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.

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PROLOGUE

Vows

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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.

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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.