he asked.

"Oh!" At the foot of the stairs, Mithlomi dropped a curtsey. "My Lady Éowyn is in the dining room, milord."

The steward nodded. "Thank you."

He turned to go, but heard the maid's voice again. "Milord," said she, "might I have a word with you?"

Faramir faced her. "Is something amiss?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but faltered. "My lord, is my lady well?"

Faramir looked at her curiously. The handmaiden was very observant, especially when it came to Éowyn's health. That was, after all, the reason why she had been brought into the house, since Faramir could not be with his wife all the time. "Do you have reason to believe otherwise?" he asked.

Mithlomi looked away. "I think I might, sir." She bit at her lip. "She eats so little, and she has spent much of her time sleeping lately. She is often more tired than one would expect, and she is prone to sudden headaches of late. It is not like her."

The steward nodded gravely. It was indeed unlike Éowyn to act thus. He touched Mithlomi's shoulder briefly. "You serve your lady well, handmaiden," said he.

She curtseyed again. "Thank you, milord. I must see to my lady."

Faramir gestured to the book in her hand. "Did your lady send you for that book?"

"Yes, milord."

He held his hand out for it. "I will take it to her; I wish to speak with her privately."

Mithlomi handed the book to the steward and nodded. "As you wish, Lord Faramir."

Faramir walked to the dining room, where Éowyn was seated with her back to the door. At the sound of footsteps in the room, she said, "Was it not where I directed you, Mithlomi? You were gone longer than I would have thought."

She held her hand over her shoulder for the book, and in amusement Faramir placed it in her hand, hoping to play her ignorance of his presence as long as possible. He pulled her loose, damp hair back from her face, braiding it lightly. "That is not necessary," said she. "Besides, my husband prefers it down."

Faramir loosened the braid and swept her hair to one side. Bending down, he said in a low voice near her ear, "Yes, he does."

Éowyn jumped and gave a startled cry, and he smiled in amusement. "Good day, Éowyn," said he.

She glared at him. "Is it good? By your mood I could not tell."

Faramir kissed her softly. "It is a good day, for I am with you."

"It cannot be a good day, my lord," said she. "For I have not yet kissed thee properly."

Accordingly he kissed her again, this time lifting her out of the chair when she wrapped her arms about him. When they had broken it, Faramir stood with her in his arms for a time, breathing in the scent of her hair. He was trying to memorize everything about her, trying to absorb enough into his memory now so that when separation came, it would not seem so harsh.

"How did you dispose of my handmaid?" she asked.

Faramir laughed. "I asked her to give us a moment of privacy," said he. "I hope you are not angry."

"Nay, my lord. But what reason had you to desire privacy? Mithlomi is used to your openness, if not entirely comfortable with it."

"I called on the King this morning, Éowyn," said Faramir, guiding her back down into her chair as he sat beside her. "I must away tomorrow, to Ithilien."

"Away?" she repeated. "Then I will go with you."

"No, my love. I know you would wish it, but this cannot be."

"But—"

Faramir held his fingers to her lips. "No, Éowyn. The road is too dangerous, and my desire for your safety must outweigh my desire for your presence."

"My lord, my safety has never been an issue of much consequence."

"I know that you are valiant, fairest, but we do not know what lies in the woods," said he. "It may be beyond any skill we have. If that be the case, I have a duty to my King to face it, but you have no such duty." Again he pressed his fingers to her lips to prevent her reply. "You, my lady, have a duty to Rohan as well as to Gondor, as your brother has you as his successor should he go childless."

"I can fight," said she. They were words Faramir suspected she had often said. "These two years have I stayed here and learned the arts of healing, yet in my blood is a desire to protect against evil as well. I have no need nor thirst to prove myself, but can I not go with you and help as I can?"

Faramir stroked her cheek gently. "Mithlomi tells me you are not well."

"What, my lord? Why does she think thus?"

"She says you are out of measure tired, that you do not have your appetite, and that you are prone to headaches often. This is unlike you," he said.

"It will pass."

"How long has it been thus?" Faramir asked. "Have you spoken to the Healers about this malady?"

"It is no malady, Faramir," she said. "It will pass, as it does with each moon."

He furrowed his brow. "It is not the time for that."

She did not immediately answer. "I cannot win when you enlist Mithlomi against me," she murmured.

Faramir cupped her chin and tipped it back. "I will be but a two days' ride hence, Éowyn. If the danger is not as serious as I anticipate and you still wish to join me, you may. Yet let me go ahead while you are indisposed, and if the conditions are right, I will send for you."

Slowly she nodded. "When do you depart?"

"In the morning."

Éowyn turned away. "Then let me not keep you from your preparations," said she.

Faramir stood and held out his hand to her. "I would have you with me, my lady."

She took his hand, and through the rest of the day, they did not part. With every moment they spent together, it became more and more evident to Faramir that the parting the next day would be harder than he could imagine.

*~*~*~*

In the middle of the night, Faramir awoke suddenly.

It was not an uncommon occurrence. Though he was not naturally disposed to dreams in sleep, the last year had been plagued by nightmarishly real memories that cut wounds as deep and painful as the actual event had. Éowyn's arms offered him comfort and respite from the memories when he was awake, but not even her presence could ward them off when they slept. It was possible that her presence beckoned them.

Quietly Faramir arose from their bed and put on his dressing-gown. To the balcony he retreated, where the spring air was chilled by a wind from the north. Thought seemed clearer when the sunlight did not aid his vision, and when the heat of the day did not affect him. Not that these memories needed help.

It had been the previous summer, less than a year before, when Éowyn had been with child. Theirs had been joy without comparison at the knowledge that they were bringing a life into the world. What would he not give to have been woken by that child's cries for his mother! Instead he had been woken by the familiar nightmare.

The full passage of the seasons had not lessened the pain of the night when he had arrived home late, only to find Éowyn collapsed in their room. That had been before Mithlomi had joined their house as his wife's companion, and had been the cause of her arrival. There had been so much blood. Blood that haunted his memory.

When Faramir looked over his shoulder at his wife, he could see how he had found her that night. She had been pale as death, and for a while he had thought she was dead. Fear unlike anything he had experienced, even in war, gripped him then. It had been too much to hope that both wife and child would survive.

The whole house had been thrown into confusion when the servants heard their master's anguished cry from the bedroom. Somehow he had managed to wrap Éowyn up in blankets and get her to the Houses of Healing. How the next hours few hours passed, he knew not. He had spent them not as steward of Gondor, but as a man in great pain, wishing desperately that he could go to her while the healers did their work.

Early in the morning, the King had arrived. Faramir knew not how he had come to know that he was there. He had been too grieved to stand upon the King's entrance or even to look up at him. For a long time, Aragorn had merely sat with him in silence. When he had at last spoken, he had unwittingly started the worst part of Faramir's ordeal.

"I was told this morning that you were here," he had stated simply.

Faramir had nodded, unwilling to trust his voice.

"It is Éowyn, is it not?"

Again, a nod had been all he could manage.

"What ails her?"

At last, the steward was forced to answer his King. He looked up slowly. "We do not know."

"The healers are skilled beyond mere mortal disease, Faramir," he had said. "Do not fear."

"Nay, my lord," Faramir had replied, "for I know their skill to heal what ails the living. But what can they do to bring back the dead?"

"She will not die," Aragorn had said. "The healers will preserve her life."

"Her life, perhaps." At that, Faramir had fallen silent, unable to speak the fullness of what had happened.

After a silence of a thousand years, Aragorn had finally said, "I did not know she was with child."

"None did," he had replied, "save her brother, King of Rohan."

The King had touched his hand. "Then the child is dead?"

Faramir had nodded, his throat constricted. "They told me—it was a son, my lord."

"Alas!" had he cried. "Alas that a child of such noble and valiant blood should be lost!"

Before the steward could reply, the door had opened, and the healer within had said, "My Lord Faramir, she will live."

Relief had flooded him immediately, but it had been tainted and weighty. He had stood upon the healer's pronouncement, and then looked to his King. "I would go with you," Aragorn had said, "if you will allow it, and ask a blessing for her from the Valar."

Faramir had nodded, and the two men had entered the room. Éowyn had still been asleep as Faramir approached the bed. She had been so cold and pale. After a few moments of silence, he had taken a seat in the chair next to the bed, and King Aragorn had begun to speak in Elvish. The words had washed over the steward, and he had taken Éowyn's hand in both his. Eventually he had held it to his face and wept. Perhaps under other circumstances, he might have felt shame at doing so before the King, but he had not cared. He had wept freely, and Aragorn had laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and had stayed in silence.

Tears had sprung anew as Faramir remembered the horrible days, watching his wife's sleeping form. She looked so fragile and weak in sleep, perhaps because he had seen her helpless. She who had been so valiant in battle had been powerless to save her child. And so had he.

His feet carried him back to the bed whether he willed it or not. Éowyn slept on as he sat beside her, unaware of why he put himself through this so often. His wife did not know of the dreams that still visited him. She did not remember much of those days, and Faramir preferred it that way. He did not want her to know the private anguish he had gone through, even after the healers had assured him that Éowyn would recover. It had been hard enough to tell her that the baby was no more, but telling her how close she had come to death was unthinkable.

Faramir touched her abdomen. Only the night before the miscarriage, Éowyn had guided his hand across her skin, where the pregnancy had just been starting to show. The babe had stirred within her womb then, and Faramir had nearly been brought to tears at the knowledge that he was feeling his child move, when no one could even see it. Two nights later, he had spent hours resting his head against her abdomen, wishing he could feel the miracle of life he had felt before. There had been no words to describe the aching pain that seemed to sink into the very core of his being.

He had been genuinely surprised when Éowyn had brought up the idea of having children. She did not know everything that had happened, but she did know that it had been dangerous. She knew what the healers had told them about the dangers of her bearing another child. But she was a brave woman in the face of danger, and stubborn as she was strong.

Dressing-gown shrugged aside, Faramir stretched out beside his wife, who, still sleeping, turned to him and settled into his arms. He wished he did not have to leave her the next day. He wished they could have children as they had once hoped. He wished the ghosts of their pasts would fly. He wished that sleep would claim him and give him a peaceful night, free of dreams.

In the end, he slept, and did not wake for many hours.

*~*~*~*

Morning broke harsh and cold in Minas Tirith the next morning. Reluctantly Éowyn arose at dawn, leaving Faramir still asleep in their bed. He had not slept well the previous night, she suspected, so she was more than glad to let him rest while she made the final preparations for his journey. But for now, she let her gaze rest on him for a time. She loved to watch him sleep: he looked so boyish then, his black hair framing a face that seemed ageless. It was only when he opened his eyes that one could see the great wisdom and experience that made him incomparable as steward of Gondor.

With a sigh she turned away from him, wishing he did not have to leave. More than that, she wished she could go with him: Minas Tirith was a pleasant place, but she missed the countryside as well. Yet as a wave of nausea passed over her, she decided that it was perhaps best for her to stay there. This had been going on for days, and traveling in such a condition was perhaps not wise.

Éowyn left the room as soon as she was dressed and had finished packing up Faramir's belongings for his journey. Mithlomi met her at the bottom of the stairs and smiled. "Good morning, my lady," said she, and curtseyed.

"Good morning," said Éowyn with a nod. "Are my husband's horses readied?"

"I do not know," the maid replied. "I shall go to the stables and inquire of the master groomsman."

The handmaiden disappeared, and Éowyn entered the dining room. A few minutes later, her husband appeared at the door, dressed and carrying his cloak over his arm. "My lord," said she with some alarm, "do you ride immediately, without breaking fast?"

"No," he replied, "but I must away soon. I cannot tarry long."

Éowyn rang the bell and ordered the servant who appeared to bring them food, and in the meantime Faramir set aside his cloak and took his place at her side. They ate in silence, and all the while she felt as she had long ago, when Lord Aragorn had left her behind to trace the Paths of the Dead. The feeling grew in the silence, and when Faramir stood from the table, she said, "Then there is no way I may convince you?"

"To go with me?" Faramir clarified. "Éowyn, do you think I wish to leave you behind? If I had my choice, you and I would never part. I do not wish to be away from you, but for your sake I feel I must."

Éowyn raised her chin and stood as well. "I am not so fragile as the healers would have you think, my lord."

He touched her cheek. "No, but you are not so strong as I would like. The last year has been hard on you, and I do not wish to risk your life on such a journey."

She closed her eyes, knowing not to fight him now. He rarely mentioned the miscarriage, but in some small way she knew him to be right when he did. "Then will I remain here and await your return."

He took her hand. "I had thought to send you to stay under the King's protection," said he. "There you would have more company and be not so lonely as you would here."

Éowyn met his eyes suddenly. There was an earnestness in his expression and in his grey eyes that she could not deny. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I will miss you," he continued, "but I would feel more assured of your safety were you with the King."

"Do you fear for it here?" she asked, in genuine curiosity.

"I fear for it whenever I cannot be with you, my lady." He sighed and stroked her cheek. "I know your courage and skill, but you are also my wife. I swore to your brother on the day I married you that I would protect you."

"And if you cannot be with me?"

"Then I shall see to it that you are cared for; it is the least I can do in keeping my oath to your brother." He took both her hands in his. "Let me keep that oath."

Éowyn wished to speak, but found she had no words with which to answer him. So instead she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes for reasons she could not comprehend. Faramir seemed to, however: he always seemed to understand part of her better than she did. He enfolded her in his embrace, and it was some time before he relinquished her.

He kissed her brow. "I fear I must depart."

"And swiftly, my lord," Éowyn replied, attempting a brave smile for him. "So the sooner your return will be."

She was hardly surprised when he sought her lips and his arms tightened around her. The thought that this would be their last kiss for many weeks was enough to force a tear down her cheek, but only one. This was not a final farewell, after all, but merely a parting for a short time. There was no need for many tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and brushed away the wetness on her cheek.

Éowyn kissed him again softly. "I love you."

And with that, he departed, leaving Éowyn quite alone in their dining room. To the window she walked, and watched as Faramir mounted his stallion and rode to their gate. He looked over his shoulder then and saw her, raising his hand in salutation. Her hand stopped at her throat, and she smiled for him. With a nod, he spurred his horse into motion, and Éowyn watched until she could see him no more.

Mithlomi entered the room some time later, her mistress still standing at the window, her hand on her heart as if to steady it. "Have I missed my lord's departure?" she asked in soft tones.

Éowyn nodded, and she could not keep a note of wistfulness from her voice as she replied. "Yes, Mithlomi, he is gone." At last she looked away from the road. "He wishes us to stay a while with Lord Aragorn, so we have work to do."

The sudden change of venue did not discompose the handmaiden. "When does the King expect us?"

The Princess blinked, realizing that she did not know. "Begin your preparations," said she. "I shall send a messenger to the King before I join you."

It was wise, she supposed, that Faramir had waited till then to tell her of her departure to the King's house. The preparations after the Steward's departure did not distract her entirely, for she already missed him terribly, but they kept the ache from driving her to madness. Éowyn only hoped that her husband had found a similar solace in the road that lay before him.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 4

Arrivals

*~*~*~*

Half the day had passed when Faramir and Beregond met the small band of Rangers who were to accompany them to the camp in Ithilien. They had prepared a light meal in anticipation of their arrival, and they were on their way to the camp site within the hour. Riding well into the night and stopping for only a few hours of rest, they arrived at the site just after midday. Immediately Faramir met with the master of construction, a middle-aged man named Zabathân whose noble demeanor belied his common birth. The young steward had liked the man from the first letter he had received from him, and meeting him reinforced the feeling.

After pleasantries had been exchanged, Zabathân said, "My lord, would you prefer to rest for a time, or would you rather go directly to the source of our troubles?"

Faramir raised a brow. "I was under the impression that you did not know exactly where the darkness lies."

"We know the extent of our men's safety," the master replied.

"Then let us ride there at once," said Faramir. "There will be time enough to rest afterward."

On horseback, Zabathân led the steward through the forest on a long ride to an area where many trees had recently been felled. Faramir's mount whinnied and tossed his head when they stepped into the clearing, and there the master of construction said, "We will go no farther, my lord. We know not how far the magic extends once you cross this place."

Faramir nodded. He too sensed the danger in the air, and it was all he could do to keep from galloping away from the place. Instead, he and his stallion maintained a dignified pace as he and Zabathân headed back to the camp. Yet he was very relieved when Nâlo was stabled and he was within the master's tent, looking over the plans for the city.

"These are very good," he commented, leafing through a stack of drawings. "Your draftsmen must be talented indeed."

"Aye, my lord, they are," Zabathân replied. "Now that Minas Tirith has been restored, the very best of the craftsmen of Gondor were able to join the efforts here."

"I am glad of it," said Faramir. "We will build this city to the glory of our people."

"What will you name the city, my lord?" asked the master.

"That will be for the King to decide," the steward replied, "though I confess a great curiosity as to what he will choose."

"As the seat of your princedom, I should not wonder that you do." Zabathân sat back in his seat and sighed. "And it will be a glorious place to live, my lord. Perhaps my wife and I will come here when the building is complete."

Faramir smiled. "I hope you do," said he. "Do you have children as well?"

"None yet," said the master, but a broad smile was upon his face. "But my wife told me just before I left that I should expect to return to Minas Tirith early, to be there for the birth of our first child."

"Then I congratulate you, and wish you heartily the best of fortune."

"And what of you, my lord?" asked Zabathân. "It has been two years since you married that lady of the North, is it not?"

Faramir nodded. "Two years," said he, "and this is the first time since our wedding that we have been apart."

An ache settled in his chest at the mention of Éowyn. He was no smooth-faced youth to pine after the admiration of the unattainable beauty, but he found himself sympathizing with such boys now that his wife was so many leagues away. The construction master seemed to read his thoughts immediately. "It can be hard, that first separation," Zabathân remarked. "I fear I cannot tell you it will get easier."

"I pray it will not," said the steward. "I cannot bear to think that I might enjoy being away from Éowyn."

The master smiled. "Then you never will, but you should try to enjoy this time away from her as well as you can. Perhaps you could join me with some of the men for a drink ere you retire for the evening?"

Faramir smiled and stood. "Perhaps another night," he replied. "Tonight I wish to write to my wife."

*~*~*~*

Three days passed before Éowyn was settled in the King's house, and when a messenger arrived from Ithilien that morning, a letter for her was found amid the papers sent to Lord Aragorn. Despite her great desire to fly from the breakfast table and read it in the comfort of her bower, she put it away and continued to eat with the monarchs, though with more haste than elegance.

The King gave her a small smile when she set her fork aside and drained her glass. "Madam, you look as if you are in need of rest," said he. "I would be heartened if you retired to your chambers for a time."

"Thank you, I think I shall," Éowyn replied, knowing quite well that he knew why she was anxious to be alone. From the room she hurried, her letter in hand.

Mithlomi was surprised when she returned so quickly, but said nothing as Éowyn concealed herself in her dressing chamber and eagerly opened her letter.

My dearest Éowyn, it read,

I miss you. I feel as though I will begin all my letters to you with this phrase, but believe me when I say that it is no less true tonight than it will be any other time I set my quill to parchment: I miss you more with each passing hour.

I miss the way you hesitate before you look at me. This is not something you always do—it is when we share a moment of humor privately, something others would not fully understand. When you wish to be alone with me and we cannot be, you look at me the same way. I cannot tell you how often I have turned and hoped to see your lovely eyes beckoning me to the privacy of our bedchamber, to the luxury of your arms.

I miss you.

Ithilien is a beautiful place in spring, my love. Now the fruit trees which were in bloom have dropped their blossoms, carpeting the forest floor in petals of white and pink and gold. I did not realize until I arrived here how much I missed these woodlands. I would you could be with me and see it, Éowyn. From what you have told me, the forests in Rohan are nothing like the woodlands here in Ithilien. From my quarters now I can see a waterfall surrounded by trees, which excels all beauty save yours. But you would enjoy walking its paths and discovering the treasures it conceals.

Yet I fear the forest conceals much, and conceals something dangerous. We have lost another man to the secret in the woods today, and it may not be long before we must abandon this site for our city, before more blood of Gondor is spilt because of it. But I wonder if the blood is truly spilt at all. There is something very strange afoot. It is beautiful here, to be sure, but I cannot help but wonder if the beauty of this place is but a siren's call, luring men to the center of the dark magic which pulses through this glade.

The danger is real; I will not pretend that it is not. I am glad for my sake that you are in the King's custody, but I know you would rather be here with me if I am to face danger again. My men are strong and loyal, which should comfort you. But if I know you as well as I believe I do, I know that this will give you little solace. At once it pains me to know that you are uneasy being safe in Minas Tirith, and it gives me joy to know that you await my return. I too am anxious to see you again, dearest.

I would give anything to be with you tonight. I do not believe I knew how very much I have come to love the warmth you give my bed. Your presence gives me solace, and I will not sleep easily until I am back in your arms. My desire is ever toward you, and I fear that my hope for this magic to be dissolved is not solely to spare the lives of more men, but that I may return to you. Then we may come to Ithilien and dwell here instead of in Minas Tirith, and our children will be a blessing to this land.

I would write more, but I fear I must end this letter now, ere I use all my parchment in writing to you. I fear the King must also have word from me tonight, though I consider it an onerous task. He is well worthy of my allegiance, but I cannot help but wish I could spend the rest of this night writing to you. It must suffice an ending to this letter for me to write that I love you; and to say more on that sentiment would be to fill a sentence with hot air, for nothing is stronger than that.

I love you.

Ever yours,
Faramir

Éowyn read the letter twice before folding it with shaking hands, her cheeks flushed. She was glad to have been alone in those first few moments after reading the letter. She already knew her husband's eloquence, but the contents of the letter, mild as they were, were somewhat of a surprise in their intimacy.

It should not have surprised her, of course. In the passage of two years, Faramir had grown no less effusive about his feelings toward his bride. His words in this letter were pale in comparison to what he would say to her when they were alone together, but it seemed more daring to write such things down with ink on paper. Yet Éowyn suspected that these words were only the very tip of what he could say about her.

There was a gentle rap on the door, and Éowyn placed the letter under a book. "Come in," she said.

Mithlomi opened the door. "My lady, Lord Aragorn sent this up for you." Éowyn looked over her shoulder and saw that the maid was balancing a tray on one hand as she pushed the door open. "Were you taken ill at the table?"

The Princess smiled. "No, Mithlomi," said she. "I have had word from Lord Faramir."

"That is excellent news!" Mithlomi exclaimed. "Is my lord well?"

"He is," Éowyn replied, "though there is no sign of when he will be able to return."

The maid gave her a brave smile. "He will do his duty, my lady," said she, "and will come back to you as soon as he can."

It was an obvious statement, but it cheered Éowyn somehow to hear it said. Hearing Mithlomi express the thought made her feel better somehow, though the smell of the food the handmaiden had brought in was making her feel rather worse for hunger. She smiled at Mithlomi. "Come, let us talk of this no more," she said. "Let us eat here and talk of what we will do with our time here in Minas Tirith."

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 5

Night

*~*~*~*

In Minas Tirith it was never truly dark. When the sun began to set, young boys came out to light lamps along the streets, and so when Aragorn stood at the window at the end of a long corridor, he saw thousands of specks of light across the city. He missed the days of his life as a Ranger, when he could lie awake at night and count the stars. The stars were still clearly visible here, but it was different somehow.

Yet Aragorn's eyes did not rest on the stars above or the lights below for very long. Instead he looked toward Ithilien, where his steward was fulfilling his duties to his King. Aragorn felt somewhat guilty for having sent Faramir into the wild while he himself stayed at home with his wife. Faramir's sense of duty was strong, however, and he had left Éowyn behind without complaint.

From the corridor behind him he heard soft footfalls. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Éowyn, wrapped in a heavy robe and her hair bound. "My lady," said he, nodding to her.

"My lord," she replied, "it is late; I did not expect to meet you here."

"Nor I you," Aragorn replied. "Could you not sleep?"

Éowyn shook her head, then smiled slightly as she reached the window and stood with him. "I fear that I worry Mithlomi sometimes," said she. "I sleep in the day and walk about in the night."

The King regarded her in the moonlight. Indeed, she looked thinner and even paler than she had two years before when they had first met. "How do you fare, Lady?" he asked gently.

She pulled her robe tighter around her body and gazed out the window. "Lonely, my lord," she replied. "I miss my husband."

"As he misses you, I am certain," said Aragorn. "Yet I meant to inquire after your health."

Éowyn did not respond for a time. "Three weeks have passed in this house," said she at last, "and I am not yet well enough to join my lord."

"What ails you, then?"

"I do not know," said she, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Every day there seems to be a new symptom, just as another has finally left."

"Have you been to the Healers?" Aragorn asked.

"Aye, my lord, but they seem no more equipped to find a reason than you or I."

He pursed his lips in thought. "It is strange, then, that this should set in so closely with your husband's departure."

"I fear his departure may be the cause of my sleepless nights." She sighed. "I do not sleep well without him."

"Though that be the case, I am glad to have you stay with us," said Aragorn. "It has been too long since we were often in each other's company."

Éowyn smiled, a look that seemed a little wistful. "Not since last summer," said she.

The King suppressed a sigh. He wondered how much Éowyn knew about what had happened to her. It was possible that Faramir had seen fit to tell her little, but did she know that she had almost died? For all he knew, she had lost consciousness before the bleeding had started—it had been the blood which had frightened the steward more than anything else.

It was truly no wonder that Faramir had not mentioned anything about having children since then. He doubtless considered the risk too great. Aragorn did not fully blame the man; in his position, the King felt he would have done the same.

For her part, the Lady of Rohan seemed to know his thoughts. "What of you and your wife?" she asked. "Should we expect tidings of your heir's birth soon?"

Aragorn laughed softly. "Not as far as I know," said he. "My wife would be a far better source of news on that front."

Éowyn smiled, and continued to gaze out toward Ithilien. "Faramir suspected I was pregnant before I did," she replied quietly. "He notices everything."

"That he does," said the King. "He is an excellent steward, and an excellent man."

The woman smiled fondly. "I believe, my lord, that his being an excellent man makes him an excellent steward."

Aragorn nodded. "An excellent man, endlessly loyal and dutiful. I could not tell you how many times I called him away from you before your wedding, and yet he never once complained."

At that the lady of Rohan laughed outright. "I fear, my lord, that his devotion there was less from a selfless desire to serve and more from a wish to escape from wedding preparations," said she.

Laughing as well, the King replied, "I knew there was something else to it. No man leaves his fiancée so willingly unless wedding preparations are on the table."

The lady looked down, a broad smile on her face. "He often told me that the only thing keeping him from eloping with me was my brother's wrath." She finally met Aragorn's eyes. "Did you ever wonder, my lord, at my marrying him?"

"Often," said Aragorn. "Nothing I could have faced in all my life could have surprised me more than your betrothal to him."

Éowyn shook her head. "For so long I thought I loved you, but it was nothing to compare with what I felt for Faramir."

The King leaned against the wall, watching the Princess as she traced the delicate silver latches on the window with one finger. He had heard the tale from Faramir, of course, but never from Éowyn. For a time he had been arrogant enough to believe that the shieldmaiden had allowed Faramir's attachment to her because she knew that any hope of winning Aragorn's love was gone. Yet the tone of her voice just then indicated that that was arrogance indeed. "My lady," said he, "why did you love him?"

Éowyn looked over at him, a bemused expression on her face. "Why does anyone love?" she asked in return. "I can only say that Faramir saw something in me that perhaps even I had not seen. He saw me as a warrior and accepted that without question. Yet he also saw me as a woman, and accepted that as well." She smiled. "There are few men who would see both and not insist that one part overpower the other, and fewer still who would welcome such a contradiction."

"And you loved him for that?"

She shook her head. "I understood him for that. When I understood him, I knew that I loved him." She sighed. "And still do, in a way that keeps me awake deep into the night when he is away."

Smiling softly, Aragorn took her hand in both of his. "I will see to it that he is with you again as soon as he can be spared, my lady," said he. "It pains me to see you thus afflicted."

Éowyn shook her head. "If you told Faramir of my illness, he would send me to the Healers," said she. "Perhaps I should avoid that altogether by seeing them before he drags me there."

Aragorn looked at her curiously. "Does Faramir not know?"

"He knows I was not well when he departed, and that was why I did not accompany him." Éowyn sighed. "But I have not told him that it persists, let alone that it worsens."

A cloud passed from before the moon's face, and in the brightened light Aragorn could see that she indeed looked worse than she had when she had arrived at his house. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to rest, my lady, instead of walking about," said he.

"Yes," she answered simply, even wearily.

The King lifted her hand and kissed it. "Shall I take you back to your chamber?" he asked.

She snook her head. "No, my lord. There is no need," she replied. "Good night."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned away from him and floated down the corridor in silence. Aragorn watched her, as if a shaft of moonlight followed her path. He still did not understand her—which was why he never could have loved her—but with every day she spent in his house, he appreciated more and more why his steward so doted upon her. She was truly a remarkable woman, and well worthy of a man of such noble blood as Faramir.

*~*~*~*

Every day Lord Faramir would ride on Nâlo as far as he dared into the forest, toward the glade through which no man had passed. Sometimes he would go alone, but usually he was accompanied. On this ride, he was accompanied by some dozen men, including Zabathân.

His horse was particularly edgy throughout the ride, but nervous did not begin to describe Nâlo's behavior when they reached the hollow which the workers had dubbed the point of no return. Faramir disliked the name intensely, feeling it gave a sense of hopelessness to the place. His horse needed no such encouragement. Nâlo was a strong, spirited horse, but also young and untested by war. As such he was easily frightened, a trait which Faramir was trying to break him of.

"Nothing new here, milord," said Zabathân. "Shall we turn back?"

Despite his horse's reaction to the words "turn back," Faramir was reluctant to leave. "No, stay a little longer," said he. "There is something strange here, Zabathân, something different."

"Aye, my lord," the master replied. "That is why I believe we should leave."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but there was a sudden rush of leaves, and a flock of birds appeared in the clearing from the trees. Crebain were unusual in Ithilien, especially in such numbers, and the steward ducked instinctively. Nâlo did not like this at all, but neither did any of the other horses. Several of them reacted violently, raising up on their haunches and giving their riders a hard time in keeping their seats.

Finally it seemed that the strange infestation of crebain were gone, but a lone bird swooped down at the head of a stallion some distance away from Faramir. The horse bolted, its rider still in the saddle, and Faramir cried out after him, as did the other men. But before he could say anything coherent, both man and beast crossed the glade, and they disappeared.

Suddenly all the shouting stopped, as if their voices had disappeared with the rider. But Nâlo whinnied loudly and began to buck. Faramir pulled at the reins, trying to control the stallion. Several times he had to dig in with his heels to keep his seat. Then Nâlo raised up once more, violently, and Faramir lost his seat, flying back. The last thing he remembered was cracking his head against something. Everything went black before he hit the ground.

*~*~*~*

When Faramir awoke, he was on his back, but on a much softer surface than he would have imagined the ground to be. He groaned and rolled his head to one side, eyes closed. Nearby he heard a man's voice say, "Zabathân, the steward wakes."

Faramir heard footsteps, so he tried to open his eyes. That first attempt being less than successful, he opted for concentrating on breathing. Then the familiar voice of the master of construction spoke. "Lord Faramir, can you hear me?"

With great effort he managed to say: "What happened?"

He heard a sigh of relief, and Zabathân replied, "Nâlo threw you, my lord. The best we can tell is that you hit your head on a tree limb and then gashed your arm on a rock."

Faramir finally blinked his eyes open. "My arm?"

Zabathân nodded. "Aye, my lord. A nasty wound."

The man who belonged to the first voice Faramir had heard appeared in his vision. "My lord, it is time to treat this wound," he said. "Can you sit up?"

With the help of Zabathân, he was soon sitting up, and the man whom he assumed to be a Healer was applying some kind of poultice to his upper arm. It stung at first, but soon his whole arm seemed to numb. Then the Healer lifted a needle and a long thread. Faramir jumped, a little startled. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

The Healer did not back down. "I am sorry, my lord, but I must seal this wound. This is the best way."

"Sew it together as you would a torn tunic?"

"Yes, milord. It is the easiest way." The young man touched Faramir's arm, and he felt no sensation at the touch. "If I work quickly, you will feel none of this."

Unconvinced, but realizing that something had to be done to the gash, Faramir nodded. The Healer started to work, and the steward looked away. This, he decided, was one thing he would not be writing Éowyn tonight. In fact, with the way he was feeling, it was probably best if he did not write Éowyn much of anything newsworthy or of great substance. It was certainly a night to write to her of how much he missed her, and how much he wished to be in her arms again—despite the teasing he would get when she learned of how he had gotten this new scar.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 6

Letters

*~*~*~*

As was her custom of late, when the messenger arrived from Ithilien, Éowyn took her letter from Faramir into one of the courtyards, where the fruit trees were just in bloom, and read it under the shade of one, seated on a bench near the wall. Of late the healers had been warning her against excessive exertion or time outside, but she had found that there was no suitable place within the house to read letters from him. Her husband's gift with words never ceased to amaze her, and though he praised her often and spoke of their intimacy frequently, it was not uncommon for his letters to draw a blush to her cheeks as she read.

My love,

I have little to official to report to you tonight, and by extension little to say to Lord Aragorn. And so I may spend the chief of my time tonight in writing to you, in a vain attempt to replace my absence of the last several weeks with words.

I am almost accustomed to waking up without you in my arms, a thought which horrifies me more than the Shadow in which we both once walked. For without you I feel a new shadow surrounds me, one from which I cannot be drawn, because I do not know when I will see your beauty, nor when your radiance will fill me again.

For the first time since my arrival here, the weather when I arose reflected my mood in waking alone. The sky was filled with dark clouds, and the men were sluggish about their work. When Beregond asked me why I was not also affected, I merely smiled. I have been living without the sunlight for weeks now, and though I seem used to it, I cannot say I am comfortable without it. Your letters sustain me as do the waters of the Anduin, yet I find they are not enough. The faint scent on them, so like yours when you are come from bathing, only serves to increase my hunger for your presence—

"My, how very faithful the King's Steward is in his correspondence. My husband can only trouble himself to write once a week when he is away."

Éowyn looked up from her letter to see Queen Arwen standing before her, looking like a goddess stepping into a dream. With great care and equally great reluctance she folded her husband's letter and returned it to her pocket. "Aye, my lady, he is perhaps the most faithful correspondent I have ever known," she replied. "His faithfulness shames my neglect of writing to him as often, yet I fear I do not have his skill with words."

Arwen smiled. "I have heard accounts of his writing," said she. "For several months I heard nothing but complaints that you had stolen the most eligible bachelor in Gondor."

"Did you!" Éowyn exclaimed. "I can only imagine what they had to say about him—his writing, you say?"

The gracious Queen nodded. "I remember one lady particularly whose cousin died under Lord Faramir's command, and she said that his letter to her uncle was the most eloquent thing she had ever read, and at such a time, too."

"I can think of nothing more eloquent than my husband's gift with words." Éowyn smiled fondly as she stood. "Alliteration and metaphor run in his veins. He should have been a scholar and a sonnetist instead of a soldier and a steward."

"It seems his gift has touched your speech as well," said the Queen, a smile on her face.

"Only a very little. Were I to live a thousand years with him, I could not learn the gentleness of his tongue."

"Walk with me." It was not a command, as one could expect from Arwen, but rather a request. Éowyn did step onto the path with the Queen, however. The two had never been unfriendly toward each other, but the lady of Rohan had never been wholly comfortable around Arwen. Few mortal women were, in company with such beauty, but Éowyn's discomfort sprang more from her former feelings for Arwen's husband.

"It is a glorious day," she said, in an attempt to override that discomfort.

"Yes, it is," Arwen murmured. "On days like this, I do not miss my home so much."

"Nor I mine," Éowyn spoke in mild wonder. She had never thought to hear one of the Elves express longing for something other than what they had. "I miss the openness of Rohan."

"And I the seclusion of Rivendell." The Queen laughed lightly as they rounded a corner together. "It seems that neither of us have married where our personal comforts would have directed us."

At that Éowyn smiled, feeling more than a little toward Arwen as Mithlomi must feel toward her. "Perhaps it is best to say that our hearts were wiser than our heads," she replied.

"And more foolish." Arwen's smile faded somewhat. "Yet I cannot regret the reason I stayed here instead of sailing to Valinor."

"Were I in your place, I could scarce argue such a sentiment," Éowyn said, absently pulling at a leaf on a tree as they paused.

She glanced up to see a puzzled look on the Queen's face. "'Tis strange to hear that choice of phrase, Éowyn," she said, taking slow steps.

"Why strange?" the lady of Rohan asked, suddenly wondering if she had given offense.

"Do you know," the Queen continued, "that I once thought I had lost Estel's love to you?" She looked over her shoulder to see Éowyn's look of wonder. "For so long I tried to hate you. When first I saw you with him, I could see the kinship between you, and I resented it. Yet having met you, I could no more hate you than I could myself."

Éowyn was slow and cautious with her reply. "And once I thought to despise you, because you had the prior claim to his heart." It seemed strange to be talking about this, two years after each of them had married, two years after Éowyn's infatuation with Aragorn had ceased. "Yet I freely admit that I did not love Aragorn so well as I admired and esteemed him. He was the greatest man I had met till then, and it was natural that I should feel more strongly for him than for others."

A burden seemed to be lifted from Arwen then, and she laughed again. "'Till then'?" she echoed. "Have you met a man who exceeds my husband?"

"As day exceeds the night!" cried Éowyn. "For in my dear Lord Faramir I have found all that could be desired in a man."

"Then it is well that I am called Evenstar," Arwen replied merrily, "and prefer the dusk over the dawn."

Éowyn laughed. "Then we shall never agree, and that is probably for the best."

The two ladies were still laughing when Éowyn noticed a door opening on the other side of the courtyard. Into the space walked Lord Aragorn. While Éowyn stifled her laughter, Arwen did not, but turned her merry countenance to her husband, who smiled as he approached. "Here I find this the happiest of places," said he, "for it cannot be often that two such beautiful women are so joyous in one another's company."

Éowyn started to blush, so she smiled and bowed her head. "Still flattering, I see," said Queen Arwen.

"Always flattering." Aragorn kissed Arwen's cheek. "What was the argument of such merriment, pray?"

Arwen took her husband's arm, and they began to walk again. "Why, you, Estel," said she. "Lady Éowyn claims she has found a man who exceeds your virtues, which I find to be utterly impossible."

"As do I," said Aragorn, his eyes bright with mirth.

"Yet the Queen informs me," Éowyn countered, greatly amused by the King's response, "that when you are gone, you barely write her once a week, while my Lord Faramir corresponds with me daily."

"What say you to this?" Arwen asked.

"I say that I choose to make my messages more dear in their sparseness," the King replied, masterful as ever.

"While my husband chooses to make his letters dear to me in their eloquence," said Éowyn. "Every line is poetry."

"Does he spend all his time penning sonnets?" Aragorn asked. "That will never do, if he shirks his duties to write poems."

"Nay, my lord," Éowyn laughed. "For him, to write a letter filled with metaphor is as natural as it is for me to ride a horse."

"Ease indeed," said Arwen. "Yet can you offer proof?"

"Only with the letters themselves, which are quite personal," she replied. Too late she saw Aragorn's slight motion to his wife, and suddenly Arwen had snatched Faramir's latest letter from her fingers. "My lady!" Éowyn cried.

At her pleading look, Arwen returned the letter, giving an apologetic glance to Aragorn. "If his letters are so personal, it would not do for us to read them," said she.

The King gave his wife a look of mock disapproval. "I suppose you must be right," said he, "though Faramir may very well have orders when the next messenger arrives that he is to write a song praising his wife very soon."

Éowyn laughed. "So long as he does not have to perform it."

"That is half the point," Aragorn replied, "to embarrass you as well as him."

Arwen gave her a somewhat more serious reply. "Do you doubt his skill in music, Éowyn?" she asked.

"Nay, quite the opposite," Éowyn replied. "He has the most pleasing voice, and is skilled on several instruments."

"So the rumors in court claimed," said the Queen, touching the Princess's arm. "I do not believe you realized two years ago what a prize you had caught."

"I admit, I did not," said she. "I knew his kindness and gentleness, but knew little else, save that he loved me."

"Which is the greater part." Arwen looked up at her husband fondly, then turned her gaze back to Éowyn. "Will you not join us for lunch?"

Éowyn smiled, suddenly very lonely for her own husband. "I ask that you excuse me, my lady, for I have not yet finished reading Faramir's letter, and I wish to send my reply today."

The King and Queen both nodded, and left the garden arm in arm. And so Éowyn finished reading her letter. When she had returned to her desk, she wrote a reply to it, feeling it was not as eloquent as he deserved, but it did contain one of her better efforts. In it she also warned him vaguely of Aragorn's threat to demand a song, and she smiled to think of what Faramir would compose in response to the challenge.

*~*~*~*

Éowyn and Mithlomi had spent much of a day in the city when the handmaiden noticed how slow her lady's step had grown, and how very pale she had become. Gently she engaged Éowyn in conversation to distract her as she led her back to the King's house. When they reached the top of the citadel, Éowyn glanced at the maid in surprise. "Why did we come back here?" she asked.

"You seemed tired," Mithlomi admitted.

The lady of Rohan sighed. "Perhaps I did," she murmured. "If we go inside, you will tell me to lie down."

Mithlomi bit her lip. "I might tell you to lie down regardless, my lady. You do not look well at all."

The maid was rarely this forward about things, but when it came to Éowyn's health, she felt she had to be assertive. That was, after all, the whole reason for her presence in the steward's house; and Lord Faramir had left her with strict instructions to look after her lady. That was a charge she would keep, no matter how much the lady resisted.

Éowyn sighed. "Very well."

Some time later, Éowyn had settled down to rest, and was asleep within minutes. Mithlomi was not terribly surprised by this, as her lady did sleep quickly these days. But the quality of her sleep was poor. She rarely lay still for more than a few minutes, but was always turning over. For a little while Mithlomi had thought that perhaps this was due to Lord Faramir's absence, as Lady Éowyn often turned to the empty side of the bed, but now the handmaid wondered if something quite different was wrong.

Gently, she touched Éowyn's forehead. The lady turned her head immediately, but Mithlomi kept her hand there. She was indeed a little too warm, as the handmaiden had noticed nearly every time she had touched Éowyn in the last few weeks. She bit her lip again, a habit which she had tried to break several times but had never shaken. It came back at times like this, when she had to do something.

It was time to speak with the King.

Mithlomi hurried through the house, taking shortcuts through gardens and grand, unused halls to the Hall of the Kings. Once outside the door, she was stopped by a guard who asked, "What business brings you here?"

She curtseyed. "I am Mithlomi, handmaiden to the Princess Éowyn. I come with urgent news for the King Elessar."

The guard opened the door and relayed this information to a young man who stood just inside it. The door closed again, then opened a few moments later. "King Aragorn requests the presence of Handmaiden Mithlomi directly."

She was ushered into the room, suddenly feeling very bold as she approached the throne. Naturally she had been in company with the King before and even spoken to him, but always demurely and in the company of others. Now it seemed very forward to have driven out the rest of the court because of a little fever. Yet this had been part of Lord Faramir's charge: to report anything out of the ordinary to the King.

Aragorn stood before she reached him, and Mithlomi curtseyed low. "My lord," she began, "forgive my intrusion."

"It is no intrusion," said he, taking her hand and lifting her up. "You bring news from Lady Éowyn?"

Slowly Mithlomi shook her head. "She did not send me, my lord. I came on my own."

There was a long, weighty pause. "Lady Éowyn is unwell."

The handmaiden nodded. "Aye, my lord."

The King took a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back. "I am not in her presence enough to observe her closely, Mithlomi, but is it possible that Lady Éowyn is with child, and does not yet know it?"

She blinked several times; such a thing had not occurred to her. Some of Éowyn's earlier symptoms, those that had come before Lord Faramir's departure, matched what she had understood of childbearing. Yet those symptoms were long gone, so Mithlomi shook her head. "When we arrived here I might have thought thus, but no more. For she has a fever, mild, but persistent, and that developed after Lord Faramir left." When he made no answer, she added, "She does not sleep well, but she is tired always. She does not eat, either."

The King seemed engaged in an intense study of the floor pattern after she spoke. At last he said, "You were right in coming to me with this, Mithlomi. Go back to your mistress, and if anything at all changes with her, send word to me at once."

Mithlomi nodded. "Yes, my lord. I beg my leave of you."

She curtseyed again and quickly left the King's presence, returning to her lady's bedside. It was evident that she had not missed much, for Éowyn was still sleeping restlessly. And the scene before her did not change for many hours.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 7

Poems

*~*~*~*

The day after receiving a cryptic note from Éowyn regarding poetry, which had piqued his curiosity to no end, Faramir was handed a stack of papers from the King, in the middle of which was a personal note. The short message, drafted in Aragorn's own swift, strong hand, read:

We have heard from the most reliable of sources that you have spent much of your time writing long letters of a poetic and eloquent nature to your wife. Since we must know that our steward is putting his time to good use, we request that you write a song extolling Lady Éowyn's virtues, to be performed at your earliest convenience.

Aragorn, King Elessar

Faramir laughed long and hard at the note. The royal we, the kingly request, and the very nature of the challenge had the makings of a wonderful story which would be told for generations around campfires of the Rangers of Ithilien. Faramir, Captain of Gondor, writing poetry for his wild love of the North. It was fitting, he supposed. There had been a time when he would have dearly loved to have been nothing more than a poet, and here was his chance to show a different quality than what could be proved in defense of a city.

Yet for some time he sat with quill in hand and parchment before him, and no words came. He pondered the possibilities of such an attempt. Praise her beauty? Éowyn hated it when he did that. Of course, he did it anyway and she had ceased to complain about it, but she would most likely not appreciate his setting his thoughts on the subject to paper.

The next obvious choice was to write a love song, and while he had many times considered it, he knew that such a thing would be for private exhibition only. His relationship with his wife was quite open and intimate, and to express his feelings on the subject in public, even in a song, would desecrate something very tender between them. No, that was out of the question. But what would he write?

With a sigh he arose from his desk and left the tent. The camp was relatively calm that night, but nearby he heard the sound of a lute. Following the hypnotic chords, he found a group of soldiers lounging about the fire. A few of them tried to stand as Faramir approached, but he held out his hand to stay them. "No need," he said, then turned to the lutist. "Please, continue."

The man obviously did not feel inclined to continue singing with the steward in his presence, so he merely played the old tunes of Gondor. Across the fire from the man, Faramir seated himself next to the master mason, Aramis. "You're only this contemplative after a letter from the Lady of Rohan," said the man, mirth in his eyes.

Faramir laughed slightly. "No, I have not had a letter from Éowyn today," he replied. "She told me in her last that she was not feeling well and that she was trying to rest more."

"Then why this expression of gloom?" Aramis asked. "I had almost thought you were becoming accustomed to the place before now."

Faramir took a deep breath and smiled. "What gloom?" he replied. "I am in Ithilien, the most beautiful place on this Middle-earth, and I have with me a company of men of Gondor. What cause have I for gloom?"

Aramis laughed. "That is a good attempt, milord."

Faramir shook his head and turned his gaze back to the fire. "Thank you."

From his left came the voice of a much younger man. "Marakal, can we not have a brighter tune?" he asked of the lutist. "You seem intent on drowning us in melancholy."

"Nay, Dethekan," the minstrel replied. "I only know the songs for the man away from his sweetheart."

Across the dancing flames, Faramir saw the look which Zabathân gave him, sympathy and amusement mingled in one. Yet it was another voice which spoke first, that of Beregond. "Perhaps another in our camp knows some tunes to liven our spirits," said he. "I have often heard from young ladies in Minas Tirith of a steward's younger son who would charm them all with songs on the lute."

Faramir looked up sharply and shook his head, smiling. "Nay, Beregond, my days of entertaining are long over—"

"But my lord," Zabathân interrupted, "you were saying only yesterday how much you missed playing the lute!"

The steward blinked, knowing that before all these soldiers, his brothers-in-arms, he could not falter. "Oh, very well," he conceded, and the minstrel gladly surrendered his lute.

He took up the instrument and settled back onto one of the marginally comfortable stones which had been set up around the fire pit. The feeling of the strings beneath his fingers brought back many, many pleasant memories; it had been too long since he had played. Briefly he wondered why, since his marriage to Éowyn, he had not touched his instrument. Perhaps the memories of life before the war were still too strong.

Absently strumming chords, he looked across the group. "What would you hear me play?" he asked.

"Sing a song of Númenor!" one man replied.

"We would be here all night, friend," Faramir replied, smiling.

"Then 'The Tailor's Lament'," said another.

Faramir laughed. "Aye, a good song, but not one to be sung without the ale flowing freely!"

The men laughed as well. Yet Beregond cleared his throat again and said, "Were you not once considered a proficient composer of songs yourself, my lord?"

Faramir turned a half-exasperated smile to Beregond, wondering if he should speak with the King concerning the man's punishment. "I suppose some might say that."

"Then sing a song of your own!" cried a soldier.

The steward shook his head, yet his fingers seemed to improvise a melody without his intent. "You would not wish to hear my pitiful attempts at songs of Gondor's past."

"Perhaps a song of our recent past," said Aramis. "Sing of the War of the Ring."

"Or of your own lady fair," added Marakal.

Faramir fell silent for a time, seemingly lost in thought and melody as he continued the melody he had found and perfected it. It was ironic that they wished him to sing of Éowyn, after his earlier challenge and attempt, and yet he kept thinking of their request for a song of war. They were soldiers, after all, as was his wife in her own way.

A song of war. . . .soldiers. . . .Éowyn. . . .

His fingers suddenly stopped upon the strings, and Faramir looked up. A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and he said, "Perhaps I shall indulge us all in a tale."

As he looked across the group, he saw several of the men smile, and so too did he. It had been a long time since he had done such a thing, but as he strummed the chords, the skill he had once prized in storytelling and singing came back, and he began to speak.

"Éowyn of Rohan," he began, "was the king's niece, and regarded as the fairest of those who dwelt in Edoras. Yet with this life she was not satisfied, for being the daughter of kings, she was a shieldmaiden, and wished to go to battle with the men who had taught her to fight, and then left her to tend her uncle." Then he began to sing, and hoped that he would remember the words when he came to write them down.

"In Edoras a flower grows,
The purest bloom of lily white,
But fairer than the winter's rose
Is she who took up sword to fight."

It was truly awful poetry, he knew, but the tune was lively enough to distract the men from the dullness of the words. Indeed, they seemed to be a rapt audience. Faramir wondered, as he continued, if any ale had been passed around before his arrival.

Yet as he continued, recounting the tale of Éowyn's defeat of the Witch-king of Angmar, he had the complete attention of the men at the fire. Many of them knew that Faramir's wife had been at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, yet few knew how instrumental her presence had been to their victory. Despite the fact that the lyrics themselves were halting, even cacophonic, Faramir knew that once he polished the verse, this would be a tale spun by storytellers for ages to come.

At the end of the song, he tapered off with a final chord and the men applauded. Faramir smiled, running his palm down the length of the lute's neck. Yet when Marakal asked for another song, the steward shook his head and handed the lute back to the minstrel. "None tonight," Faramir replied. "I fear I have used up all my creative energies for one evening."

He rose and left then, returning to his tent as the melody played through his mind again and again. Drawing parchment, quill, and ink, he began to write.

*~*~*~*

Over the course of three days, Éowyn felt her condition worsen significantly. What had begun as a slight ache behind her temples was now a pounding agony, blinding pain at the smallest change in light or sound. Mithlomi was hovering, as a hen over her precious chick, and Éowyn felt very uncomfortable around her, as if that mother hen was also a hawk, ever watching. So for much of the time, she slept.

On the morning of the fourth day, the Princess arose and allowed her handmaiden to help her bathe and dress. Yet she insisted on going down for breakfast with Aragorn and Arwen, despite the ache she felt all over her body. Mithlomi was not far behind, and for the first time since they had come to this place, she accompanied Éowyn into the dining room.

The handmaiden, however, sought out a seat along the wall as the King rose. "My lady," said he, "are you unwell?"

"It is only a headache," she replied. "Please, do not trouble yourself."

Aragorn stood anyway and helped her sit down at the table. There was little conversation, as Éowyn felt very tired and Arwen seemed lost in thought and observation. Éowyn concentrated on her food, unappetizing though it was, and managed to stomach small portions before the daily messenger from Ithilien arrived.

To no one's surprise, a letter for her from her husband was found within the parcel of official documents. As was her custom when the messenger arrived during the morning meal, she took it, drained her glass, and rose from the table. But this time she stopped there; a wave of disorientation overtook her, and the King said, "Éowyn?"

She took a few short breaths, feeling the dizziness pass. "It is nothing."

Éowyn started toward the door, her hand upon her brow as she gazed toward the floor. Walking forced the dizzy feeling to return, and when she reached the door she stopped, resting her hand against the frame. Somewhere in the distance she heard her maid say: "My lady?" But Éowyn could not respond, for in that moment, her vision blurred, and weakness overtook her. Then everything turned to blackness, and she did not remember crumpling to the floor.

*~*~*~*

"My lady!"

The handmaiden's cry was almost a shriek, but Arwen knew immediately that Éowyn did not hear her. In a matter of moments, King, Queen, and servant were huddled around the Rohirric woman's motionless form, hoping for some sign of life in her. Aragorn turned her over to her back, but still she did not move of her own volition.

Arwen touched her forehead. "She is burning up," said she, looking to her husband. "How long has she been ill?"

"Since before Faramir's departure," he replied. He looked up at the handmaiden. "She has worsened lately, has she not?"

Mithlomi nodded, her hazel eyes wide as if in fear. "Aye, my lord. These three days have been worse than anything previous."

With thumb and two fingers, Arwen massaged small circles down Éowyn's neck, feeling some swelling. She then touched the woman's hand, and found it as cold as her forehead was hot. "We must draw the fever down," said she. "Mithlomi, hurry to the Houses of Healing and bring back the Warden of the Houses." As the girl stood and fled, Arwen looked to her husband. "Take her to her bed."

Aragorn needed no second suggestion; he scooped Éowyn into his arms immediately and headed to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time. Arwen stayed behind only long enough to call servants to clear the table and to instruct another to bring Mithlomi and the Warden to Éowyn's chamber. After that she hurried up the stairs after her husband.

When she came into Éowyn's room, Aragorn was seated beside the woman lying supine on the bed. He was holding her hand and rubbing the length of her forearm, trying to bring heat to her skin. Arwen sat opposite him, taking her other hand and doing the same. Lady Éowyn's face was almost translucent in its paleness. Mentally the Queen berated herself for not having paid enough attention to her guest's health over the last few days. She had merely assumed that Éowyn knew the limit of her strength.

Aragorn touched Éowyn's forehead with the back of his hand. "If the fever goes much higher it will kill her," said he, his voice very grave.

"I know," Arwen replied. "I know."

They stayed in silence for several minutes more before the door opened, and Mithlomi entered, followed by the Warden of the Houses of Healing. He bowed formally to the monarchs, and Aragorn stood away from the bed to allow the Healer to work. "How long has she been thus?" he asked, feeling Éowyn's brow.

Arwen stood and joined her husband. "She fainted but a few minutes ago, yet the King tells me she has been ill since Lord Faramir's departure," said she.

"Aye, she has been in the Houses several times in the last few weeks, yet those who attended her could not ascertain what was amiss." He looked to the handmaiden, who stood near the door, frightened and pale. "When did her health worsen?"

"Three days past she started to worsen at a frightening rate, Warden," Mithlomi replied. "She would not go to the Houses, and today I had resolved to apply to the King for help," she added with a nod to Aragorn.

The Warden returned to his work, and Aragorn laid a proprietary hand on Arwen's waist. She looked up to see a contemplative expression upon his face. "Do not fear," said she in a low voice. "They have helped her through far worse than this."

The King nodded. "I know, and yet I still feel I should not have sent her husband away from her when she was already ill." Slowly he placed his other hand at her waist and pulled her closer. "I fear I would not do the same, were I in his place."

"Faramir's sense of duty to you and to his people is strong, and though he loves his wife above all else, they both know when duty must overrule personal desires." She turned her gaze to him. "As do you."

Before Aragorn had a chance to reply, the Healer stood and turned to them. "This is a malady common to children here in Minas Tirith," said he. "Never in my years in the Houses have I seen it in a lady, nor have I seen a case so severe."

"What can be done for her?" asked Aragorn.

"We must let the fever run its course, my liege," said the Warden. "If I dare bleed her, it will finish her."

"Can we—" Mithlomi began, then stopped abruptly as the trio faced her. She bit at her lip. "Can we do nothing to ease her distress, Warden?" she asked. "My lady has not slept well in weeks."

The Warden nodded. "There are a few herbs which I will send you to settle her, but do not expect that they will give her true rest."

Mithlomi nodded. "We will take whatever help we can find."

With that the Warden turned and left, and the handmaiden took her place at her lady's side. A few minutes later Aragorn took his leave as well, as he had much to do during the course of the day. Arwen stayed behind with Éowyn, hoping against hope that the woman would wake soon.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 8

Prayers

*~*~*~*

Late in the evening Aragorn returned to Éowyn's chamber, finding the handmaiden and Queen in much the same way as he had left them that morning. Arwen had called a servant to bring them meals, but she had eaten little, and Mithlomi had taken nothing at all to eat. The handmaiden had only taken wine when Arwen insisted upon it.

"How does she fare?" asked the King, laying a hand on Arwen's shoulder.

"Not as well as I would like," she replied. "She has not yet woken, nor has her fever diminished."

Aragorn touched Éowyn's hand, then turned to the handmaiden. "Mithlomi, would you fetch more blankets for your mistress?"

She frowned. "There are no blankets left in this room."

"Then go to the laundress," said Arwen, "and ask her to send up more."

"Aye, my lady," Mithlomi replied, standing and curtseying before hurrying away.

Arwen looked up at her husband. "Is this beyond your skill?"

He took a seat in a chair by the bed and brushed a few strands of hair from Éowyn's brow. "The only cure for this is time," said he. "There is little any of us could do, save pray to the Valar for her protection."

"They have spared her before," Arwen replied. Her husband nodded, and she knew that he too was thinking of the year before, when Éowyn had lain in the Houses of Healing, near death after losing the child she carried. Arwen touched the lady's hand; it was still cold. "'Tis strange that this fever should take such strong hold in so short a time."

"What mean you?" the King asked. "She has been ill for some time."

"This fever is quite new, stemming perhaps from contact with a child in the Houses of Healing on her last visit," said Arwen. "Yet Mithlomi has related to me the symptoms of the last several weeks, and they cannot be associated with this malady."

"What do you suspect, Arwen?"

Arwen gazed at the woman's face. "She may be with child, and has not yet told anyone, or perhaps does not know it."

She glanced up to see a frown on her husband's face. "Her maid assured me that was not the case."

"Mithlomi is a sweet, intelligent girl and very observant, yet she is young, and tells me that her mother died when she was born," said the Queen. "She had no older lady to teach her all these things concerning childbearing." Arwen sighed. "If she carries a child, that would explain why the illness took hold so suddenly. Her body would be tending to matters of the child, not to illness."

The door opened again, revealing Mithlomi with her arms full of blankets, and Arwen ceased to speak on that subject. As she and Aragorn helped the maid to spread more blankets over the patient, Arwen said, "Whatever the case may be, I feel we must send for her husband immediately."

Aragorn nodded. "See to it, Arwen," said he. "I will see to the lady."

*~*~*~*

"Where to this morning, milord?"

Faramir stood with his horse, with seven other men and their steeds around him. Daily this group rode away from camp, into the woods of Ithilien to find out another location for the settling of their new city. Every morning one of them would ask the steward whence they would go, and every morning he would look to Zabathân and laugh. "How many days must we ride out before you learn that the master of construction makes those decisions?" he asked.

"Forgive me, my lord," said Dethekan. "I fear I am used to seeing you as my Captain, and giving orders as such."

Faramir mounted Nâlo and smiled. "Aye, Dethekan, but we must remember that we are at peace now!" said he. "A Ranger of Ithilien you may yet be, but I am one no longer." He turned to Zabathân. "Where do we ride?"

"Southeast, milord," said he, "roughly to where that rider comes hence."

Faramir turned sharply to see a man on horseback in the distance, speeding toward the camp. Furrowing his brow, he turned his horse toward that path. "Let us meet him ere he reaches our encampment," said he, and they rode off.

Within a short time, they were withing a few hundred yards of the man, and Faramir called out, "What news from the city?"

The rider continued hard, but stopped as he recognized the steward. "My lord, I bring urgent news from Minas Tirith," said he.

"Aye, it must be urgent indeed, if the King sends an extra messenger," Faramir replied. "We did not look for another until nightfall."

"I have ridden since the night before last, with only a short stop to rest and sup," said the rider. "I have a message most urgent for you, Lord Faramir."

Faramir gave a small, puzzled smile. "Then let us hear it, instead of hearing of it."

The rider withdrew a message from his small pack and handed it to the steward, who opened it immediately. The hand was one he did not recognize, but since the messenger had said he had come from the King, he could only assume that it was drafted by Queen Arwen. Yet why?

The steward shook his head and read the note.

Lord Faramir,

I write to you to implore you to return as early as you can. Lady Éowyn has grown exceedingly worse these last few days. The Warden of the Houses of Healing has visited her here, and he says that while she is afflicted with a malady of childhood here in Gondor, it has taken stronger hold of her than he has ever seen. She collapsed this morning after breakfast, and has not woken since.

My lord the King and I beg you to come here with haste.

Arwen Undómiel, of Gondor Queen

Faramir stared at the note long after he had finished reading it, wondering at the message that his wife had fallen so ill after his departure. Why had he so willingly left her behind, knowing she was not in full health? There were other men the King could have sent, and yet Faramir left without question. The King would have regarded Éowyn's well-being important enough to allow him to stay behind to tend her. Yet she had not been so unwell when he had left, or he would have stayed back.

It was Zabathân's voice that broke his reverie. "My lord? Why so pale?"

He found his throat suddenly dry and his voice hoarse as he answered and said, "My wife—"

He glanced around at the men, who were waiting apprehensively. "My lord?" said Beregond.

Faramir looked back at the note briefly. "Get this man food and drink, and a place to rest," he ordered. "I must away to Minas Tirith; I cannot wait a moment."

With that the steward spurred his horse ahead, and he did not stop to take rest until well into the night.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 9

Promises

*~*~*~*

Mithlomi had barely left her mistress's side through the long days and nights in which Éowyn did not wake. Often Queen Arwen was with her, and the Lord Aragorn as well, as often as he could join them. The handmaiden barely slept, and yet she could perceive no change in her lady's condition, whether for good or ill.

"It is three days since we sent word to Lord Faramir," said the Queen, floating along, it seemed, with boundless grace in the moonlight. She stood behind the King and placed her hands upon his shoulders as he sat at the lady's side. "Should he not be returned?"

Aragorn shook his head, and in his eyes Mithlomi perceived a great sadness. "The messenger would have been fortunate to reach the encampment by dawn yesterday."

There was a pounding on the door then: Éowyn stirred and groaned, and Mithlomi was torn. As the servant she should have gone to the door, but she wanted to see to her mistress. Yet the decision was taken out of her hands, as the Queen left Lord Aragorn's side to open the door herself.

Muted conversation passed as Mithlomi pressed a warm, damp cloth to Éowyn's forehead. The fever was still as strong as it had been in days past. "My lord," said the Queen, "we have a guest."

"Who?" Aragorn asked. Out of the corner of her eye, the handmaiden saw the King look over his shoulder.

"That is a fair way to treat your friend," said an unfamiliar voice, smooth as the finest silks in Éowyn's wardrobe. Mithlomi glanced over her shoulder to see in the doorway a tall youth, very easy to look upon. She wondered at his accent and bearing, and knew he was no man of Gondor, for his features were too fair to be of that race of Men.

"Legolas!" cried the King, standing and crossing to the door in three strides. He embraced the man and then began to speak in Elvish. It was then that Mithlomi realized that she looked not upon a man, but an elf. It was no wonder that he was so becoming and youthful. Blushing slightly, she returned her attention to the cloth on her lady's brow.

"And this is Mithlomi, Éowyn's faithful maiden," said the King, returning once more to the language of men. "She has hardly left this room since the lady fell ill."

The elf laid his hand upon her shoulder, and Mithlomi risked a glance at him. In his eyes was a kind light, and he smiled at the King's words. "You give your lady great service, Mithlomi," said he, "for there is none so worthy of such loyalty as the White Lady of Rohan. Such service gives you great honor as well."

By then his words had caused her to blush furiously, and the handmaiden had to look away. "I do my duty, milord," said she.

"Yet sometimes to do one's duty is the most difficult task of all." The elf turned his attention away from her, for which she was very glad. "Aragorn, how long has she lain thus?"

"Three days and nights," said he. "The Healer has told us that there is no remedy for this malady, save time."

Legolas reached his hand out, hovering over the cloth on Éowyn's forehead. Mithlomi withdrew her hand and cloth hastily, and the elf touched her forehead. He spoke something in Elvish, then turned back to Mithlomi. "Your lady will recover. Have no fear," said he.

She nodded and tried to smile. Over three days she had become somewhat comfortable with Queen Arwen's presence, yet this new elf had a different bearing, one which was more than a little unsettling. For he had the grace of the elven Queen, yet he had the mark of a warrior upon him, though no scar showed.

"What brought you here, Legolas?" asked Aragorn.

"I received word from Lord Faramir of the mystery in Ithilien," said the elf. "I wished to ride there to see it for myself, yet I thought it best to come through this road and call upon you first."

"It is well that you did, for you will approach the camp from the south and not pass by the danger in the woods." The King returned to his place at Éowyn's side. "We have sent for Lord Faramir. By morning he should arrive."

"I am glad to hear it." Legolas stood away from the bed. "If you wish it, I will sit with the lady tonight. You all look in need of rest."

Aragorn began to shake his head, but upon a look from his wife, he said, "That is most kind of you, Legolas." He stood to go, Arwen's hand upon his arm.

Legolas looked down at Mithlomi. In truth she was very tired and the offer was appealing. Yet as she set aside the damp cloth she realized that her hand was clasped in her lady's, she knew she could not leave. "I will stay with her, though I would not begrudge company," she said quietly. "My place is here."

*~*~*~*

By the time Faramir arrived at the King's gate, he was nearly certain that he had ridden his horse to its death, but that did not matter. He did not wait for an attendant to come for his horse before barging through the doors himself and demanding of the nearest servant, "Take me to my wife!"

The startled butler collected himself and stood back. "I do not know where she is, my lord," he stammered, obviously taken aback by the steward's behavior.

"Then find someone who knows!"

It seemed several hours later that Faramir was directed to one of the guest rooms in the royal residence. He ran the whole way there, his heavy cloak billowing as he flew down the hallway. He was not certain how he managed to open the door, but it swung open and banged into the wall behind it. There in the room were Aragorn, Arwen, Mithlomi, and the elf Legolas, tension clear on each face. They were watching a bed in which a pale and slender body lay.

"Éowyn," he breathed, walking very slowly across the room. None spoke as he approached his wife's still form. He carefully seated himself beside her and addressed Aragorn and Arwen without taking his eyes away from Éowyn's blanched face. "What happened?" His voice was hoarser than he had anticipated.

"We are not sure," the King replied. "The Healers think she may have come in contact with something in the Houses of Healing." He paused. "She has not woken these three days, Faramir, but sleeps restlessly."

Mutely Faramir nodded. His fingers were tracing the fine contours of her face, curves he knew so well and were now so warm, like the heat of an unwelcome fire on a summer afternoon. "Éowyn," he repeated. "Éowyn, my love. . . ."

Long moments passed in silence; Faramir could not tear his eyes from his wife's face, nor find his voice again. Then there was a fluttering of eyelashes which the steward thought he had imagined. Yet Queen Arwen saw it too and rushed to the other side of the bed. There was another flutter, as if she were trying to blink eyes that were already closed, and Faramir spared a glance at the Elf. She nodded. "She wakes."

Gently Faramir palmed his wife's cheek, stroking her soft skin. "Éowyn," he said once more, his voice finding more strength than before. "Éowyn."

She exhaled, a tiny puff of air, and then she opened her eyes. Faramir could see that she was not very alert, and confusion shone in her eyes for a little while. Finally she smiled ever so slightly. "This is. . .a dream," she managed, in little more than a breathy sigh.

Faramir shook his head. "No, not a dream." Gently he kissed her forehead. "I am real. I am here."

In the silence that followed, he could not take his hands from her face, and yet he worried at how fragile she looked. Tears started to form in her eyes. "Faramir," she whispered, "I love you."

"Shhh, soft, my love," he replied. "You need rest."

Éowyn smiled faintly. "They would make me lie abed longer?"

At that Faramir smile broadly and would have laughed, had he not been so relieved. "Yes, my love, they would. And this time I shall not let you rise and walk about when you will."

"I thought you loved me," said she, a weak, teasing reprimand.

"More than you ever wished I would." Faramir kissed her forehead again, then her cheek.

The door opened, and he turned in time to see the room's other occupants exit, even the faithful Mithlomi. Éowyn saw it too, and she slowly lifted her hand to his cheek. "I missed you." Her voice was getting a little stronger.

Faramir turned and kissed the palm of her hand. "I missed you as well," he replied.

"You look tired."

"Not as tired as you, dearest," he began. Her hand slipped back into his hair, a motion that had lost none of its potency with its familiarity. Faramir knew that she was not strong yet, despite her sudden awakening. Yet it had been so long since he had touched her, since he had felt her gentle lips against his own, since he had reveled in the passion of her kiss. Almost without thought, Faramir bowed his head pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was gentler than what he had unconsciously imagined for his welcome home, but he did not care. Éowyn's response was soft and warm; when he pulled away, she protested with a soft sigh. Her eyes fluttered open, and Faramir saw a silent plea within them. Carefully, he slipped his arms around her frame and lifted her into his embrace. In response she unfastened his cloak at last and pushed it from his shoulders. She was still too pale, too warm, and too weak. But as she rested in his arms, Faramir knew Éowyn would be all right. For they were together again, as they should be.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 10

Comfort

*~*~*~*

Mithlomi returned to her lady's room in time to bring a midday meal to Faramir, Legolas returned in time for tea, and Lord Aragorn and Lady Arwen joined them after dinner. After a while, the Steward was grateful for the company. The handmaiden tended her mistress in silence, the Elf lord spoke of archery, and Aragorn asked about Ithilien. Unfortunately there were many questions for which Faramir knew no answer.

Yet the evening passed pleasantly as Éowyn slept on, and the group stayed late into the night. Eventually Faramir sent Mithlomi to bed, knowing that she had had less sleep than he in the last few days. The royals soon followed, and Faramir was left alone with his wife. He too began to doze off in his chair, awaking occasionally to feel Éowyn's brow.

It was on one such occasion that she began to sweat and her skin felt clammy. Panic fluttered through his mind for a moment before he remembered what rudimentary medical knowledge he had. She was afflicted with a fever, and when a fever broke suddenly, the patient would often sweat. With a great sigh, he sagged back into his chair. Her eyes blinked open, and she whispered, "Faramir, it is so hot. . . ."

Despite her complaint, he smiled. "I know, love," said he, taking a dry cloth to her forehead. "The fever breaks. All is well."

They passed the time in silence for a while, and then Éowyn said: "I dreamt of Númenor."

"Of Númenor?" he asked. "Of Westernesse?"

"Of the waves crashing over the land. Of a great change coming upon our lives," said she, nodding. "I do not often dream."

"I know," he concurred. "I have dreamt of change too. But there is nothing to fear."

Éowyn smiled softly and closed her eyes, soon drifting into sleep. By and by, Faramir did too, and dreamt of a house in Ithilien, laughter through corridors, an infant crying, and a young man on horseback, with a child sitting before him.

*~*~*~*

Early in the morning, Faramir awoke in the chair by Éowyn's bed. The sun was just rising, and his wife still lay asleep. Then a knock sounded upon the door, and he realized why he had awoken. "Come in," said he, and in came Mithlomi.

"My lord?" said she. "How does my lady fare?"

"She is out of danger," he replied. "The fever broke in the night."

"Oh, praise be to the Valar!" she cried; then an abashed look overtook her face. "Pardon me, milord."

Faramir smiled at the maid. "No need, Mithlomi," said he, "for such praise should be given."

Éowyn stirred then, and Faramir turned his attention back to her. "Good morning," said he. "How do you feel?"

"Better, my lord," said she. "And you?"

"I am well." He turned back to Mithlomi. "Would you run to the kitchens and fetch your lady food?"

"Yes, milord." She walked to the door and moved to open it, then turned around again. "Should I bring food for you as well, milord?"

Faramir smiled. "Yes, thank you, Mithlomi."

While the maid was gone, the Steward helped Éowyn to sit up, supported by a mountain of pillows behind her. "I hate having to be waited upon like this," said she.

"You always have." Faramir touched her cheek. "You will be well soon enough."

"Do you know that I would rather lie abed because of injury than because of this?"

Faramir laughed softly and kissed her lips. "I have no doubt."

Éowyn looked down at her hands, and then glanced up at him after a moment of hesitation. His heart swelled to see the familiar expression, one which he had missed so much that he had written her about it. There was an intense longing in her eyes, and Faramir kissed her again, this time running his hand to the back of her head to draw her closer. She needed little encouragement: a soft moan escaped her throat, and her fingers entwined in his hair.

There was a familiar click of the door latch and a gasp, and Faramir pulled away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Éowyn suppressed a laugh. "Mithlomi, thank you," said she, addressing the blushing maid as she brought forth a tray of food.

"I apologize for being late, milady," said she. "A messenger just arrived from Ithilien, and I waited for him to be done with the King so I could show him up here."

"A messenger?" said Faramir, turning to the maid.

"Aye, milord. He is just outside."

Faramir touched Éowyn's hand for a moment, and she inclined her head toward the door. He left her side, stepping into the hallway to see one of the Rangers of Ithilien. "Damrod!" he cried; and he embraced his old friend, much to the Ranger's surprise. "Damrod, it is good to see you again! Yet why are you on courier duty?"

The Ranger seemed to recover his shock a bit. "My family's farm is running again at last, milord, and I have returned to your service," said he. "Yet when I came to Ithilien, I was told you were here in Minas Tirith."

"I arrived here only yesterday," said Faramir. "I was summoned back to the city, for Éowyn was ill."

"Was, my lord? Has she recovered?" Damrod asked.

"She is out of danger now, Damrod," the Steward replied.

"Valar be praised." Damrod bowed slightly. "And now I must deliver my charge to you, milord, and ride back to Ithilien. I told the Captain I would not tarry here." The Ranger handed over his rather large parcel and bowed again. "The rest is being unloaded from the horses and brought here by the King's servants."

"Thank you, Damrod. I wish you speed and safety," Faramir replied.

The Ranger bowed again. "Give the lady my wishes for a speedy recovery."

Damrod turned and left, and Faramir entered the room once more. Éowyn had a curious look upon her face as he returned to her bedside with the parcel. "What is all this?" she asked.

"Zabathân saw to it that my belongings were returned to me," said he. "This, I suspect, was the contents of my desk there."

He opened the satchel when he was seated, taking a moment to relieve Éowyn's breakfast tray of a piece of toast. "And who gave you leave take that, my lord?" she teased.

"I am the Steward of Gondor," he replied, "and as that tray is in the realm of Gondor, its contents are under my care. And my care at this point is to eat it," he added, taking a bite from it.

"Are you certain you went only so far as Ithilien?" she asked. "For your manners better befit our friends from the Shire."

Faramir gave her a half-smile. "I will answer you later, shieldmaiden." He kissed her nose, and took another slice of bread.

Some time later, after Mithlomi had nearly been driven from the room by embarrassment at being present through such exchanges, Faramir found the rolls of parchment which he had spent so much time studying. The plans for their house lay there in the bag, and for a moment, Faramir was tempted to share them with her then, but he wanted a private moment. Though Mithlomi was very much a member of their household and often blended with the shadows when necessary, he wanted to give this to Éowyn when they were alone. And so he looked past the plans and found something entirely different in the bottom of the satchel.

Two thin sheets of wood rested in the bottom of the bag, and Faramir lifted them up with great care. Éowyn looked up at him. "What is that, my lord?"

"I know not, for I do not recognize this," said he. Carefully he laid the sheets upon the bed and lifted one from the other. There was a sheet of parchment beneath, as well as a folded letter. Faramir picked up the letter and read it.

My Lord Faramir, it has come to our attention here that your lady wife is very ill, and so we send this gift for her in hopes that she will recover soon and at last see the land in which she will dwell.

There was no signature, and Faramir did not know for certain who had sent it. He folded the letter again and placed it in his pocket, and then he placed the sheet of wood in his hand over the other. "My lord?" Éowyn prompted.

"This is for you," said he, handing it to her.

With great curiosity Éowyn took it from him and separated the wood sheets. From his angle Faramir could not tell what it was, and a look of confusion graced his wife's features. "I do not understand," said she, lifting the parchment. "It is beautiful, but what is it?"

She held it out for Faramir to look at, and his eyes widened at the sight of an ink sketch of a forest climbing up the mountain and a brook that spilled over its slope. "It is a place in Emyn Arnen," he said in disbelief. "It is where our house will be built."

Éowyn's expression froze with shock for a moment, and when she finally looked back to the sketch, her eyes were filled with tears. "It is beautiful," she repeated. "Our house will be here?"

He nodded, pointing to a place on the drawing. "There it shall stand."

She shook her head as in disbelief. "And what of the note? Did it tell who sent this?"

"Nay," said he, shaking his head, "only that they sent it to you in hopes that you will see it with your own eyes soon."

Her tears spilled down her cheeks as she replaced the top sheet of wood. "I would have you convey my thanks to all those involved in your next letter, Faramir."

"And so I shall." He looked upon her in concern. "Are you well, Éowyn?"

She smiled suddenly. "Oh, yes. Only a little tired."

His concern did not abate, but he let her finish her breakfast in silence, and then dismissed Mithlomi for the remainder of the morning. Éowyn looked at him curiously then, and he smiled. "I am rather tired as well, my lady," said he, taking off his boots, "and what sleep I have had in recent weeks, I have had on an uncomfortable cot, on the cold ground, or in a hard chair."

Faramir began to pull the mountain of pillows down from around her. "And here I find a bed which is comfortable, warm, and soft, and has the added attraction of having my wife within its covers. Though it be an hour past the dawn, I intend to sleep, and I will sleep in this bed with you in my arms, if you will permit me."

She gave him no answer in words, but instead smiled broadly. With a contented sigh, he slipped under the covers and drew her close to him, and for the first time in weeks, he slept soundly, as did she.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 11

Joy

*~*~*~*

And so it was over the course of the next week that Éowyn began to improve immensely. Whether it was the natural course of the disease or the soothing effect of Faramir's presence, no one knew for certain. But by the third day after his return she was allowed to take brief walks in the King's gardens so long as she took her husband's arm. For this she was perhaps more glad than for anything else.

It was on such a walk in the garden on the fifth day after her awakening that Éowyn and Faramir received visitors. In the morning, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth arrived, along with his youngest son and daughter, Amrothos and Lothíriel. Imrahil, having heard only of Éowyn's illness, was overjoyed to see her outside.

Faramir's uncle was a kind man, and from all accounts, an excellent leader. Upon meeting the Prince for the first time, Éowyn had understood the man she would marry, and how he had acquired his gentle nature. It was clear that Faramir's mother Finduilas must have been like unto this man of Dol Amroth. From paintings in the House of the Stewards, she had seen that Faramir looked very much like the men of his family, but that his eyes—warm and grey, loving and knowing—had been his inheritance from his mother.

Imrahil was also a man of great knowledge, and liked his niece very much. As was their custom when he came to visit, the widowed Prince of Dol Amroth took Éowyn's arm in her walks about the garden, and the pair spent most of the morning together, allowing Faramir to attend the King. Imrahil was much like Faramir, and so she quite enjoyed his company when she could not have her husband with her.

And so the elder Prince entertained Éowyn until midday, when she joined the King and Queen for a meal for the first time since she had collapsed. The royal couple were overjoyed to see her doing so well, as was Faramir, who gave his uncle a wary look. "Have I not often told you, Uncle, that I do not hesitate to shoot poachers?" he asked, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Imrahil laughed, and Éowyn shook her head. "Nephew, it is hardly poaching when the victim is so willing," said he.

Faramir helped Éowyn to her seat as she replied: "I wonder that either of you would trouble yourselves with me."

As the guests from Dol Amroth, Aragorn, and Arwen took their seats as well, Faramir tipped her chin up and kissed her, long and full. Only when the King cleared his throat did Faramir draw back, and Éowyn felt her cheeks warm a little. Then the Steward took his seat beside her and patted her hand affectionately. "Shall we begin?" asked the King.

Faramir was unabashed. "Whenever you wish, my liege," said he, smiling.

The meal was progressing pleasantly enough until they heard a commotion in the corridor beyond. Éowyn thought for a moment that she had heard a familiar voice, one which she had not heard in many months. She threw a glance at Faramir, who looked just as confused as she.

"The King is in here," they heard a servant say, and then the door opened, revealing Éomer-king of Rohan in the hall.

Still in full riding gear, he looked magnificent, truly regal, despite the obvious contrasts between Rohirric and Gondorian royalty. "Éomer!" cried Éowyn.

He stopped short. "Éowyn!" Confusion filled his countenance as well, and he looked at Aragorn. "You said my sister was ill, Lord Aragorn."

Éowyn turned to look at the King, who said: "I must apologize, Lord Éomer. When I sent word to you, she was ill, with little hope of recovery on the horizon. But five days ago she awoke, and has been steadily improving."

While the King spoke, Éowyn arose and met her brother midway between the table and the door. They embraced, and it was long before Éomer released her. "It is good to see you well, sister," said he.

"I would you had come on happier tidings," said she. "Will you not join us now?"

Queen Arwen rang a bell, and some time later the King of Rohan had joined the table. "My uncle Prince Imrahil you know," said Faramir, as Éomer took his seat at his sister's side, "but have you met his children?"

"His sons I have met, but I do not believe I have met his daughter," said Éomer, fixing his eyes upon Lothíriel.

Éowyn smiled. "Brother, this is my husband's cousin, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," said she.

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady." Éomer nodded to her.

"And you, my lord." She smiled kindly and glanced at Éowyn. "Yet I am sorry we had to meet under such circumstances."

"Ill my sister may have been," said Éomer, "yet she is well now, and so we have no cause for sorrow."

The servants arrived with the next course then, and the meal passed quite pleasantly, with plenty of food and conversation to be had. Éowyn noted with growing amusement how often her brother's attention travelled to Lothíriel. She had no doubt that his advisors had been telling him to marry (and that he had been resisting for as long as possible) but he was quite obviously struck by the dark-haired beauty seated across from him. For her part, Lothíriel reacted to it with the manners of a Princess, polite but never encouraging. Yet after a particular exchange, Éowyn caught the girl's eye and smiled, and Lothíriel turned her attention to her plate and blushed.

"How long will we have the pleasure of your company, Éomer?" asked Aragorn, taking a long draught from his glass at the end of the meal.

"I had thought to stay until I was assured of my sister's recovery," he replied, "but seeing her here in such health changes my plans."

"Surely you will not leave the city soon," said Lothíriel. "I understand you have not seen your sister in some time."

"No, I have not," Éomer replied, smiling at Éowyn. "I am not expected to return to Edoras for some weeks, and so I will stay here a little while."

The next hour passed with the group still seated around the table until a servant knocked on the door. "Begging your pardon, my liege," he said, addressing the King, "but the Warden of the Houses of Healing has come to see to Lady Éowyn."

Faramir immediately stood and helped Éowyn to her feet. "Where is your maid?" he asked. "For she should help you."

"Oh," said Lothíriel, "I hope you will not be angry with me, cousin, but when Mithlomi was finished attending me, I sent her to bed. She seemed very tired."

Éowyn smiled. "I am glad you sent her to rest," said she. "Had you not, I likely would have myself."

Lothíriel stood. "Then let me attend you in her place," she replied, walking around the table and taking Éowyn's arm.

Faramir laughed. "Cousin, there are maids enough here to wait upon Éowyn."

"Yes, but since I deprived her of hers, I should make it up to her as best I can." She gave her cousin a gentle nudge with her elbow. "I am certain you have much to do."

Éowyn looked over her shoulder at Imrahil, who was smiling. "And when they are gone," said the Prince, "Lothíriel shall put Éowyn to sleep with talk of the latest fashions and gossip from Dol Amroth."

"Nay, Father," said she. "I shall let Éowyn talk of horses and put me to sleep for once."

Éowyn laughed and headed to the door. "Come, Lothíriel, it is not good to keep the Warden waiting."

Once out of the room, Lothíriel lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cousin, does your brother always stare at ladies thus?"

Éowyn stifled a laugh. "No, he does not! I have seen that look from him only once in my life, after he first rode one of the Mearas."

"The Mearas? A horse?" Lothíriel crinkled her nose as they started up the stairs. "A fine compliment he pays me, then."

This time Éowyn did not bother to stop her laughter. "It is a high compliment, cousin. For he is Master of the horse-lords, and those creatures our people cherish so are his first love." She gave the girl a sly look. "If you intend to tame him, you will have to learn to love his horses as he does."

Lothíriel sighed. "I suppose you must be—" She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs and flushed a deep red. "Cousin, I said naught of—of taming him!"

Éowyn kissed her cheek. "No, you did not. Perhaps he will turn you wild."

The Princess of Dol Amroth glared, her cheeks still quite bright. "I had wished you good health, but now I wonder if that is what was best."

They reached Eowyn's room then, and she gave Lothíriel's hand a gentle squeeze. "Come, cousin, you know I tease you."

"Yes, and you do it quite well. I wonder that you were sick at all, if you are able thus to combat with the spoken word."

They opened the door then, finding the Warden on the other side. He was quite pleased to see her in such spirits, and having been assured that she had eaten well, he began to examine her.

Eventually he pronounced her free of the disease, if a little weak, and requested that Lothíriel ensure that Éowyn drink plenty of water. The Princess of Dol Amroth took that to mean that she was to fetch Éowyn a pitcher of water immediately, despite Éowyn's protests that it could wait. Then as the Warden began to pack his bag again, he said: "The Lady Arwen asked me to speak with you of something particular."

Éowyn had started to rise, but upon his speaking again, she returned to her chair. "What is it?"

The Warden turned and leaned against the table. "When were you last. . .indisposed?"

The lady looked at him curiously. "You know when I have been ill."

He smiled a little and looked down. "No, my lady. I meant your monthly indisposition."

Her eyes widened. "Do you mean—"

"You may be with child." He met her gaze steadily. "When were you last indisposed?"

She bit her lip. "It has been near to three months."

He furrowed his brow. "Did you suspect nothing?"

"At first," she said, nodding, "but then the fever took me, and I was not sure if the earlier symptoms were not more of the disease."

The Warden shook his head. "No, and that is why Lady Arwen wished me to speak to you." He touched her shoulder. "You know of the dangers involved."

Éowyn nodded. "Am I likely to lose another?" she asked, her throat tightening.

He smiled sadly. "Many women who lose their first children go on to birth many babes. Yet some cannot safely conceive." He sighed. "We will not know until the time comes, I fear."

She nodded again. "I understand." Her fingers began to play with the necklace that hung around her neck, almost without her realizing it. "When can I know for certain that I am with child? I would not wish to worry my husband for no cause."

"If another full moon passes and you have not been indisposed again, I believe you will have cause to tell him. The other symptoms you have experienced will confirm that." The Warden lifted his bag and walked to the door. "I bid you good day, madam."

Éowyn stayed seated long after he left, until Lothíriel returned. The Princess poured her a tall glass of water, and Éowyn drank it quietly while Lothíriel talked of what she wished to do in the city during her stay. At last, she asked: "Éowyn, am I boring you? You are too quiet."

She shook her head. "No, Lothíriel, it is all right. I only have much to think of now."

Lothíriel knelt before her. "What did the Healer say, Éowyn? Are you yet ill?"

Éowyn smiled. "No, I am not ill." She took another drink from her glass. "But I have much to think on nevertheless."

*~*~*~*

Dinner that evening was held in high state. With royal visitors from Dol Amroth and Rohan both, the Court of Minas Tirith assembled, and Faramir found himself amongst the nobles for the first time in two months. Many of them expressed their happiness at seeing him in Minas Tirith, but in the height of summer, he was beginning to long for the cool woods of Ithilien again. Only Éowyn's presence, her improving health, and her smile made him glad to be in the city once more.

Minstrels wandered about, playing the ancient tunes of Númenor, Elven melodies, and love songs. Even Legolas treated the Court with a few songs from Mirkwood. When the singer approached Faramir and offered to let him play and sing in his place, Éowyn smiled. "Did the King ever demand a song of you?" she whispered as the man walked away.

Faramir leaned back in his chair and set his arm about her. "Aye, and I wrote it too. Did you not receive it?"

"It must have come when I was ill," said she. "And with you here, I had not thought to read the letters that arrived during that time."

He drew her a little closer and kissed her temple. "It will be among my letters, I am certain," he replied.

Then Lady Arwen stood from the head of the table. "These minstrels are delightful, but I wish to hear another," said she, a small, almost mischievous smile on her lovely face. "Lord Faramir, will you not indulge us with a song?"

"If the Evenstar requests it, I will oblige," said he, smiling a little as well. The minstrel who had approached him earlier gave him his lute, and Faramir began to sing:

"In all the land there is none so fair
As the maiden in the hills.
And no man has come to know her name,
But they call her Meredil."

The minstrels joined him then in the folk tune often heard in Henneth Annûn. It was a lively tune and Faramir saw many of the children dancing about in one corner of the great hall. Yet his gaze strayed oftener to Éowyn, whose eyes shone with delight. Unpracticed though he was, he sang the ballad full and strong, even daring to end it on a long, high note which resonated through the room.

Great applause followed and Faramir made ready to give the lute back to his owner, but then the King stood. "Lord Faramir, have you an answer for my challenge?" he asked.

The Steward struggled to keep his countenance serious, but knew he failed in it. "Yes, Lord Aragorn, I have," he replied. "Would you wish me to sing it now?"

Aragorn nodded, his eyes alight with mirth. "I would."

Faramir began to pluck the strings once more. "Then I shall sing of Éowyn the Valiant, the White Lady of Rohan." He glanced up at Éowyn, whose cheeks were flushing pink, and gave her a small smile before he began to sing once more.

In Edoras a flower grows,
The purest bloom of lily white,
But fairer than the winter's rose
Is she who took up sword to fight.

Her beauty rivals her great deeds,
Yet few of those who walk this earth
Do know her courage that exceeds
So many men of noble birth.

Though Aragorn did bid her stay,
Fair Éowyn took up her sword,
Dressed as a soldier for the fray,
And rode with the horse-lords to war.

And with her came a hobbit brave,
A Perian, her uncle's squire.
In battle there she sought her grave,
And that was her heart's one desire.

In battle there at Pelennor
She proved her mettle with the sword.
Yet Théoden did fall before
The enemy, Nazgûl abhorred.

But Théoden fell not alone,
For with him stood brave Éowyn.
And with a strength to man unknown
She stood between shadow and kin.

"Begone, and leave the dead in peace!"
She cried, her helm still on her head.
But heeding not the king's fair niece,
The Nazgûl turned to her and said:

"Come not between me and my prey!
Lest you gain what is worse than death.
For if you hinder me today,
You rue the day you first drew breath."

Her sword rang as she answered him,
With words unfalt'ring disagreed.
So came the Nazgûl's words so grim:
"No living man shall hinder me!"

"No living man am I!" cried she,
And then she threw aside her helm.
Her golden hair, unbound, flew free,
And in him fear did overwhelm.

The Nazgûl readied his attack
Upon the faithful shieldmaiden.
And yet for help she had no lack,
For with her stood the Perian.

Though wounded sore, he would not leave
The Lady, were she without hope.
But with a deadly blow she cleaved
The wingéd beast the Nazgûl rode.

With its fall the shadow passed,
But safety did not stay for long,
For from the wreck there came at last
The Nazgûl, tall, threat'ning, and strong.

He swung his mace and crushed her shield.
Her arm was broken, and she fell.
Yet in all this she would not yield,
Though she could not his blows repel.

But lo! The Nazgûl shrieked in pain
And did not harm fair Éowyn!
The Perian had not yet slain,
But he had saved the shieldmaiden.

And when he struck the Nazgûl down,
Brave Éowyn lifted her blade
And drove it twixt mantle and crown:
There sword did break and Nazgûl fade.

Rather more nervously than he would have liked, Faramir played out the last chord and glanced around the room. Slowly applause began, until it filled the hall and resounded. Faramir bowed to the guests of the Court and returned the lute. Then Aragorn stood once more and smiled at him. "An excellent song, my Lord Steward, though I think perhaps it needs a little work."

Faramir laughed. "I would not deny that, my lord. But it fulfills your challenge, as you said nothing of the quality of song to be written."

A broad smile upon his face, Aragorn turned to Éowyn as Faramir walked around the table toward her. "What say you to this, Lady?"

She rose as he reached her and regarded him with amusement. Then suddenly she grasped his collar with both hands and pulled him down, kissing him rather firmly. Though surprised, Faramir hardly objected, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. This time there was no discreet cough from the King; despite the laughter and murmurs of the Court, Faramir did not release her until he deemed it time.

As they took their seats again and Imrahil began to speak of events in Dol Amroth, Faramir whispered in Éowyn's ear: "You seem tired."

She raised a brow. "It is you who tires me, my lord."

"This is likely to last several hours," said he. "And I speak only of my uncle talking. Should I take you back to your room?"

Éowyn shook her head. "You need to stay, I fear. It has been too long since the Steward was often seen at the King's side."

"Then shall I send for Mithlomi?"

"If you insist."

A few minutes later the handmaiden appeared and escorted Éowyn from the hall. Faramir gave Mithlomi instructions to ensure that Éowyn would lie down for at least an hour, and then said that he would join them as soon as he could.

Despite the empty chair beside him, Faramir did manage to enjoy the rest of the evening, much of which consisted of his brother-in-law and his cousin dominating the conversation with a spirited discussion of some sort. At this he smiled, wishing every moment that he could leave and be with Éowyn.

*~*~*~*

By the time Éowyn got to the top of the stairs, on Mithlomi's arm, she was very glad that Faramir had seen fit to send her to her room. Normally she would have recoiled at the idea that she had to be pampered like that, but in her tired state she still had much on her mind, not the least of which was the suggestion from the Healer that she might be with child. Éowyn smiled slightly at the thought. If it were true, Faramir would do almost anything for her, so long as it did not endanger her health.

On that front he was firm, and had indeed enlisted Mithlomi to work with him. Faramir had sent her to lie down for at least an hour after supper, and so she did, but no more than an hour. Past that much she rose and sat by the fireplace, reading a book from the shelves in the room while Mithlomi scurried about, tidying things that had been tidied a thousand times already. There was little else for the maid to do.

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she remembered was something soft, warm, and utterly familiar pressed against her lips. Without opening her eyes Éowyn knew that Faramir was waking her with a kiss. A moment later he pulled back and gazed up at her, having knelt before her. He smiled gently. "Must the sleeping damsel always be awakened with a kiss?" he asked.

Éowyn set her book aside at last. "If I may have thee as my Prince every time I must wake, then yes."

"Then I shall oblige thee." He lifted her hand and kissed the palm, then her wrist. "To bed, my love. I will be with you in a moment."

The Princess arose, and after her husband's exit she undressed herself and donned her nightgown. She slipped into bed, and soon it became a struggle to stay awake, yet she did not wish to fall asleep before Faramir returned. He was not tardy, however, in returning to her. When he entered the room once more, he did not even pause to straighten a stack of books piled precariously on a table. Instead he sat on the bed, facing her.

He touched her cheek. "How do you feel, Éowyn?"

"I am as well as could be expected, my lord," said she. She meant to ask the same of him, but she was distracted suddenly by a long mark on his arm which she did not remember. A pink line ran from his shoulder to his elbow, and Éowyn stared at it in surprise. "My lord, what is this?" she asked.

She brushed her fingers against it, and Faramir flinched away. "Nothing," he replied.

"Nothing?" said she. "That is a scar, and a new one." Éowyn frowned. "You did not tell me you had been injured."

Her husband looked away, and she thought she saw a hint of embarrassment on his countenance. "You will laugh when you know what happened."

He recounted the tale of how he had been injured, and Éowyn resisted the very strong urge to laugh. The very thought of Faramir, husband of the White Lady of Rohan, being thrown from his horse and thus injured was almost comical. Yet she kept her expression as sympathetic as she could—after all, it was not as if she had never been thrown from a horse herself.

"But it will heal," he said at last, "so there is no need to worry."

"I would not," she replied as he turned and settled next to her, pulling the covers over them both as they sat with backs to the headboard. "You worry enough for both of us."

He stopped at her words and turned a look of exasperated playfulness to her. "Your tongue is your sharpest weapon, Lady," said he.

Normally she would have had a retort at the ready, but she simply smiled for him and settled into his arms. "I feared something like this would happen while you were away," said she.

"That I would be injured?" he replied, fingers toying with her hair. "I feared something would happen to you, that you would be ill and I would not be here to help you."

Éowyn turned her face to him and asked in genuine curiosity: "What does the Captain of Gondor fear?"

Faramir's countenance turned grave. "Many things," said he, almost absently. "Some things I once feared and fear no more, yet others I will fear all my life."

He was obviously in a generous mood that night, for he soon said: "After Pelennor I was afraid to sleep, for fear I would never awake." His fingers had traveled down to stroke her neck, and Éowyn shuddered slightly. "After I learned what my father had done, I could not sleep with a fire in my chambers, not until the night I took you to my bed. I did not wish you to know what a coward I was, not on that night."

"No one could think you a coward, my lord," said she, resting her hand against his chest, "least of all, me. And you did overcome that fear."

"Only for you," he replied. He took a deep breath and brightened his voice. "And what of you?" he asked. "I am being too generous tonight if I expect to tell you all and have nothing in return."

He smiled at how she shifted under his words. Over the last two years he had learned just how wonderful it was to discover something new which they had not discussed, even if it brought back painful memories. For these new conversations created new memories which helped to heal the wounds left by the old.

"Must I?" she asked.

"Aye, my lady, you must," he replied, kissing her brow. "I did bare my soul to you."

With a look of annoyance, she said, "You know I did fear being placed in a cage, or worse, to be placed on a pedestal. Yet you will not allow me to stop there, will you?"

"No."

Her expression sobered, and she drew a deep breath. "I feared Wormtongue," said she, her voice almost a whisper. "I feared his influence over my dear uncle, and I feared he would make me into something worthless, to be cast off at his earliest convenience."

Faramir stiffened, his arm around his wife tightening. "What mean you?" he asked, his voice stern.

"The others left for war," she continued. "They escaped his poison. Yet I could only stay and serve my uncle. I could not be truly useful to my people while Wormtongue held sway." She took a shuddering breath. "And yes, he would have boarded me, had I not repelled him. Often he would seek to be alone with me, and when he was. . ."

Faramir did not protest when her voice trailed off. Instead, he pulled her to his chest, holding her as tightly as he could, as if to fight back the memories of the traitor by assuring her of his presence. The shape of her slender frame in his arms helped assuage the anger that stirred within him as well.

After a time had passed, he kissed the top of her head and said, "I fear becoming a father."

Éowyn sat up slowly and stared at him, her cheeks traced with the paths of tears. "What mean you, my lord?"

Gently he brushed his fingers against her smooth skin to wipe the tears away. "I fear becoming like my father," he replied carefully. "He was a good man, Éowyn, and a just Steward when it seemed that the King would never return to his people. He found in my brother the son he wanted and his rightful successor." He paused. "I was secondary, less worthy. My father rejoiced over Boromir's triumphs, while I was sent on minor missions, things less glorious. I was far older than I should have been when I realized that those were not the things a father should do nor the words he should say, and ever since I was a young man, I have feared that I would do the same. My father's blood runs in my veins as well."

Éowyn touched his unshaven cheek, tears renewed in her eyes. "But it is not blood that makes a man," she said. "I was born a shieldmaiden among the horse lords of Rohan, but here am I in Gondor, Princess of Ithilien. By blood I would be a warrior still, but by choice I am your wife." She sighed. "You have seen this fault in your father, Faramir, and you will work to ensure you do not show more love to one child than to another. I trust you to be a good father."

As he pondered her words, she added, "I am tired, my lord."

Such an admission was beyond rare from her, so he wasted no time in drawing the curtains closed around the bed and helping her to settle. Éowyn was asleep in only a few minutes, but for some time Faramir lay awake, thinking about the conversation. Above all else, his wife's tears kept resurfacing in his mind, and he wondered at her recent displays of emotion. She was not one to cry often, so it was doubly surprising that she had shed tears so easily just then. In fact, she had not been so emotional since her pregnancy the previous year—

Faramir inhaled sharply. It was entirely possible, judging from comments Mithlomi had made before his departure for Ithilien, that Éowyn was with child again. The healers had been puzzled at how quickly she had succumbed to the fever, but this complication would explain that away with ease. And indeed, she had already regained the weight she had lost due to the fever, and was continuing to gain weight little by little. It was possible, very possible, and so Faramir drew her a little closer and kissed her brow.

It seemed that all his fears were rushing to a head with that realization; for beyond his fears at becoming a father were his fears about Éowyn's health. Faramir knew what the healers had told him the previous year, and now he regretted his recklessness, if indeed she carried a child. Though he wanted children and had wanted them for some time, he now knew that his wife was more important to him than any number of children. Without heirs he knew that the House of Mardil, the House of the Stewards, would end with him, but it was a risk he could not take.

*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 12

Revelation

*~*~*~*

A fortnight passed before Éowyn and Faramir finally quit the house of the King and returned to their home. She was very glad to be back in her own house, though her brother remained with the King. She was home, in her chambers, in her bed, in her husband's arms.

And yet she did not sleep so peacefully as one might have assumed. The full moon had passed a few days before, and the only sign of blood she saw was from nosebleeds that were becoming more prevalent, and more difficult to conceal. And on that night in which they had arrived home once more, a strange sensation awoke her.

It was a rather fluttery feeling, she decided, like some invisible hand was gently tickling her, only deep within her stomach. Long she lay awake, her hand on her stomach, trying to remember why something so odd felt familiar. Closing her eyes, she gently depressed her fingers, and the fluttering increased. Abruptly her eyes flew open, and Éowyn knew exactly when she had felt this before.

Breathing became difficult for a moment as she slowly rose from her bed. Faramir turned in his sleep toward the space she had just vacated, and Éowyn wrapped herself in her robe. She needed the open air, and despite the chill of the night, she stepped onto the balcony as she attempted to absorb this new information.

She had felt the child within her stir.

There was no question about it now: she was with child. By the new moon a fourth month would pass in which her time of sickness had not come. Morning sickness had come and gone, her breasts had been sore for weeks, and now she was having nosebleeds. All of these symptoms were very familiar, and all pointed to her being pregnant again.

"Éowyn?"

She tensed slightly. "Faramir," said she, looking over her shoulder to see her husband behind her. "I did not mean to wake you."

"It is no matter." He rested his hand upon her shoulder, and they both looked out from their balcony, gazing toward Ithilien.

They stood in silence for a time, and Éowyn began to wonder how she would tell him of this discovery. She knew his nature: he was already more concerned for her than either of them would like, and the news of her carrying his child—potentially his heir—would be enough to transform concern into fear. So much of Faramir's life had been spent in sorrow; even after the war was over, their lands were freed, and he had married, it seemed that he could not long outrun the shadow of pain. For this Éowyn was most sorry. Had she known that she would lose that child the previous summer, she might not have married him, for she would never have willingly nor intentionally brought sorrow upon him.

Then she heard his soft voice in her ear. "Would you like to go riding tomorrow?"

Éowyn smiled. "Can you be spared from your duties here?"

"Let me worry about that," said Faramir.

"Then yes, I would like to very much," she replied.

His hands rested on her shoulders then, and his chest pressed against her back as he breathed. Another long silence passed, and he said: "You fear neither death nor pain, and I have put you too near to both since we were wed. But have I caged you now, Éowyn?"

There was a soft sense of regret and anxiety in his voice just then, and Éowyn sought to allay his fear. "Never, my lord," she replied.

Slowly he nodded as he ran his hands down her arms and then slipped his arms about her in a light embrace. "I love you," he whispered, bowing his head so that his breath brushed across her ear as he spoke.

Éowyn opened her mouth to reply, but gasped instead as Faramir placed a soft, reverent kiss just below her earlobe, and then proceeded to brush a gentle trail of kisses down her neck. She brought one hand up to touch his cheek, and he sighed. He nuzzled his face in the curve of her neck, leaving Éowyn quite unable to breathe for several seconds.

But Faramir was not yet finished. As he continued his soft ministrations, Éowyn remembered a time in Minas Tirith before Éomer had given his consent to their betrothal, when she and Faramir had been able to spend a rare moment alone. Things had become warm and breathless in a hurry, and Éowyn had marvelled that things had not progressed further than they had. Now her husband seemed far more subdued, but two years of marriage had taught him how to touch her, and how she would respond. Though she was still keenly aware of the night air, every passing moment took more and more of her self-control to keep from turning in his arms, kissing him wildly, and stumbling back to their bed for a few moments of passion.

And then Faramir did something she did not expect: he slowly moved his hand down to rest upon her abdomen, and Éowyn remembered the child.

"Faramir, I must tell you something." Her words were breathless and hurried.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, holding her tightly to him.

Éowyn paused for a moment, collecting her words. "I am with child."

He did not stiffen as she would have thought. Instead he asked: "Are you certain?"

She nodded. "I have felt the child move."

Then he froze. A moment later he released her from his embrace and murmured, so low she could barely hear: "It is as I feared."

Éowyn spun around then to see her husband retreating from her, walking toward the fire. She found herself gripping at the balcony rail as that statement played through her mind. He had feared this—did he likewise fear that she had been unfaithful in his absence, and that this child was not his? Had he decided that he did not wish to have children after all? Did that make this child unwanted?

Or was it her? Since she had already lost one child of his blood, did he think her unworthy to bear his children?

Some small part of her mind told her that her fears were irrational, yet tears came to her eyes, and she did not care to check them, nor wipe them as they flowed down her cheeks. She watched as Faramir stared into the fire, his hands joined, and a look of sorrow upon his face. Then a soft sob escaped her throat, and he looked up sharply.

"Éowyn?" he said. "My lady, I did not—Éowyn, come here."

She did as he bade her and approached his chair. Faramir took her hands and pulled her down to sit upon his lap, and he held her tightly to him. Éowyn rested against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her hand and cheek, and began to cry anew. Faramir rubbed her back and waited until she had calmed herself, and then he brushed her tears from her cheeks with his fingers, rough and calloused from hours upon hours of practice with the bow and arrow.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

At last she found her voice and asked: "Do you not want the babe, my lord?"

"My love," he said, in contrast to the title she had given him, "I would never think or say such a thing."

She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were bright, as if he too had tears which needed to be shed. "Then why this anger?"

"Oh, Éowyn, I am not angry." The statement perplexed her, and she furrowed her brow. He kissed the top of her head. "I am only concerned. Think you I have no cause for it?"

She looked away. "You have cause," she replied. "Yet I would wish you would be happy now."

He was silent for a long time, and Éowyn began to wonder what troubled him so. At last he said: "You nearly died last summer."

She sat up swiftly and stared at him. "What?"

"When we lost the child," said he, his voice thick and rough, "I nearly lost you as well. I cannot help but think of that danger now, and if I had my choice, I would rather have you than have a hundred children."

Blinking slowly, Éowyn asked: "What happened, Faramir?"

He looked away from her, but took her hand tightly in his. "I was late in coming home that night," said he. "Very late. You were collapsed on the floor, and there was blood everywhere. Your blood." He closed his eyes, which were by then full of great pain. "The Healers told me that had I been but a quarter hour later, I would have found you dead in this room."

Éowyn gasped. "Oh, Faramir. . . .Why did you never tell me?"

Faramir pulled her to his chest once more. "For so long you were weak, and I did not wish to overburden you with this. I knew how hard the child's death was."

She rested her hand over his heart. "And so you overburdened yourself with this knowledge."

He did not answer her. And a few moments later, she felt his broad shoulders tremble, and she looked up to see him shed the tears in his eyes. "Oh, Faramir," she murmured, brushing her lips against his cheek, temple, and brow. "I am sorry."

Faramir held her very tightly to him then, and it was long before he relaxed at all. Even then, they remained in the chair by the fireplace, and Éowyn had nearly drifted back into sleep when her husband lifted her gently and carried her back to bed. She was too tired to protest when he removed her robe for her. Then he kissed her brow and put her robe away, but she was already asleep by the time he returned.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 13

Plans

*~*~*~*

In the morning, Faramir arose early and walked into his dressing room, leaving the door open behind him in case Éowyn should wake before he was finished. Sometime in the night he had come to the conclusion that his brooding had gone on long enough. It was time for him to move on, for without that, Éowyn would never find the strength she needed to carry this child. He had seen as much the previous night; and he chastised himself for whatever pain he had made her endure, what streams of self-doubt she had navigated ere he had told her all. It was a mistake he was determined not to make again. For her sake he would be strong, and perhaps her strength would bolster his as well.

He first wrote out a message to Zabathân: they had known that it would be some time before construction on the city would be plausible, and so they had spoken of sending a small team of workers to Emyn Arnen. It was now time, Faramir deemed, for he did not wish for his child to be born in Minas Tirith. Something about Ithilien seemed more sacred, and he wished very much to fulfill his promise to Éowyn, that they would leave the city, ere the child was born. As so he wrote to the master of construction and placed the message with the official documents which would go out with the daily correspondence with Ithilien.

He opened the satchel which Damrod had brought and finally drew from it the rolls of parchment which he had made such a study of in Ithilien. Soon they were unrolled and scattered about the floor, various small objects from his desk weighing down the corners. The man who had designed the house had been born in Gondor, but was of Rohirric descent, and so many elements of both cultures' architectural styles had been woven together in the tapestry of the design. The warm luxury of Meduseld combined with the cool elegance of the royal halls of Minas Tirith into something altogether unique, and not unlike their own relationship. Above all else, it would be constructed from materials found in Emyn Arnen, so that the house was a part of the land.

Then Faramir heard the soft padding footsteps of his wife, and he turned to see her at the door. "Faramir?" said Éowyn. "Why woke you so early?"

The Steward smiled at her and beckoned her to his side. "Habit, I fear," he replied. "I am no more used to sloth and idleness than you."

Her arms were wrapped around her middle as she crossed over to him, and even when she sat beside him on the floor and he pulled her closer to him, she did not relax. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"A little." Faramir raised a brow at this, for she wore only a light robe. "My winter robe has not yet been unpacked."

"Did you take it to the King's house during my absence?"

"Aye, my lord," she replied. She seemed a little uncomfortable in speaking about it, and she turned her attention to the papers before her. "What is all this?"

Faramir lifted up one of the floor plans and handed it to her. "Our house," he gently said. "Our house in Ithilien."

For a long time they sat in silence as they both studied the intricate drawings. When Éowyn had examined the last of the papers, a tear slipped down her nose, and Faramir moved his hand to catch it before it soiled the paper. Then she set it aside and wrapped her arms around her husband at last. "Thank you," she whispered, placing a soft kiss upon the scar on his shoulder.

Faramir kissed her temple and drew her closer. "I have written to Zabathân to tell him to begin construction on our house immediately," said he. "I want our child to be born in Ithilien, not here."

Éowyn looked up at him for a moment, and then kissed him softly. "We should write to our hobbit friends and tell them of our good news."

"And so I shall."

"Do you wish for a son or a daughter, my lord?"

"A few of each," he replied, smiling a little as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

"I meant this time," she clarified, a little breathless after another kiss.

Faramir drew back to look deeply into her eyes. "I care not," said he, "so long as the child you carry is healthy, and you are with me."

It seemed then that Éowyn was at a loss for words, for she stopped his mouth with a kiss, and neither spoke for quite some time.

*~*~*~*

Two weeks later, Éomer, Imrahil, Amrothos, and Lothíriel were ready to depart, and on their last evening, Faramir and Éowyn joined the royal guests for a dinner with Aragorn and Arwen. There was no Court assembly that night, only an intimate gathering of friends. It seemed that perhaps Éomer and Lothíriel were stuck in a cycle of endless bickering which, while quite entertaining for those observing, must have been rather frustrating for them both.

It was after one such a dispute that Aragorn turned to his Steward. "Lord Faramir, will you offer up the first toast this evening?" he asked.

Faramir nodded and lifted up his glass of wine. He had spent some time preparing something to say at this point, but now those words had fled. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, especially Éowyn. It was the grave joy in her eyes that gave him voice again, and he said: "I drink to the health and safety of my wife, and the child she carries."

The delighted gasp he heard from the other end of the table was Lothíriel's for certain. Yet before anyone commented, they all drank from their glasses, and Éowyn's face shone with her joy. Faramir took her hand then and kissed it, and then they turned their attention to their friends.

"What have the Healers said, sister?" asked Éomer.

"That there may be nothing to fear at all," she answered.

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but his cousin Lothíriel proceded him. "Fear?" said she. "Cousins, what have you to fear?"

The Steward looked to his King, who was shifting in his seat, exchanging a stolen glance with Arwen. Yet it was Éowyn who answered Lothíriel. "This is not the first time I have been with child," she softly replied. "Last summer I carried a son, and lost him ere we made it known that I would bear him."

Lothíriel, normally so bright and exuberant, paled and fell silent, and her brother Amrothos laid his hand upon her arm. Faramir's gaze travelled around the table and at last rested upon his wife, and he touched her cheek to turn her face to him. "Yet there is hope," he said.

"Great hope," Éowyn replied; and he kissed her, soft and chaste.

Éomer cleared his throat. "When should we expect this child?" he asked.

Faramir smiled and turned to his brother-in-law. "By the end of March, I deem."

"To bring one's firstborn into the world in springtime is a great blessing indeed, Faramir," said Imrahil, speaking at last. "Will you be here in Minas Tirith then?"

"Where else would they go, Father?" asked Amrothos.

Then the King spoke. "I have it on good authority, Prince Amrothos," said he, "that the Steward has already made plans for a house in Ithilien, and wishes to be there for the birth of this child."

Faramir leaned back in his seat, Éowyn's hand clasped tightly in his. "It has been my wish ever since the crown was restored to Lord Aragorn that I might cross the river and dwell in the land of the moon," he said. "And if the King grants it, I will quit this city for the springs and summers to come, and dwell in fair Ithilien with my lady wife."

Aragorn smiled. "And the King grants it full willing, if the Evenstar would willingly part with her favorite minstrel."

The group laughed heartily then, and Faramir lifted Éowyn's hand to his lips once more. He was surprised at her silence, but it became her, for it was not the silence of sorrow. It was the silence of a heart too full of bliss to express itself, the herald of a most perfect joy.

*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 14

Challenges

*~*~*~*

And so it was that the next few weeks passed in quietude. The guests from Dol Amroth and Rohan went their separate ways, leaving Minas Tirith a little less interesting in their wake. Yet the departure of the somewhat contentious friendship between Éomer and Lothíriel did afford one blessing, in that Éowyn did not so often go home from Court with a headache from having laughed so much.

It was late one night when winter was flirting with fall that Faramir came into their chambers to find Éowyn seated upon their bed, dressed in breeches and a tunic. Her golden curls spilled over her shoulders, and she sat with a short sword upon her knees. Faramir watched for a moment as she ran a polishing cloth over the blade, and then replaced it in its sheath. Then she looked up at him and smiled. "My lord," she said, nodding.

"My lady." He crossed the room, and she offered up the sword. After drawing it and inspecting the engravings, he said: "It is too short for you."

"It is not for me," she replied quietly.

Faramir looked down to see a look of quiet earnestness in her eyes. He set the sword aside, and took her hands in his. "You hope for a son."

Éowyn raised a brow. "Why must I have a son in order to bequeath that sword unto my child?"

Faramir laughed and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "You would arm my daughters?"

"And your granddaughters, just as I was armed."

Still laughing, he sat upon the bed and drew her to him. "Yet I believe you hope for a son regardless of this." He kissed the top of her golden head. "Might I ask how you came to be thus attired?"

"The child grows," she replied, "and with him so do I. But I have not yet had new clothing made to accommodate the child, and so I will at whiles take from yours until I do."

He ran his hand down her arm and up again to her shoulder. "I think I rather like it."

"You would," said she, giving him a sly look.

Then she winced, and Faramir tightened his arm around her. "Éowyn?"

She dropped her hand to her stomach. "It never fails." She smiled. "When we are ready to sleep, he is waking."

"This is normal, then?" he asked.

"Very," she replied. "Perhaps you will be able to feel him move soon. "

"Or her," he amended.

Éowyn shifted away from him and lay back upon the bed. "Or her."

She took Faramir's hand in both of hers, closed her eyes, and gently pressed his palm to her abdomen, which was rounding with child. His throat constricted as he thought of the time when he had done this before and felt his child within her womb, but he did not shy away. He knew there was no use in dwelling on the child he could never have back, so he turned his attention entirely to his wife now. And then the miracle occurred.

It could have just been Éowyn's abdominal muscles contracting a little, Faramir told himself, but that thought was fleeting. For it happened again and again, a slight but definite pressure against his open palm. Then Éowyn laced her fingers through his, and for a long time Faramir sat with his eyes closed, feeling their child within the womb. And he began to dream once more, of their house in Emyn Arnen, of laughter, of music, of the love of his family, both giving and receiving.

When he at last opened his eyes and gazed upon his wife's fair face, he saw that tears had escaped from her closed eyes. Suddenly very tired, he lay down beside her, their hands still joined. "Too often have I wiped thy tears, Lady," he said. "I would see thee smile, and weep no more."

"I do not weep in sorrow," she replied, her voice strong.

There were many things Faramir wished to say then, but his heart would not suffer him to choose one above all the others to speak first. And so he propped himself up on his elbow and pressed a swift, hard kiss to her lips. Éowyn opened her eyes in wonder, and the kiss which followed was more lingering, tantalizing. In the midst of it all, she murmured: "What shall we name him?"

"Her," he breathed, his mouth leaving hers for only a moment.

"Him."

They lay still for a moment after Éowyn said that, and Faramir still had her lower lip caught between his teeth. Then at last he drew back and gazed long into her grey eyes, which were at once warm and confident. He touched her cheek. "You do wish for a son."

She met his gaze unwaveringly. "You wish for a daughter."

Faramir sat up. "I do not deny it."

"Nor do I deny my desire for a son." From the bed she rose, and took up the flagon which had been left for them. She poured the red wine into a goblet and carried it back to Faramir. "And so we find ourselves at odds in our desires now, and I make an offer to you." He raised a brow, and his mouth twitched slightly with a smile. "If I carry a daughter, you will name her whatever you choose; and if I bear you a son, I will give him his name."

Faramir stood before her, and she had to look upward to see his face. "Then I will have all the more cause to hope for a daughter," he said, smiling. "For I must prevent you from giving our son a Rohirric name which no man of Gondor can pronounce."

She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it: instead she brought the cup to her lips and took a long draught. "I challenge thee," she said; and offered up the goblet.

Thus Faramir took the cup from Éowyn's hands and drained it dry; and he kissed her once more. Her mouth was sweet with the wine, and he pulled her closer to him. And it was not long before the cup fell to the floor and was forgotten until morning.

*~*~*~*

In the morning Faramir awoke and found Éowyn curled up next to him in her sleep, her face pressed against his side. He smiled and brushed his fingers through her hair, then fingered the neck of the tunic she wore. Despite the wild kissing session that had followed her challenge the night before, they had, for the most part, spent the remainder of their waking hours talking of the things that were to come. And it now surprised Faramir that he had spent that time wholly happy, not once thinking of the sorrow in his past.

But now his rested mind was apt to draw comparisons between the previous night and that horrible time the year before. He could not help but think that he had felt his child move only a day before the miscarriage, and he drew Éowyn closer to him. Then she stirred, and seemed to read his thoughts.

She said: "I am well, Faramir. There is nothing to fear."

He was a long time in answering, for there were many things on his mind. "Tell me truthfully, Éowyn: did you feel well in the morning before the child was lost?"

Éowyn closed her eyes and moved closer to him, kissing the scar from an old spear wound on his side. "No, my lord," she whispered. "Something had changed, but I knew not what. I—I should have gone to the Healers that morning."

"And you do not feel this change now?"

"No." She looked away and ran her hand across her abdomen. "He is strong."

"Good." Faramir turned over onto his side and brushed his fingers across Éowyn's cheek. "For I fear she will need all her strength in what we are about to do."

Éowyn raised a brow at his choice of pronoun. "And what is that, my lord?"

"I must go back to Ithilien, but this time I would not have you parted from me," he said.

She looked upon him in amazement, but then smiled broadly. "And for that I thank you. When will we depart?"

"As soon as we can," Faramir replied. "I should like to be in Ithilien before Firstfall."

Éowyn nodded in understanding. The road from Minas Tirith was not one to be joyfully traversed after the first snowfall of the winter, and the change of seasons was likely to be upon them swiftly. "And who shall go with us?"

"I would not have you parted from your handmaiden," he said; "nor would I insist she come on a journey which will have few of the comforts she would find here in the city."

"Yet you would insist it of me?" she teased. "So much for Faramir the Gallant, the Chivalrous, the Kind! For he has been replaced by a man who considers his wife's comforts far less than her maid's!"

Her last words were spoken breathlessly and through much laughter, for Faramir had rolled over atop her and begun to assail her with both kisses and tickling fingers. Éowyn shrieked with laughter and began to tussle with him. In the end, she got him on his back and sat upon his stomach as a lady would be seated sidesaddle on a horse. "Do you yield?" she asked, pushing her hair away from her face.

"To a wild woman of the North? Never!" he cried, and with swift, fluid motions he lifted her off, sat up, and drew her back upon his lap. "I will break thy resistance," he murmured, dragging his lips down her neck, "and have thee at my mercy."

Though she had by then grown very warm indeed, Éowyn breathed: "I am no pony, easily tamed."

Faramir tightened his arms around her and whispered in her ear: "No, love, you are one of the Mearas, and their queen; for you will not be tamed by any man of base or ignoble blood."

Éowyn raised a brow. "None but a King may tame the Mearas."

He regarded her with an enigmatic smile upon his face. "Then it is well that I never intended to tame you."

"Then why do you threaten to break me?"

His lips moved hungrily over hers, and when he finally relinquished her to breathe, she had almost forgotten her question. "Because, my love—"

His words were cut off by a knocking at the door. "Milady, milord, pardon me, but there is a messenger here from the King for Lord Faramir," came Mithlomi's voice.

Faramir growled as Éowyn stood from his lap. Yet he laid a soft kiss upon her lips when he stood as well, and then he knelt before her, pushed up the tunic she wore, and kissed her rounding belly. He glanced up at her, and she rested her hand at the back of his head. "You will have your answer later, Lady."

Éowyn resisted the urge to laugh as he kissed her hand and rose. He departed without another word, and when he returned a little time later, she had bathed and dressed in her own clothing, which was indeed starting to become too tight for her. They spent the day in preparation, for the King had given leave for them to depart the city for Ithilien, and they would leave on the following week.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 15

Legends

*~*~*~*

In another time of her life, Éowyn would have considered two days on horseback to be child's play. But riding sidesaddle (a relatively new experience) for two days while with child was something she would wish not to repeat in the near future. The babe did not seem to relish the experience either, and Éowyn did not blame him.

But for diversion and occupation she had no lack in the journey, for Mithlomi was quite new to riding. The handmaiden was also riding sidesaddle, for she had insisted that it was not proper for a lady of Gondor to sit astride, though Éowyn thought that ridiculous. Yet for the Princess of Ithilien, it was now a matter of comfort more than anything else. And so Éowyn spent much of her time showing Mithlomi how to improve her riding skills. By the evening in which they arrived at the camp site, she was getting much better at it, though she was also rather sore.

Though Éowyn doubted she needed the help, Faramir dismounted his stallion just inside the camp and rushed to help her down from Alassë. She had ceased to complain about his protectiveness: her condition was plain to everyone now, so Faramir felt he might be exposed to some ridicule if he did not assist her whenever he could. And so she did not object when he helped her down from her mount, nor when he pulled her cloak a little tighter around her. The blue mantle had seemed overbearing at whiles during the trip; but the wind had picked up by the time they arrived, so she was glad of it.

Once Éowyn had both feet on the ground, Faramir kissed her cheek and smiled. "I must help Mithlomi," he said; but as the couple turned to look at the handmaiden, they saw a fair-haired Ranger run up to Mithlomi's horse.

"Allow me, madam," said the young man. The handmaiden looked positively relieved to have help dismounting—a skill which she had not quite perfected—and the two seemed to hold a pleasant conversation for a while, as the rather handsome Ranger offered Mithlomi his arm and then took the reins of her horse in his other hand. Faramir looked down at Éowyn, and the two smiled as they followed with their horses.

From the center of the camp came a familiar figure. The Elf Prince Legolas strode over to them, followed by a retinue of other Elves, and Éowyn saw Mithlomi slow her steps as if in wonder. And Éowyn had to admit that there was something very impressive with the company of Elves. They were all so fair, and yet their beauty seemed naught to them. It was no wonder that Mithlomi reverted to her shell when the Elves were around.

"Lord Faramir," said Legolas, "I am glad you are come."

Faramir stepped away from Éowyn for a moment to clap his hand upon the Elf's shoulder. "It is good to be in Ithilien once more."

"You have come at a good time," said Legolas, "for we believe there will be snow tonight." He glanced at Éowyn. "I would not wish for the White Lady to ride through that, in her condition."

Éowyn dropped her hand down to her abdomen as Faramir placed his arm about her shoulders. Legolas regarded her closely. "How do you fare, Lady?"

"I am well," she replied. "As is the child."

"That is good news." The Elf then turned a smiled to Mithlomi, who had remained at the side of the young Ranger, but had dropped her gaze to her toes. "And you have brought with you Mithlomi," he added. "I am glad of that as well."

Much to everyone's surprise, not the least of which was Mithlomi's, Legolas took the maid's hand and kissed it. A blush rose on her cheeks, and Éowyn struggled to keep back her laughter. There was a look of astonishment bordering on jealousy on the Ranger's face, and at that she did laugh. "You must forgive her surprise, Legolas," said Éowyn, "for Mithlomi is unused to Elven Princes who use courtly manners in the wild."

Mithlomi blushed again and curtseyed to Legolas. "Excuse me, milord. I must see to my lady."

"I would not hinder you," said he; and he turned his attention to Faramir and began to speak of what he and his company had been doing in the woods since he had left Minas Tirith.

In the meantime, Mithlomi stepped away from the Ranger, who yet held her horse's reins, and touched Éowyn's arm. "My lady, do you not think you should rest a while?"

Éowyn looked at her handmaiden and opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly a large, white flake fluttered onto Mithlomi's nose. The girl reached up to brush it away, and then more began to fall. Éowyn looked around to see that the first snow was indeed starting to fall. The beautiful evergreens around them were already starting to gain a tint of white, as if an artist from above had decided to color the landscape with his own form of paint. It would not be long before the ground was covered in the magic of winter.

The Elves looked nonplussed as ever, but three of them stepped forward from behind Legolas and took the reins of the three horses, silently leading them away. Legolas gestured toward the camp. "I am certain you are in need of rest," he said, "and there is tea waiting for you within."

"Thank you, Lord Legolas," said Faramir; and Éowyn took his arm again. To her he said: "Are you cold?"

"No, my lord," she said truthfully. "Not at all."

*~*~*~*

By nightfall the snow had stopped, and Faramir and Éowyn had joined the men around the campfires that had been lit for light and warmth. Mithlomi was there as well, keeping silent watch over her mistress, as she ever did. But that night Éowyn was radiant, as if the snow which gave the ground a warm glow had done the same for her.

She was clad in white, as was her custom, and over that she wore the blue cloak which he had bequeathed to her the day the Ring had been destroyed. She seemed to Faramir like a star come down from the heavens, for nothing in Ithilien had her brilliance then. And when she stepped into the night from their tent, with the moonlight shining all around them, she turned to Faramir and said: "I know now why you call this the Land of the Moon."

Éowyn wore a pendant too, one which he had given her two years earlier, not long after their betrothal had been announced and blessed by her brother. It was a crescent moon, once belonging to his mother Finduilas, and now holding the same promise it had held years ago. For Denethor had given it to Finduilas, along with his word that they would someday be able to dwell in Ithilien instead of the city. But she had died young, and that promise was never fulfilled. And so Faramir had given the pendant to Éowyn with the same promise, and he was glad that she had come to love the land so quickly.

Now she was wandering from campfire to campfire, as Faramir stayed with Legolas, Beregond, and Damrod. She conversed easily with the men, which was hardly surprising; nor was the slight sense of awe with which they regarded her. Faramir watched his wife with a smile on his face. It was one of those rare times when meeting a legend did not disappoint, and for that he was glad. The men all deferred to her, and he could tell that it was not simply because of her title, as Princess of this land, but because she was a warrior, proven and true.

Faramir rose then and joined her, slipping his arms around her waist and letting one hand rest upon her abdomen. She looked at him and smiled, and he kissed her cheek. One of the masons sitting at the fire laughed. "Is that the best you can do, milord?"

The Steward smiled and rubbed Éowyn's stomach. "Obviously not, Master Mason."

"Faramir!" cried Éowyn, laughing. But this time when she turned her head, he laid a gentle kiss upon her lips, and she ceased to complain.

Another man at the fire spoke up then. "If you do not think me impertinent for asking, milord, when is the babe expected to arrive?" he asked.

"Sometime in March," he replied.

The babe kicked then, and Éowyn leaned back against Faramir, sighing in contentment. He held her as tightly as he dared, and as the men's attention turned away from them, he whispered in Éowyn's ear: "Are you cold?"

She laughed softly. "No, my lord. But when I am, you will be the first to know."

He looked around a little. "What happened to Mithlomi?"

"That Ranger who was talking with her this afternoon is with her," Éowyn replied, gesturing toward a smaller campfire. "He seems quite taken with her."

Faramir raised a brow. "Do you anticipate needing to find another handmaiden soon?"

Éowyn shrugged. "I do not know. You have foresight, not I."

He released her slowly and took her hand, and the two began to walk about the camp for a time. "The woods are very still tonight," said he, "and quiet, as I have not seen them in some time."

"Do you suspect something?" she asked.

Faramir tightened his grip on her hand. "Not yet."

They paused for a moment, looking out in the direction of the cursed glade. He had more to say, but then Éowyn leaned against him suddenly and yawned. Faramir turned and kissed the top of her head. "I am tired as well."

And then the snow began to fall once more, but Éowyn and Faramir stood in the woods for a long time, content in each other's company. It was not until Mithlomi finally rejoined them that they returned to their tent, which was surprisingly warm, considering how the wind had suddenly increased in force.

*~*~*~*

That night, Faramir dreamt of Pelennor.

His dreams rarely involved himself and rarer still involved his past, so he was greatly surprised when he saw the events from his own memory in these dreams. Yet the images did not linger long in that part of the battle. They soon strayed to Éowyn's part among the Rohirrim.

She was more valiant in battle than Faramir had ever imagined; and soon he was watching her battle the Witch-king. It was a tale he had heard many a time and even told, but the tale did not compare to the glory of her victory there. And when she killed the Nazgûl, he seemed to shudder awake, for he had never seen one so desperate and hopeless prevail so mightily.

He opened his eyes, awake at last, and suddenly he realized that Éowyn was no longer beside him.

It was not terribly surprising. She was a light sleeper and was often restless at night, and that night had been no exception. It was likely a combination of the cold and the child she carried, but she had not been easy in her sleep until she had curled up in his arms. Thus had Faramir been kept awake by her turning for some time. He sat up on the bed and looked around. "Éowyn?"

There was no answer.

"Éowyn?" he called again, a little louder; and he lifted the small candle from behind its blind and shone it around the room. Her cloak was where he had put it earlier when he had taken it off her, but her shoes were gone and his wife was nowhere to be found.

Hurriedly Faramir put the candle back on the small table and pulled his shoes and cloak on. He was gone from the tent a moment later, and he cried: "Éowyn!"

At the sound of the Steward's voice, the two Rangers who were on duty turned around. "Sir?" called one, Damrod.

The two hurried over, and Damrod asked: "Sir, what is the matter?"

"Éowyn is gone," said Faramir, walking toward the edge of the camp.

The Rangers said nothing, following Faramir as he ran through the woods. At last he caught sight of footprints in the fresh snow that could only belong to Éowyn, and in horror he followed them as they wandered toward the glade in which so many men had disappeared.

Up ahead in the moonlight was a figure of white tinted with flowing gold, and Faramir knew immediately that he looked upon Éowyn. The fear which had been growing in his heart was suddenly almost paralyzing. He called out to her, but she did not respond. He ran harder, heedless of the fact that he was heading straight for the threshold of the evil of the woods.

"Éowyn!" he cried again, but she did not hear him. And in a moment, she faded into the darkness.

"Éowyn!"

Without thought Faramir ran, until strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him back. "No, milord!" cried Damrod. "There's nothing you can do."

Chest heaving from the sudden exertion in the cold night, Faramir sank to his knees in the snow and raked his hands into his hair, crying out in anguish. Éowyn was gone.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 16

Discovery

*~*~*~*

There was a kind of wakeful dreaming state which Éowyn, a light sleeper since childhood, often experienced. She had once or twice been discovered walking about in the Meduseld, fast asleep the whole time, despite the fact that she had shoes on. Yet her memories of those times were as the memories of dreams, and she was never truly certain that she had been walking at all.

And so she was hardly surprised when she found herself walking in her dream, though she was not sure if it was real or not. If it was just a dream, then the tent must have been quite cold, for she was feeling the chill of the night most acutely. Her footsteps wandered silently through the snow, and the guards at the camp did not notice her passing. A dream indeed.

She soon found herself on the path to the dark glade in the woods, the one which had caused so much turmoil, even for her. Yet on and on she walked, and somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why her dream would tend this way. It was very odd, for she did not even know for certain where the boundary of the magic lay. She could have crossed it already, for all she knew.

And then suddenly she saw a dark figure on the ground amid the trees, and another, and another. The figures were men, sleeping peacefully, and with unkempt hair and beards. She wondered how long they had lain thus, and why they slept so strangely. Yet she dared not touch them, for fear that whatever had afflicted them might also touch her.

She wandered more, seeing men around her everywhere she went. Horses she saw as well, sleeping in the moonlight, though they seemed not captive to whatever spell held their masters in place. The dream was getting colder too. She hugged her arms around herself, marvelling at the surrealism of it all. Normally she did not feel so much in her dreams.

And then the child moved in agitation, and her eyes flew open. There she stood in the middle of the grove which had been so feared, among men in an enchanted sleep. She had no idea how she had come there, nor why she had not fallen prey to the magic all around her. Her breath came in short, erratic gasps, and the child seemed to panic.

So she turned, and fled.

*~*~*~*

For some time Faramir remained there, kneeling on the ground in the snow, with Damrod and another Ranger, Adûman, flanking him. It was cold, but he did not notice. All he could think about was that he had just failed in his vow to protect Éowyn, and wonder how he could ever forgive himself.

"Sir," Damrod began.

Faramir held up his hand to ward off the Ranger's comments. There was nothing to be said now to help him. His wife and their unborn child were lost. No words of comfort would be on the most eloquent of tongues.

For a long time the Steward of Gondor knelt there in the snowy moonlight, his eyes cast down as both Rangers kept a hand on his shoulders. He fought back tears and sniffled loudly. If only he had been alert to see her leave, he might have prevented this. Yet for all his folly, why had she not answered him when he had cried out to her?

"My lord!" cried Adûman. "My lord, look!"

Faramir raised his gaze to see the same white figure suddenly in the woods once more, this time flying toward him. He pushed himself up out of the snow, and once more the Rangers on either side held him back from running to her. And then in a moment too miraculous for words, Éowyn was in his arms again—shivering, sobbing, but in his arms.

All of his fears suddenly dissipated into the chilly night, replaced by wonderment and frustration. "Éowyn, what happened?" he managed, kissing the top of her head as she clung to him.

She only sobbed his name against his chest, and Faramir rubbed her back, finally amazed that she was even alive. Éowyn was freezing, and he pulled her a little closer. In sudden fear, he moved one hand around to rest upon her abdomen. Much to his relief, the child kicked against his touch.

At last, Éowyn pulled away slightly, and Faramir cupped her face in his hands. "What happened?" he gently pressed.

She opened her mouth to speak several times, tears fresh upon her eyes. But in the end she only whispered his name again, and collapsed against him.

Swiftly Faramir swept her into his arms and hurried toward the encampment. Somehow he knew the two Rangers to be behind him, and indeed they followed him into the tent when he reached it. "My lord," said Damrod, "is there nothing we can do?"

The Steward laid his wife's body upon the bed, pulling their heavy blankets over her. "Fetch her maid," said he, caressing Éowyn's cheek out of habit more than anything else. "She would want Mithlomi."

The younger of the two Rangers ran off, and Faramir frowned. Now that the shock was wearing off, it seemed more than strange to him that Éowyn should have survived the glade. He took her hand in his and rubbed it, trying to bring back warmth as he whispered her name. Then, as he and Damrod looked on silently, she opened her eyes. "Faramir?" she whispered.

"I am here," he said.

She turned her head to him, and he tried to smile. "You will be all right," he added.

A soft smile graced her lips. "But will you, my lord?"

In a poor mood for wit, Faramir rested his hand against her abdomen. "How is she?"

"He is well," she replied, resting her hand over his. "He woke me there in the woods, my lord. I walked in my sleep."

Faramir knew not how to reply, so it was well that Adûman returned then, having fetched Mithlomi. A heavy Ranger cloak that was a good foot too long for her covered her nightgown. It obviously belonging to Adûman, who was suddenly not wearing his cloak. "My lady!" cried the handmaiden, scooping some of the cloak up and rushing to the bed.

"Do not fear, Mithlomi," said Éowyn. "I am well."

"But what happened?" the handmaiden asked.

"She was walking in her sleep," Faramir answered quietly, "and made her way into the enchanted place."

The girl's eyes widened in raw fear. "Then how did she survive?"

Faramir stroked Éowyn's cheek. "That is a question only she can answer."

"Then none can answer it," Éowyn replied, "for I do not know." She took a deep breath. "They are not dead, Faramir."

He looked down upon her in wonder. "What mean you, Éowyn?" he asked.

"The men who disappeared," she replied. "They are not dead, but sleep in the glade. Their beards still grow."

Faramir thought on this for a moment. "Then how were you not also afflicted?"

She gave a weary sigh. "I do not know."

He leaned down and kissed her brow. "You need rest, my love."

Wearily, she nodded and said: "I am sorry."

"There is nothing for which you are to blame," he replied, brushing his fingers across her brow. "Sleep, my love."

Within a few minutes, she was asleep again, but through the night Faramir, Mithlomi, Damrod, and Adûman kept a close and fearful watch.

*~*~*~*

Éowyn was feeling rather lightheaded when she awoke the next morning, and so she kept her eyes closed and listened to what was going on around her. There was a sea of voices, calm and smooth, and a somewhat rougher one among them. After a moment, her mind sorted through them and realized that the one that sounded out of place was her husband's, and that the others were Elven.

She yawned suddenly and blinked her eyes open. There on her left was Mithlomi, whose long, dark hair fell loose around her face. Before Éowyn could say anything, the maid had turned in her chair and said: "My lord, the Lady wakes!"

The handmaiden had interrupted the sea of voices, and a chair clattered on the floor. Soon Faramir appeared in her field of vision. "Éowyn!" he cried.

Éowyn squeezed her eyes shut as she yawned again. At length she looked up at him and smiled. "Good morning," said she.

He leaned and kissed her lips. "Good morning." With calloused fingers he brushed a few strands of hair away from her brow. "How do you feel?"

"I am well, my lord," she replied, in all truthfulness.

Faramir glanced up for a moment to the table where the Elves sat. They took the hint quickly and left the tent, and the Steward looked to Mithlomi. "You should dress yourself, Mithlomi, and return that cloak to the Ranger who lent it to you," he said.

"I must see to my lady first," she replied, a hint of blush rising in her cheeks.

Faramir smiled slightly. "I believe I can see to her well enough, Mithlomi."

The maid's embarrassment only increased at that remark, but she curtseyed in silence and departed. So Faramir helped Éowyn dress that morning, drawing the laces in the back of her gown, a little looser than usual. The gown had lately been made for her to accommodate her condition, but clothing in general was becoming uncomfortable.

When he was finished with the laces, Éowyn turned and found herself scooped into his embrace. Faramir held her tightly, and he kissed the top of her head. "I have rarely been so frightened," he said; and she knew of what he spoke.

"Nor I," she breathed, her face pressed against his chest.

He pulled back a little and met her eyes. "Would you be angry with me if I requested that a guard be set here at nights?" he asked.

Slowly she shook her head. "For the sake of the child, I would welcome it."

"Good." Faramir kissed her brow, and then suddenly kissed her lips as well. There was fire in his kiss then, a desperation which had been no stranger to them over the years. Yet here was a powerful manifestation of it, and Éowyn welcomed it, whimpering against his mouth as one of his large, strong hands splayed against the laces on her back and the other held the back of her head. She ran her hands up his back to his shoulders, sighing in contentment. It had been so, so long since Faramir had touched her thus: with his absence, her illness, and now her pregnancy, he had seemed almost afraid to. And yet Éowyn knew he had much to do, so she reluctantly ended the kiss.

After a few deep breaths, Éowyn rested her hand against his chest and looked up at him. "You should call the Elves back in, my lord."

He nodded and kissed her nose. "You are right." The couple turned back to the tent, and Éowyn was surprised to see Mithlomi there making the bed. Amused, Faramir pulled his wife closer. "How long have you been here, Mithlomi?" he asked.

"Quite long enough," the handmaiden replied, her cheeks pink.

Laughing, Faramir left the tent and returned a moment later with the Elven company. They all took their seats around the table, save Mithlomi, who ducked out of the tent for a time and returned with food for the group. She then sat out of the way, but watched the proceedings attentively, Éowyn noticed.

No time was wasted with prelude; Legolas immediately said: "Lady Éowyn, if you would oblige us, we would hear your account of what happened last night."

She took a deep breath. "I walked in my sleep," she replied, "as you well know. Yet in that glade I saw that the men are not dead. They sleep, but it is a sleep most unnatural."

The Elves glanced around at each other, and Faramir dropped his hand to Éowyn's lap, taking hers in his and squeezing gently. The habit of telepathic communication amongst the Elves was no doubt convenient for them, but as mortals not privy to such conversation, both Éowyn and Faramir found it rather irritating. At last Legolas said: "There is a deeper magic at work here than we first suspected. It is possibly an old device of the Enemy's, as he was a master of such power."

Faramir narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, Legolas?"

"Those men who disappeared in the woods," said the Elf, "were all men who lived through the War, and many of them fought and killed to defend this land. The oldest and deepest power we know cannot affect those who are most pure, and since these men have seen war, they fell prey to it."

Faramir leaned back, his grip on Éowyn's hand tightening. "That cannot explain everything," he replied. "For you know that Éowyn has seen war, and she is clearly no maid."

"That is true, Lord Steward," said another of the Elves, "but she is granted some protection, perhaps because she carries one who is pure, without question."

Éowyn's eyes widened, and she glanced at her husband, whose countenance had blanched. "She is protected because she is with child?" he whispered.

"It may be so," said the Elf on Éowyn's right. "But if we are correct, then we may be able to break this curse. The White Lady may have given us the key."

"But she will have to enter the glade again," said Legolas, "if she and Lord Faramir are willing."

"My lord," said another voice, one which had not yet spoken. Éowyn looked over her shoulder to see Mithlomi standing, wringing her hands. "My lord, is there no other way? Could not—" She bit her lip before continuing. "Could not I go in her stead?"

A stunned silence followed, and the handmaiden looked to the ground. "I am not blooded in battle," she continued. "And no man has known me."

Gracefully Legolas rose from the table. "I do not doubt that you are indeed an innocent maid, Mithlomi," he said, walking around the table to where the handmaiden stood. "This is but a theory; Éowyn's survival in the glade fits this theory, but is it the only theory which it fits? I do not know."

"But—" Mithlomi began, but the Elf gently interrupted her as he reached her.

"We have reasonable assurance of the White Lady's protection in that glade, but not of yours."

He took her hand in both of his, which was by then trembling, and she looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. She glanced at Faramir and Éowyn. "Lord Faramir, you employed me in your house to see to the Lady of the Shield-arm, and to watch over her and see that she remains healthy and safe. Yet now when I have my chance to do what you ask of me, this chance will be taken from me!"

"Mithlomi, do you think you have not done much already?" Faramir asked. "Were it not for you, the White Lady might not have survived her illness this year."

Nor was Éowyn silent. "My dear Mithlomi," she said, "you need not do this for me. You have already fulfilled your duty, a hundred times over."

Legolas touched her cheek and turned her face back to him. "Maid-child of night you were called," he said, speaking the meaning of her name, "but your deeds have not been hidden away in the twilight from those who love you. This task has fallen to the Lady of the Shield-arm, and while you will help her carry this burden, you cannot take it upon yourself."

"My lord," she breathed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

He wiped the tear away with his thumb. "No, Mithlomi," he replied, shaking his head. "You will aid her, but you will not replace her."

The maid looked to Éowyn, and she stood and approached the pair, gently taking Mithlomi's hands in her own. "Like a sister to me you have become, Mithlomi, as though Théodwyn daughter of Thengel birthed you." Mithlomi's dark eyes met hers, wide and mournful. "You may be a servant and I a Princess, but you are not the only one who serves. I have a duty as well, to the people of Gondor; and for their sake I must do this. None else can."

The handmaiden took a deep breath and nodded. "If it must be, I will aid you in whatever way I can."

Éowyn smiled at her and embraced her. "And you will be richly rewarded, my dear Mithlomi."

In the meantime, Legolas had drawn Mithlomi's chair closer to the table, and the three returned to the conference. Faramir touched the maid's shoulder, and then took Éowyn's hand once more, his countenance grave. "If Éowyn indeed is the only one who can break this spell, how will she break it?" he asked.

"Clean water must be drawn from the spring which is defiled," said an Elf. "That is an old magic as well, to draw the pure from the impure."

"And once in fair Lórien," said Legolas, "the Lady Galadriel had a basin which, when she filled it with water, would show visions to one who looked into it. And with her Mirror she had a silver ewer, which had a magic of its own, for no visions would come if the water in the basin was not pure."

Then came a delightful harmony of Elven voices:

"Does this ewer yet exist?"

"Might not Arwen of Imladris know?"

"Could we send for it?"

Legolas raised his hand to silence them. "The Lady has departed for the Sea," he said, "so there is none left who uses her Mirror. Yet the ewer may have been lost, or the Lord of the Galadhrim may be unwilling to be parted from it." He lowered his hand. "We will send word to Lord Celeborn nevertheless."

Éowyn frowned and rested her free hand over the child. "The journey from here to Lórien and back would take six weeks in high summer, when the roads are clear. Yet the first snow has fallen, and more will come." She paused. "And the child will come in but three months."

The Elf Prince met her gaze steadily. "There is no time to waste." He looked to her husband. "Lord Faramir, you must send out riders."

Faramir released Éowyn's hand at last and stood. "And so I shall."

*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 17

Burdens

*~*~*~*

And so it was that days passed into weeks in Ithilien: the weather grew cold, the men grew fearful, and Éowyn grew uncomfortable in more ways than one. Riding was out of the question and occasionally, standing and walking about for any length of time was as well. The camp grew tense, and when she was around the men for long periods, the child would feel her tension and become agitated. So she kept to her tent more than she liked, with Mithlomi as her constant (and often only) companion during the day, when Faramir had work to be done in the camp. And she often remembered another time when she had felt trapped, then in the Houses of Healing. Though she had felt at the time that she would be driven to desperate measures for lack of occupation, those days of tedium and tension at the end of the War had led her to the happiest moment of her life. And every day in Ithilien brought her closer and closer to a blessed event which would make her happier still.

It was on an afternoon more than two months after their arrival in Ithilien that Faramir came in, his cloak and dark hair liberally sprinkled with snow. Éowyn could not suppress the smile on her face, as she was barely holding in laughter at the sight, so she turned her face back to the book in her hands. After Faramir had removed his cloak, gloves, and heavy boots (and Éowyn had read none of the words on the page before her), he stood with his arms crossed and looked at her. "And why do you smile, Lady fair?"

She turned her merry countenance up to him. "Must I have a reason to smile, Lord?"

"Nay, Lady, not always," he replied, "but you seem a moment from laughter."

Her smile broadened. "I take it there is much snow outside?" she asked.

He walked over and sat at the foot of the bed. "That, my dear, is an understatement. But it should be the last snowfall of the winter. Spring is on our doorstep."

With those words, he suddenly grabbed her bare feet; and Éowyn gasped, for his hands were icy. "Faramir!" she cried, kicking at him. "Faramir, let go!"

After a few more seconds of struggling, he did release her, and he laid down beside her as she sat upon the bed, her back supported by many pillows. "Where is Mithlomi?"

"That young Ranger asked her to go for a walk with him, and I told her to go."

"Adûman?" he asked. When she nodded, Faramir frowned up at her. "You know I do not like you to be alone much."

Éowyn calmly turned a page in her book. "Beregond has checked on me every few minutes."

The sound of a page rustling was apparently enough to distract Faramir from the fact that Éowyn had let her maid leave her unaccompanied. "What are you reading?"

"Brushing up on my Elvish," she replied. "It has been a while."

"Translate something for me," he said.

"Now?" she asked. "I have no parchment."

She looked down to see Faramir close his eyes. "You should not need it."

Éowyn frowned at the Elvish words. It had indeed been some time since she had looked at any Elvish, and even longer since the last time Faramir had sat with her and really taught her. The idea of an impromptu examination was not something she relished, but she flipped through the book anyway and found a passage.

"O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler," she began; and the rest was a little halting, as Elvish did not translate word-for-word into the language of men. "Glittering and sparkling down like jewels from the starry host of heaven. Gazing into that remotest part from Middle-earth, I will chant to thee, the snow-white, from this side of the sea, here on this side of the sea."

While she was translating, Faramir had readjusted himself to lay his head upon her lap, as best he could, given the space her swollen belly now took up. He glanced up at her when she finished, and then closed his eyes once more and said:

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!"

Éowyn set the book aside and ran her fingers through her husband's hair. "It should stay in the Elven-tongue, my lord. It sounds ill in the Common Speech."

"That it does," he agreed. When she stopped brushing her fingers through his hair, he frowned. "No," he said. "That feels good."

Smiling, she resumed and asked: "Why did you teach me Elvish in the first place, my lord?"

Faramir folded his hands over his stomach and smiled. "Because, my lady, I would have gone mad without occupation when we were cloistered in the Houses of Healing, and in you I found a ready, if not enthusiastic, pupil. For I believe you were much as I the same in those days, when we awaited news from the battle." And he looked up at her at last. "It was well that I did."

She looked down in bemusement. "What do you mean, my lord?"

"Have I never told you?" he said. "It was when I was teaching you the Elven-tongue that I knew that I loved you."

Her breath caught in her throat. "No, you never told me," she said, softly. "How terrible it must have been for you."

He looked up at her, his brow furrowed. "Whatever do you mean?"

Éowyn stroked his hair again. "You knew all along that I desired the love of the Lord Aragorn," she replied. "And yet you also knew that you loved me and desired my love in return."

"I knew something else that day." Faramir sat up and moved as close to her as he could, and then took her hands in his. "I knew that I had an opportunity which the Lord Aragorn did not: I had you as my pupil."

She shook her head. "I do not understand."

"In that time, as I taught you Elvish, I tried to teach you how to let a man love you, and how to love him in return." He touched her cheek. "You were frightened once of my attentions, were you not, Éowyn?"

She nodded and rested her hand against her stomach. "Many times," she quietly replied. "I was unused to men of honor speaking so freely and affectionately with me."

"And so I had to teach you not to fear me, and not to fear what I offered you: for I offered you everything, and that, I think, was something wholly new to you." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "And I believe I had a little success."

At that Éowyn laughed and looked down to where Faramir's hand now rested, atop hers on her stomach. "More than a little, I deem," she replied. Stroking his cheek, she continued: "And it was when I knew you loved me, and that you would love me no matter my state, that I knew I loved you in return. You saw me for everything I was then, and loved me anyway."

Faramir leaned forward then, and Éowyn did not object as their lips met in a kiss that seemed to last for only a moment, and for an age. It was slow and sultry, with soft caresses that seemed to linger on the skin. Only when the child kicked with exceptional strength did Éowyn break away, gasping. "Are you all right?" Faramir asked.

She nodded, and then smiled. "How you can insist I carry a daughter is beyond me."

"Because, my love," he replied, "any daughter of yours will have your strength."

"And any son of yours will have your gentleness."

Éowyn sighed. Yet before she could speak again, a sound like none she had ever heard filled the air, and Faramir leaned back. He helped her stand from the bed, and once her feet were in her warm shoes, she took his arm and walked to the tent opening. And there they saw the sight for which they had waited for the last nine weeks—horses in the distance, ridden by masters who were not at all concerned with the elements.

The Elves of Lórien had arrived at last.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 18

Breaking

*~*~*~*

Éowyn saw Mithlomi fly across the encampment as the Elven horn sounded again. The maid said nothing to her lord and lady, but slipped into the tent and returned a moment later, bearing Éowyn's cloak. "They are the Elves from Lothlórien, are they not?" she asked as she put the mantle over Éowyn's shoulders.

Faramir nodded. "They are quite different from the Mirkwood Elves, or Lady Arwen's people," he replied. And indeed they were: for these were not like Thranduil's people nor Elrond's. That much Éowyn could see for herself. These Elves were clad in garments of silver that seemed to shimmer in the dull light of the clouded afternoon. It was a color that seemed to represent them, for they were as the light of the stars descended to the trees.

With Faramir's hand on her back the whole way, Éowyn trudged through the snow with her husband, and Mithlomi a few steps behind. By the time they reached the Elven travelers, Legolas had reached them and greeted the guests. He turned to the three humans when they arrived. "Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn, this is Haldir of Lórien. Haldir, the Lord of Ithilien, Prince Faramir, and his wife Éowyn of Rohan."

Haldir bowed to them; and on second thought glanced down at Éowyn's waist. "I now understand your reason for haste, Legolas," he said. "How much longer do you have, Lady Éowyn?"

"No more than a month," she replied, nodding to the Elf.

"Then we have no time to waste." Haldir motioned one of the other Elves forward, and the one who stepped forward held in his hand an object wrapped in blue cloth. Haldir took it and pulled the wrap away, revealing a simple silver pitcher.

"This is the object we have awaited?" asked Faramir. "It seems so insignificant."

"All of us have seen how much power may be wielded by the insignificant," said Legolas, "and how great an effect something small may have."

Haldir looked at the Prince of Mirkwood and nodded. "This was perhaps not so great as the Lady of the Galadhrim's Mirror, but it was no less important. And it may serve your purpose now."

He held it out, and Éowyn grasped it in both hands. "I thank you, Haldir."

Then some of the men appeared to lead horses away, and there was a flurry of voices then from the Elves amid that activity, many of them trying to speak to her, it seemed. "Lady, do you know any Elvish?" one asked.

"Have you returned to the glade since the first night?"

"How many of the men were there?"

"Did you go so far as the spring?"

"We should wait until nightfall."

"Nay, the dawn!"

"We cannot lose another moment."

"They have waited nine weeks; could they not wait a little longer?"

Somewhere along the way, Éowyn lost track of the voices; she knew not where to begin in responding to them, for they seemed all to speak at once. Her breathing became erratic for reasons she did not know. The wind suddenly picked up, billowing cloaks around. She closed her eyes, hoping that the cacophony would stop, and when a man leading a horse inadvertently bumped into her, she nearly dropped the pitcher in her hands. No longer able to follow what was going on around her, she looked to the snow-covered ground, and a sudden sob escaped her throat.

"Éowyn?"

The final voice was Faramir's, and all others ceased. A gentle hand touched her cheek and turned her face. "Éowyn, what is wrong?"

It took her a moment to compose herself, during which time Faramir gently wiped away the tear streaks from her cheeks. "I am sorry, my lord," she finally managed. "Forgive me."

Gently the Lord of Ithilien took her by her shoulders and turned her to him. "My love," he whispered, "will you be able to do this?"

Slowly she nodded. "I must, Faramir," she breathed. "None else can."

He closed his eyes and kissed her brow. "If you feel you are ready, I will not object."

Éowyn leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "I am ready."

*~*~*~*

The next hour seemed to pass by in a whirl of people rushing around in a manner Mithlomi had not seen since she had been sent off from Minas Tirith before the orc armies besieged the great city during the War. The air was tense as well, and more than anything the handmaiden wished she could go back to her tent and sleep until this ordeal was over.

For in truth, Mithlomi minded that more than she minded the bustling activity all around. Lady Éowyn was in no condition to be up on her feet for more than a few minutes at a time, and yet she was about to enter the glade again, even though it had taken so many men captive. Mithlomi did not wish to watch her mistress do this, not for anything the world could offer her.

"Mithlomi," said a soft, familiar voice behind her. She did not have to turn to know that the Ranger Adûman was behind her. "Mithlomi, are you all right?"

Slowly she turned, nodding to him. "I am worried for my lady."

"As we all are," Adûman replied, taking her hand gently in his. "Do not fear for her, Mithlomi. Fear will do good for no one."

"I wish I were in her place, and she in mine, safe in this camp," the handmaiden replied, bitterness in her voice.

Adûman's grip of her slender white hand tightened. "The Lady will be all right," he said. "For your sake I am glad you will be safe in this camp."

Mithlomi met his gaze then and saw in his dark eyes something which made her breath catch in the back of her throat, and her heart beat a little faster. She suspected that she knew what that look meant, and why it affected her so. It made her a little uncomfortable, for she had never seen a man look at her in such a way before.

The handmaiden looked down. "I must go to my lady, Adûman, and I am certain I am keeping you from your duties."

She risked a glance up at him, and she could tell that he wished to ask her something. But instead, he released her hand and bowed to her. "I take my leave."

She watched him go, his chin high, but his shoulders a little lower than normal. Thoughts of the last two months, with his constant attempts to draw her from her shell and her lady's shadow, fluttered through her mind, and a soft blush rose to her cheeks. It was flattering, certainly, more flattering than the Elf's attentions to her. Lord Legolas treated her no differently than he treated Lady Éowyn: kindly, attentively, and respectfully. He did like to tease Mithlomi, of course, but that was due largely to how she tended to retreat into a corner whenever he appeared. And if his goal had been to make her more comfortable at her lady's side instead of behind her, he had succeeded.

Yet at the same time, he had seemed to spark some jealousy in Adûman, jealousy which was groundless. She was sure that Legolas found her as plain and uninteresting as any human girl, and if she had ever tried to place words to what she felt for the Elven lord, she would have recognized that she was too much in awe of him to think of him as anything other than an Elven lord—she had yet to think of him as even attractive, let alone someone to court her.

It had seemed for a few weeks to Mithlomi that Adûman had wanted only her friendship. But recently it had become clear to her that he wanted something more from her. And more than anything else, it had confused her to have the Ranger's attentions. That confusion added to the stress and tension in the camp was enough to make for some sleepless nights, wondering about her future, and wondering about this day.

"You seem tired, Mithlomi," said a quiet voice behind her, that of Lady Éowyn.

Startled from her reverie, the handmaiden turned around. "Oh!" she cried, curtseying. "I am sorry, my lady."

The Lady smiled and touched Mithlomi's cheek, her other hand resting on her stomach. "Dear Mithlomi," she replied. "When will you learn that you do not have to apologize for everything?"

Mithlomi looked to the ground for a moment. "What would you have me do, my lady?"

"Stay with the Lord Faramir," Éowyn replied. "He may need your help."

And suddenly the Lady embraced her, as tightly as any woman less than a month from birthing a child could. Mithlomi squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. "You will be careful?" she whispered.

"I have many reasons to be careful," said Éowyn, pulling back. "And you are not the least among them. I will be careful."

And in a moment, the White Lady was gone, back to the group of Elves who beckoned her. And a little while later Mithlomi sought out the Steward, and with him she waited as Lady Éowyn passed through the trees, the silver pitcher in her hand.

*~*~*~*

After taking leave of Mithlomi, Éowyn approached Haldir, who gave her the ewer once more and spoke a few words in Elvish, words she recognized as a blessing. He and his companions then dispersed, and as twilight descended upon them all in the forest, she turned to her husband, who stood silently and alone.

"I have told Mithlomi to stay with you," she said when she reached him.

He nodded. "I had apprehended as much." When she reached him, he took her by her shoulders again and kissed her brow, then rested his forehead against hers. "I do not need to remind you to be careful."

Éowyn shook her head. "No, my lord."

A little time passed in silence, and Faramir whispered, as though his voice came from long ago: "Flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still. . . ."

And at that tears began to well up in Éowyn's eyes, as she did not hear the awe she had heard the first time he had spoken those words to her, but instead heard despair. "Do not fear for me, Faramir," she replied in soft tones. "Neither death nor pain."

To that Faramir had no reply; and so he took her face in his hands and kissed her long and full, though they were surrounded by a large host and many watched them. Éowyn cared not, and she rested her free hand against his chest, wanting him nearer, wanting him longer. But there were pressing things to be done, so when Faramir pulled away and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow, she did not object.

"Take care of our son," he said.

Éowyn smiled. "I will take care of our daughter."

The sun was setting quickly, and as the last light of day died around them, Éowyn walked away, the pitcher in both hands. When she reached the farthest point of the glade before she reached the extent of the curse, she turned to see Faramir standing away from the men, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Mithlomi stood just behind him, and for them she smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned back to the heart of darkness and took another step.

There was a rush of warm air across her face as she crossed the barrier. All noise from the camp ceased, and for that she was glad. She knew not which way she went, but only walked, and soon she came to a pool with a placid surface in the chill of the swiftly-falling night.

With great care Éowyn knelt at the water's edge and peered into the small pool. The light of the emerging stars pierced deeper than she would have imagined, and she realized that this spring was much larger than she had thought, beginning deep within the earth. It was no wonder that the Enemy had chosen to weave such a spell in this place, for the spring would be a great asset to a city or guard tower, one which would not shrivel under the heat of the summer sun. Nor did it seem to freeze over in winter, which made her glad now, as it meant she did not have to break a sheet of ice.

She leaned over the surface of the water and gazed at her reflection. It had been some time since she had had a mirror, and what she saw on the water's surface surprised her a little. Her face was fuller than it had been when she had left Minas Tirith, which was not too surprising, given her weight gain. Faramir had commented on that once or twice, saying how becoming it was. He had mentioned a glow to her skin as well, and she saw that that too was true. In the moonlight she was willing to own herself lovely, even beautiful.

The babe stirred then, and Éowyn looked away from the pool, coming once more to the task at hand. Though she seemed immune to the spell that held the men captive, this pool appeared to have another power as well, the power to hold her attention away from her quest. With a little trepidation, she took up Galadriel's pitcher and dipped it into the dark water.

Éowyn held her breath as she watched drops of water trickle down the sides of the pitcher and back into the pool. They were clear as the dawn and sparkling, and when they hit the bubbling spring surface, they bloomed like water upon a layer of oil. And upon the silver surface where the pure water was, the light of the stars danced.

The stars. . . .

She looked up, the pitcher of pure water still in her hand, and found the chief star in the night sky, Eärendil waning in the west. The evening star's beacon was still bright, though it was dying, and Éowyn suddenly whispered in Elvish:

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!"

And the world grew still and cold, and Éowyn stood with great care. She took a deep breath and poured out the water in the pitcher like an offering upon an altar. The surface of silver deepened, until the starlight began to fill the pool; the darkness of the water fled, and silver purity spread in its wake.

Suddenly the stars burned much brighter and the air began to tremble. Within her womb Éowyn felt the child stir in agitation, and she held her breath. She looked to the west and saw Eärendil setting. And as the star reached the horizon, there was a bright burst of light, and all the earth seemed to go silent for a little while.

Éowyn closed her eyes, and the spring began to bubble in the darkness. And for a little while she thought she heard singing. But it was fairer than the music of the Elves and moved her in a way much deeper than anything she had ever heard. Her restless child calmed at the sound of the music, and a tear rolled down her cheek for reasons she did not comprehend.

And then more tears came. Those she did understand, for Faramir was calling her name.

*~*~*~*

No one at the camp slept that night. They were all too busy greeting the men who were newly awakened and asking Éowyn what had happened. In truth, she was too stunned to really recount the spell-breaking for several days, and then only to Faramir. And when she told him of the music at the spring, he told her of the ancient tale of creation, and how Middle-earth had come into being through song. There was a wistfulness in his expression as he told her of the Ainur, and Éowyn knew that he believed that she had heard an echo of this music in the spring when the spell was broken.

It had taken Éowyn some time to realize exactly what had happened, but when the flash of light had come, it seemed to have hastened Spring in his arrival in Ithilien. For the snow had all melted, and flowers bloomed under the trees and in the clearings. It lifted the hearts of the men to see the early springtime. The days were warmer, and they went about their work singing always.

And there was much work to be done, for the Lady Arwen and Lord Aragorn arrived at the encampment a few days after the spell was broken. The King was on hand to strike the first spade into the ground for the new city and to name it. Thus he called it Minas Mardil, for the first Ruling Steward of Gondor, and gave to Faramir its rule and care, and a charge to let the City of the Steward always watch the land of Mordor and guard the realm of Gondor against her foes.

Éowyn did not attend this ceremony, for she was nearing the time of her confinement. And with her stayed Arwen, who confided in Éowyn that she too would bear a child before the year was out. For this the Lady of Rohan was very glad, for she hoped that her royal friends would find the same joy she had found in this miracle of life, even before she had held her child in her arms.

*~*~*~*

For those who are curious, part of the above was based on this passage from The Silmarillion:

"And it is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance else that is in this Earth."

Water seems to have special significance to Tolkien. Its symbolism in many cultures is one of purification, which is how I've chosen to use it here. Galadriel also has a special connection to water, as she bore Nenya, the Ring of Water, so I figured she wouldn't mind me borrowing one of her possessions.

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 19

Home

*~*~*~*

And in the week to come, a carriage took Faramir, Éowyn, and Mithlomi away from the construction of Minas Mardil, to Emyn Arnen. With them came a group of Rangers and soldiers headed by Beregond, who now formed the White Company, the Steward's Guard. They traveled north for a day, until they were in sight of Minas Tirith, and as sunset came they turned from the main road onto a little path which appeared to have had much traffic recently. With that turn, Éowyn's anticipation heightened, for she knew what lay at the end of the path.

Faramir set his arm about her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "How do you feel?" he asked, brushing his lips against her temple.

"I am well, my lord," she answered. "Ready to be out of this carriage, but well."

"Only a few minutes more, my love," Faramir replied. He looked to Mithlomi and said: "When we have made this turn, we will be able to see the place."

It was as the Steward spoke; one more bend in the road brought them in sight of the place Éowyn had seen once before in a drawing, and many times in her dreams. But there among the evergreens, the waterfall, and the brook was an addition: a large white house with its door facing west, gleaming in the sunset.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, Faramir. . . ."

Those were the only words spoken as they neared the house, and Éowyn rested her head against her husband's shoulder. Thus they remained until the carriage came to rest before the house, and Faramir helped her and Mithlomi down. All the while Éowyn gazed upon the house in wonder.

The white stone house was set into the side of a low mountain and seemed to emerge from it; great columns lined the portico which wrapped around the three exposed sides. Wide stairs, cut for a horse's stride, led to the porch, and a path led to immense stables just away from the house. When Éowyn gazed with longing toward the stables, Faramir laughed and wrapped his arm about her waist. "In a little while," he said. "I fear there is little of interest in the stables at present, though I hope to remedy that with great speed."

As they ascended the stairs and approached the door, Éowyn laughed. "My husband builds a house and forgets to furnish our stables. Why was it I married you?"

They reached the door, Mithlomi trailing behind silently. "For my charm, Lady," Faramir replied, smiling, "and for my unparalleled good looks."

Éowyn drew away from him enough to get him to remove his arm from her, then took his hand in hers. At last she gazed upon the door to their new home, and the sight took her breath away for a moment. The White Tree of Gondor with its seven stars was carved into the great wooden door, and upon the lentil was a carving of the white horse from the banner of Rohan. Above that were carvings like unto those that encircled the Meduseld. Éowyn looked over her shoulder to take a closer look at the columns: though they were smooth at the base, the scrolling designs of Rohan were gradually carved into them as they reached the roof.

"Faramir," she breathed, "this is impossible."

"What is so impossible, Éowyn?" he asked. "That I should take care to see that my wife's culture is represented in the house of which she is mistress?"

She blinked back tears. "I thought never to see a place so beautiful to me as the Golden Hall, but I see that beauty here."

Faramir kissed her cheek and opened the door. "Enter your home, my lady," he quietly said.

Éowyn stepped through the doorway, and the first thing she saw was the seal upon the floor. The great, intricate crest of Rohan was inlaid with mithril, so lovely that she feared to step upon it. Yet a voice soon said: "Fear not, White Lady, for your footstep will not harm it."

She looked up abruptly and smiled. "Gimli!" she cried; and the dwarf approached her and kissed her hand.

"To you, Lady Éowyn, and to Lord Faramir, my people and the people of Mirkwood present this house," he said. "May your lives here be long and happy, and may your days be filled with peace."

Faramir placed his arm around his wife's shoulders once more, and they smiled down upon the dwarf. "You are generous, Master Gimli," Faramir replied. "Know that you and your kin are welcome here in Emyn Arnen at any time, for we can never begin to repay your kindness in this craftsmanship."

Gimli bowed then, and Éowyn started to speak, but then there was a great shout from below, and Faramir turned to look out the open door. The guards were rushing about in front of the house, and he called out to Beregond, who hastened up the steps. "My lord," he cried, "riders approach!"

And Éowyn turned to look too, but only one glance was necessary for her to know who approached. "Éomer!" she cried. "It is my brother!"

Indeed it was, and a few minutes later, the King of Rohan had arrived at the house with a kiss for his sister, an embrace for his brother-in-law, and a great gift for them both. With him he brought horses enough to fill their stables, and he promised to stay until Éowyn had given birth at last.

*~*~*~*

Faramir's uncle, Imrahil, arrived a few days later with his daughter and a middle-aged woman named Marueth. She was a midwife, and had been sent from Minas Tirith by Lady Arwen to stay for a time with Éowyn and Faramir. Her arrival made the time seem to have crashed down suddenly upon Faramir, for now the child's arrival was truly imminent.

Éomer and Lothíriel provided ample entertainment in the rural setting, and when the King of Rohan could not ride out with his sister, he found that the Princess of Dol Amroth made a pleasant riding companion. Invariably they came back from their rides in a debate, and once Éowyn wondered aloud that they remained friends, since they seemed to argue so much.

Imrahil brought with him a gift as great as Éomer's horses: for he filled the shelves of Faramir's new library with stacks upon stacks of books. In that room Faramir wished to spend many hours, but instead he spent his time with Éowyn, who was outside as often as she could be. In her condition she was content to sit on the porch for hours, though she did insist that her horse be brought up on occasion so she could feed her sugar and ensure that neither horse nor rider was forgotten.

A week after the midwife's arrival, Faramir thought that Éowyn was carrying the child somewhat lower than she had been in days previous. But it was not until the midwife commented on this with delight that Faramir wondered what it meant. And to his question, Marueth gave the Steward a patronizing smile and said simply that the long months of anticipation would be over very soon.

And the next few days flew by, much the same as they were before, except that Éowyn found walking even more difficult. Faramir was almost positive that she was not sleeping at all, for he certainly was not getting any sleep with her constant shifting and trying to find a comfortable position. Then one night she retired to her room with a sharp pain in her back, and when she awoke the next morning, she was still complaining of it.

With his arm around her waist to support her, however, they came down for breakfast, finding their guests already seated. As Faramir helped her sit in her place at the foot of the table, she winced, and he touched her cheek. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Éowyn nodded. "Just hungry."

He had his doubts, but Faramir walked to the other end of the table and sat down anyway. The meal began quite pleasantly, with Éomer and Lothíriel apparently in a mood to agree upon things for once. Imrahil and Éowyn talked extensively about a variety of subjects, and every once in a while, Faramir would look down the table at his wife and frown. For while she had professed hunger, she barely touched her food.

Then at the end of the meal, Éowyn lifted up her glass to take a drink, but before it reached her lips, she cried out. With a clatter the silver cup fell to the table and then rolled off to the floor. "Éowyn!" cried several voices at once, and Faramir rushed around the room to her side.

She was gasping, her hand upon her stomach. "Éowyn, is it time?" Faramir asked, kneeling beside her. When he got no response, he turned to his cousin. "Lothíriel, fetch the midwife."

Lothíriel flew from the room at his command. In the meantime, Éomer had stood at Éowyn's side and taken her hand in his. "Sister, is it time?" he asked.

She bit down on her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded. Then she began to breath again, and her grip on her brother's hand relaxed. With pale face and bright eyes, she turned to Faramir. "I love you," she whispered.

Faramir leaned forward and kissed her brow. "I love you."

Lothíriel returned then with both Mithlomi and Marueth, the latter of whom immediately got Éowyn on her feet. "Come now, child," she said. "We cannot have you giving birth in the dining room, can we?"

And as Mithlomi, Lothíriel, and Marueth whisked Éowyn out of the dining room, Faramir could only stand and watch. Then his uncle stood from the table as well and walked over to clap his shoulder. "Congratulations, my boy," said Imrahil. "You're about to become a father."

*~*~*~*

CHAPTER 20

Anew

*~*~*~*

It seemed as though a fortnight had passed before Faramir finally tore up the stairs to the spare bedroom which had been set aside for Éowyn's use in childbearing. There in the corridor stood Mithlomi, smiling broadly. She curtseyed for him. "My lady asked me to wait to go in until you arrived," she said.

Faramir touched her shoulder. "How is she?"

The handmaiden laughed a little. "My lord, this has barely begun. My lady will be quite well," she replied. Then she curtseyed again. "Excuse me, my lord."

The Steward nodded, and the maid disappeared through the door. He finally turned and leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. But it was not long before he began to pace, twelve steps in either direction from the door.

*~*~*~*

The first few hours were not so bad.

Aside from the periodic moments of blinding pain, Éowyn found most of the experience in the birthing room to be rather pleasant. However, there was only so much pampering she could take, and soon she began to be uncomfortable with all the activity going on around her. Marueth was kind and patient through it all, but chose to entertain Éowyn in those moments in which she was not in pain by telling horrifying stories of births that went on and on for days.

And when the contractions interrupted Marueth's tales, Éowyn was not sure if she should be glad or terrified. In the end, her somewhat distracted mind chose an odd mixture of both.

*~*~*~*

Faramir had no idea what time it was when Éomer arrived in the corridor. His brother-in-law smiled at the sight of the Steward pacing up and down the hall. "If only the King of Gondor could see you now," he said.

"He would take the white rod and break it, and thus relieve me of my office," Faramir replied, leaning against the wall.

Éomer laughed and sat on the floor near the door. "No, but Aragorn would laugh."

"Let him laugh when his wife is cloistered," said Faramir, sitting as well.

Éomer sobered. "All will be well, Faramir. I have no fear."

Just then they heard Éowyn cry out, and both men winced. Faramir cast a glance of mild irritation at his younger brother-in-law. "You were saying?"

Then the young King looked down. "I do not believe I have ever told you," he began, "how very glad I have been that it was you who took my sister's hand, and not Lord Aragorn." At Faramir's look of surprise, Éomer added: "He is noble, certainly, but he has never understood her, and I fear that—that when she lost the child, life would not have been easy for my sister again. They have never spoken the same language."

"Do you doubt the King's loyalty and care, then?"

"No," Éomer replied. "They were never suited for each other, and such an event would have torn them apart. But I believe it brought you and Éowyn closer."

"With time, it did," said Faramir. "With time."

They sat for a time, listening only to Éowyn's occasional cries. They were joined eventually by Imrahil, and the three men sat in the silent comfort of one another's company.

*~*~*~*

Lothíriel had been given the somewhat dubious honor of standing with Éowyn and holding her hand during the long hours in which she was in labor. And the hours were long, and as they dragged on, Éowyn's labor became harder and more painful.

After a particularly bad contraction, Lothíriel pulled the strip of leather from Éowyn's mouth. It had been soaked in a wine and herb mixture several hours before, to give her something to bear down on during the contractions and to dull the pain somewhat, but now it seemed to be doing little good. What helped the most now was Marueth's telling her that they were nearing the end of this ordeal.

Mithlomi approached then and took a cloth to wipe Éowyn's brow. "Are you all right, my lady?" she asked.

The Lady of Rohan tried to smile. "As well as I could be, Mithlomi, given the circumstances."

The maid bit her lip. "Does it—does it hurt greatly, my lady?"

Éowyn laughed a little. "More than I can express, or you can imagine." She turned and looked at her husband's cousin. "He will never come near me again."

At the foot of the bed Marueth laughed. "I have heard that many a time, my lady," she said. "You will forget all about the pain once you have your little one in your arms."

"Or we would all of us be only children," said Lothíriel, "and for that you and I should be particularly glad."

Éowyn nodded, but whatever she was about to say was lost in the pain of a sudden contraction; and she grabbed Lothíriel's hand so hard that the younger woman cried out too. The pain was hideous, and hot tears rolled down Éowyn's cheeks. Distantly she heard the midwife call to Mithlomi, and Marueth said: "It will not be long now."

*~*~*~*

Faramir was pacing again as the sun began to set over Ithilien. The Steward was more tense than he had ever been in his life, and all attempts by his brother-in-law and uncle to engage him in conversation failed utterly. Having reached the end of the corridor for the thousandth time that hour, he turned and looked at Éomer and Imrahil, both of whom were still seated on the floor.

The two men looked at each other. "I have never seen my brother-in-law so paranoid," said Éomer.

Imrahil shook his head. "This is calm compared to how I acted while my wife was in with our firstborn." He looked up at his nephew, who had resumed his pacing. "Though I have never seen him so agitated as he is now."

When Faramir reached the door and the two men again, he had a retort for them, but he did not speak it, for Éowyn cried out again, much louder than before. But mingled with that was another woman's voice, this one much higher. In confusion Faramir looked down at his brother-in-law and uncle. "Lothíriel?" said Imrahil; and a worried look crossed the countenances of both men.

The Steward turned to the door and reached his hand out to the knob. He wished desperately to go in, to be with his wife in this moment when she was in so much pain. Under his breath he muttered a curse, wishing he had never put Éowyn in this position in the first place. Finally he decided against barging into the room and instead placed his hands on the doorposts and rested his head against the door.

Thus he stayed for some time, straining to hear what was going on behind the door. Mostly he heard Éowyn, incoherent and in pain. He heard other voices too, but that one dominated all others and tugged at his heart. Lightly he bumped his forehead against the door, until his wife cried out again, and a new voice joined the cacophony.

A babe was crying.

Suddenly filled with joy and fear like none he had ever known, Faramir gripped the doorposts and stared in wonder at the door. Behind him Éomer and Imrahil stood, both men clapping his shoulders and speaking to him, but the Steward heard them not. Then, after a few more moments of terrifying tension, the door opened and revealed his wife's handmaiden.

"My lord," she said, smiling broadly once more, "my lady will see you now."

Faramir needed no further encouragement: had Mithlomi not stepped out of his way, he would have knocked her over in his haste to be at Éowyn's side. Then, when he approached, Éowyn stretched forth her hand, and he grasped it in both of his.

He kissed her palm and looked upon her to see her smile. "I am well, my lord," she whispered. "There is nothing to fear."

Overcome by his gratitude that she was truly all right, Faramir suddenly took her face in his hands and kissed her. Her mouth was sweetened with the faint taste of wine, and he deepened the kiss, running his hands back into her hair. At that she drew back, breathless. "You are never to come near my bed again," she managed.

Despite the threat, Faramir managed a weak laugh, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. "Of course, my love."

On the other side of the bed, the midwife coughed, and husband and wife looked up to see her cradling a small bundle in her arms. "If I might intrude, my lord, I believe this little one is ready to meet you both," said Marueth. As Éowyn looked up in delight, the midwife smiled upon them and laid the baby in the mother's eager arms. Faramir's eyes began to fill with tears at the sight, and Marueth added: "You have a fine son, my lord. A fine son."

A son, he thought to himself; and with that thought, his heart swelled with joy.

When Éowyn finally tore her eyes away from the child in her arms, there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and Faramir raised his hands to wipe them away. "Faramir, I know you wanted a daughter so much," she began, "and I am sorry that—"

Faramir shushed her gently, and then placed a finger in the boy's hand, which curled reflexively. "He is our son," he replied. "And he is healthy and whole, as are you. There is nothing I desire above that."

After a few moments of silence, he stroked his son's dark tufts of hair and kissed the top of his head. "You have borne a son, Éowyn," he said at last, "and now you must name him."

Éowyn looked down at the boy for a little while, and he seemed to regard her with sleepy curiosity. At last she looked back to her husband, and when she spoke her voice was low. "Name him for your brother, Faramir."

In truth Faramir had not thought about boys' names since their challenge had determined that Éowyn would name a son, and her sudden surrender of the right to name the child surprised him. "Are you certain?" he asked.

Éowyn nodded. "For your brother."

So the Steward thought on it for a time, and then looked at his wife again. "Then he is called Elboron, son of Faramir, Steward of Gondor."

Gently Faramir lifted the babe from her arms. He began to cry as he was transferred from mother to father, but the Steward soon had the boy calm in his arms. And when Faramir looked down upon his son, he saw eyes like his brother's gazing back at him. He shook his head in wonder. "We created this, Éowyn," he murmured.

She reached forward and touched his shoulder. "Thank you."

And as he cradled his son against his chest, the only words that came to his mind were ones which he had often spoken. But the frequency with which he uttered them did not lessen their meaning, and they were the only words which could be said.

"I love you."

*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*

EPILOGUE

Living

*~*~*~*

Elboron liked very much to be held, and it did not take his parents long to learn this. He was rarely upset, but he did seem much, much happier in someone's arms. And in the first two months of his life, he learned adults were very willing to oblige him in that respect.

And so Éowyn was carrying her son around the library as she watched and waited for Faramir to return from a short visit in Minas Tirith. She wondered what his purpose was in going to the city overnight, for he had been quite secretive about it. The smile he wore as he left the house in Emyn Arnen had been one of mischief, and Éowyn was left with her child to wonder what was going on.

She was also left to entertain her brother, who was, in fact, hardly in need of entertainment. Since his arrival late the previous night, Éomer had done nothing but sleep, and talk about Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, with whom he had finally resolved everything. He had at last asked for her hand after a rather eventful and tumultuous courtship, the details of which would make a most interesting tale for the telling, and she had accepted him.

Thus Éowyn had spent a long night talking with her brother, was kept up for quite some time by Elboron, and then awoke early the next morning only to find that the King of Rohan was planning to sleep for at least half the day, after a long ride from Dol Amroth. She looked down at the child in her arms, who was gazing up at her with dark, grave eyes. "Are you always so fussy as you were last night?" she asked. "Your father usually takes care of you in the night, unless you are hungry."

In response, Elboron smiled and grabbed a long lock of hair. He tugged at it and laughed as Éowyn winced. Carefully she shifted him into a one-armed hold and pried his fingers open. "You have your father's sword-hand grip," she murmured. "And I wonder where he is. . . ."

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, she caught sight of a grey stallion coming around the last bend in the road before their house. Its rider was tall and proud, and she knew him immediately. "Mithlomi!" she cried, rushing to the door of the library.

The maid met her at the end of the corridor. "My lady, is something the matter?"

"No," Éowyn replied, laughing. "My husband has returned!"

Mithlomi took the child from the Lady's arms. "I will take him to the nursery, my lady."

"Thank you." Without another word, Éowyn ran down the stairs to the entryway, crossing the seal and throwing open the doors in time to see the stallion making the final approach to the house. Smiling broadly, she watched as Faramir (accompanied by several other riders, all members of the White Company) came up to the house.

When Faramir had dismounted, he fairly ran up the steps, taking them two at a time until he reached Éowyn and embraced her tightly. "Is your mysterious business concluded, then?" she asked.

"Of course not," he replied, taking a moment to kiss her. "I have brought the mystery home."

She gave him a curious look, but then two brown-haired lads came flying up the steps, crying: "Éowyn, Éowyn!"

To her great surprise they both ran up to her and embraced her as soon as Faramir had taken two steps back. Then in wonder she recognized them and knew they were no lads. "Merry! Pippin!" she cried.

"Éowyn, it's so good to see you!" said Merry, pulling back from her and looking up at last. "We've missed you very much."

Faramir cleared his throat slightly, and Pippin looked up at him. "We missed you too, Faramir, but you must admit, your wife's face is more to miss than yours."

At that the Steward laughed, pulling his wife close to him. "I could not argue with you, Master Perian, for there is none so fair as the Lady of Emyn Arnen."

"This from the man who sees the Queen at least once a month," Éowyn replied. "My husband is a hopeless flatterer."

The two hobbits laughed, and Éowyn remembered her duties as hostess. "I am certain you two are hungry, as you always are," she said. "Will you not come in and break your journey?"

"Do not offer them food, for I daresay they have had enough," said Faramir, laughing. "We would have arrived an hour earlier had we not had to stop to eat so frequently."

The group made their way into the house then, and Pippin looked up at Faramir. "And yet we were delayed further, for you had to send word to the King while we were there."

The Steward chuckled softly. "I had forgotten," he said. "These two ruffians did not call upon the King while they were in the city."

Éowyn looked at them in amazement. "Why did you not see him first? For Aragorn is King and deserves the preeminence!"

"We are not made for great halls," said Merry gravely as he glanced around. "Though you have a great hall here."

The Lady took a hobbit hand in each of hers and led them to the stairs, her husband behind. "Come, my friends," she replied. "For there is someone you must meet before the King comes to punish you."

In silence they ascended the stairs, and Éowyn led them to the nursery, where Mithlomi was laying Elboron down in his cradle. She was surprised to see her brother in the room as well, but the two hobbits had their eyes fixed on the cradle, and she doubted they noticed him. "Mithlomi," she said, as the maid looked at them, "I would like you to meet our guests, Master Meriadoc Brandybuck and Master Peregrin Took of the Shire. Merry, Pippin, this is Mithlomi, a very dear friend."

The maid curtseyed to the halflings and smiled. "A great pleasure to meet you," she replied. "I have heard much of you."

The two hobbits smiled and nodded to her, and once the pleasantries were exchanged, they approached the cradle and peered into it as Mithlomi exited and the Steward and his Lady looked on, and Faramir said: "And this is our son."

"He's rather large, isn't he?" said Pippin, looking at his cousin. "For a babe, at least."

Merry laughed and smiled at the baby. "I should think that Men's children are a bit larger than those of a hobbit." After a pause, he added: "He'll take after you, Faramir."

The two hobbits looked up at Faramir and Éowyn as the Steward replied: "Perhaps. Yet I would hope that he also be gifted with his mother's heart and spirit." At that Éowyn smiled, and Faramir drew her closer to him, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Would either of you like to hold him?" she asked.

The hobbits glanced at each other, and Pippin got a curious grin on his face. "After you," he said.

Éowyn lifted Elboron from his cradle and knelt before Merry, who held his arms out to receive him. The child was clearly heavier than he was expecting, but he was not too evidently surprised. Then the boy looked up at this new creature with those dark, curious eyes and yawned. Merry smiled down at him, and Elboron reached up to swat at one of Merry's curls. Éowyn covered her mouth behind her hand, realizing that she had forgotten to tell Merry first that Elboron had developed a habit of grabbing hair whenever he could.

Then Pippin touched the baby's foot, which had lost its sock sometime during the day. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, no fur at all on these feet," he said.

"Most unnatural," was Merry's solemn reply. "And these ears! Why, they're completely rounded at the top!"

Pippin leaned very close to Elboron's face and asked: "Whatever shall we do with you?" In reply the babe made a sound close to a laugh and grabbed at the hobbit's nose.

Pippin laughed merrily. "The obvious faults aside," he said, looking over at Faramir and Éowyn, "you've got a fine lad here."

Faramir attempted a solemn nod, but ended up giving Pippin a wide smile instead. "I am very glad you approve, Master Perian."

Merry handed the child over to his cousin then and asked: "What is his name?"

As Faramir moved his hand down to her waist, Éowyn replied: "His name is Elboron."

And then Éowyn noticed that the smile on Pippin's face seemed to fade as he looked down on the child. "His eyes. . ." he whispered. "They remind me of Boromir."

Éowyn set her arm around her husband's waist, knowing that he had often thought the same thing when looking upon their son. On this day it was clear that the memories he had conjured were sad ones, and she rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then laid her head against his shoulder. Merry looked up then, but turned back to Elboron and said: "Boromir would be proud."

Pippin smiled suddenly. "Well, my lad, we shall have to tell you all we can about your good Uncle Boromir, and make sure he really is proud of you, wherever he is now."

"Indeed we will," said Faramir, smiling genuinely. And indeed, they would.

*~*~*~*

And during the day they received more guests: the King and Queen, and Legolas and Gimli. They walked through the gardens and talked and dined in each other's company, with Elboron as the center of attention through most of the day. There had been other news, of course: Éomer and Lothíriel, it seemed, had not yet set a date for their wedding, though it had been announced in Dol Amroth and there was no escaping it now. And Merry had news of his own, that he too would be married when he returned to the Shire. The day was spent in great enjoyment, but it was rather exhausting overall. It was late that night before everyone had retired and Éowyn at last entered the bedchamber, wishing to go to sleep as soon as possible.

But when she entered the room, she saw something which she knew she would never forget, to the end of her days.

Faramir was reclined upon the sofa, stretched out with his feet propped up on the end table, for he was taller than the sofa was long. On his chest lay their son, who seemed so tiny in comparison to his father. Éowyn leaned against the door frame, knowing her husband was unaware of her presence. He kissed the top of Elboron's head and whispered something to him, and for a while he seemed quite content to be there with his child, to speak with him even though Elboron could not reply. There was a look of wonder in his eyes which made her want to melt.

Then, when Éowyn thought both father and son had fallen asleep, Faramir turned his head toward the door and smiled at her. "How long were you watching?"

"Long enough." She entered the room then and knelt by the sofa, softly stroking Elboron's hair. "And you feared you would make a poor father."

"I still do," he softly replied. "But I no longer fear my capacity to love him as a father should."

"I never doubted but you would." Éowyn lifted his hand then and placed a kiss in his broad palm. Faramir responded with a tired smile in her direction, and then returned his attention to the child.

By then, Elboron had become a little fussy, and Éowyn smiled. "I think he may be hungry now."

"I think you may be right." Carefully Faramir lifted the babe, keeping him just long enough to kiss his cheek, and then surrendered him to his mother.

"Is my little one hungry?" she asked, holding him up for a moment. Elboron flailed his arms and began to cry, so she settled him down in one arm as she unfastened the buttons down the bodice of her gown. Faramir turned over on his side as this process began, and as soon as Éowyn had pushed enough of her bodice away, the babe's mouth found her breast and began to suckle.

Faramir watched with a small smile as Éowyn nursed the boy, remembering how nervous she had been the evening she had first fed him. He had never seen her face anything with fear, but when the midwife had told her she had to give the child milk, she had looked up in terror. But the midwife had talked her through it, and Éowyn had hardly noticed that Faramir was even in the room as little Elboron had first taken milk from his mother's breast. Yet he had not forgotten the wonder of that first hour of their son's life, when Éowyn had been so radiant and happy. From that moment a new light had begun to shine in her eyes, and he saw it then as well.

Yet then she seemed less comfortable than she ought, and Faramir noticed that she had not unbuttoned her gown as far as she normally did before Elboron had grown impatient. She shifted a little, and Faramir said: "Let me help you."

Before she could protest, he slipped his fingers under the neck of her bodice and slid it off her shoulder, letting her have a little more comfort. As he did so, she turned and rested her head against his chest, and for a little while, the family remained in silence, and Faramir was content to have his wife and his son, in a time of peace and in their own home.

"He's almost done," Éowyn whispered, lifting her head and breaking the magical moment. "I believe he will sleep quickly as well."

Faramir kissed her cheek. "I will see to the cradle."

He rose a little reluctantly and walked into their bedchamber; standing by the crib he removed some toys which the boy had been given to play with (or gum, which might have been more accurate). A few minutes later Éowyn entered, a sleeping Elboron in her arms. He was already soundly asleep, it was plain, for he did not cry as his mother laid him down. And so Faramir wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she put hers about his waist, and they walked across the room to their window.

Faramir looked down at her and smiled when he saw that while she had covered her shoulder, her bodice was yet unfastened for a few inches. He ran his finger lightly over the opening. "I should draw the curtains," he murmured, hugging her a little tighter.

She looked up at him, brow raised, and Faramir took it as a challenge. He turned her to him and kissed her, till Éowyn melted into his arms and he had to hold her up. Then he traced kisses down to the hollow of her throat, and she breathed: "I told you. . .never to come near me again."

Faramir drew back and smiled. "Do you not think that Elboron needs a sister?" On that thought he kissed her again, and she did not object.

Well, that's the end, everyone. Thank you all very much for sticking around through my first foray into the realm of Middle-earth.

I'd like very much to thank all those who reviewed this fic; your kind words were very much appreciated. Your encouragement definitely made this fic worth the effort, and it was far and away above what I ever expected.

I would like to thank three people specifically—Danni, Rachel, and Faith, who were my sounding boards throughout this fic. I couldn't have written this without your help, girls.