*~*~*~*

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.