Lothiríel made her promised visit shortly after the noon meal the next day. I found her company surprisingly pleasant. She seemed to be a bit shocked at the state of Minas Tirith—she confessed to me that her own city had been relatively untouched by the war—but she had an irrepressible cheerful streak that made it difficult for her to be dispirited for long. After so much time spent among the more somber healers recently, Lothiríel’s company was quite refreshing.

She had confided to me that she felt rather useless around the Citadel, since there was really nothing she could do to aid her cousin and her brother in their attempts to bring all of the various matters of the city and the surrounding lands under control. I could understand her restlessness, and so it did not take much effort to convince her to come back and visit as often as she wished. But when I found myself being herded into a seamstress’s shop the following morning, I could not help wondering if that had been such a good idea.

Lothiríel had insisted that we go so that I could get a new riding outfit. “It really is not necessary to go to all this trouble,” I said, glancing back uneasily at the Citadel Guards that had accompanied us to ensure our safety, at Faramir’s and Amrothos’s insistence. “Surely it would be easier to just split one of the skirts the healers provided…”

“Nonsense,” Lothiríel said, dismissing my protest immediately. “That would never work with the current fashions of Gondor. The skirts are narrower than those of your people, I believe, and you would not be able to sit comfortably in them if you divided one. And I would simply let you borrow one of mine if I could, but obviously that will not work,” she added, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. I smiled ruefully, knowing she spoke truly; I stood a full head taller than she. “No, we shall just have to have one made for you. Besides, surely you need something to wear for the journey home!”

I frowned, unable to deny that she did have a point. Even if the healers had kept the clothing I had borrowed from my brother, which I found highly doubtful, I knew that Éomer would never allow me to wear such things in front of the entire host of the Rohirrim now that my identity was known to them. No, I cannot get out of this, I decided, resigning myself to my fate as Lothiríel took my elbow and steered me through the doorway.

Once inside, I could not help feeling intimidated; I had never seen a shop such as this in my life. Lengths of finely woven cloth were neatly folded and stacked on a nearby table, while finished samples of clothing hung about the room. I must have had a strange expression on my face, because Lothiríel lowered her voice and asked, “Do they not have shops like this in Rohan?”

“No,” I answered. “Not that I am aware of. Those who are skilled at weaving cloth often trade their wares in exchange for grain or other necessities. And during my time in Edoras, the royal household has always had a tailor who took care of such things; I would be given only a few choices in cloth for my garments.”

“The tailors that serve my father’s household do the same,” Lothiríel admitted. “But I go to the shops instead, when I can; the things that the merchant ships bring in are often much more interesting.” She grinned at me as a portly middle-aged woman, who seemed to run the shop, came out from a back room with a young raven-haired woman in tow.

“Good day, my ladies,” she said, bowing her head while regarding me with open curiosity. I kept my gaze steady, realizing that she must have at least heard the rumors about how I had come to the city. “How may I be of assistance?”

Thankfully, Lothiríel answered for me. “We wish to have a riding outfit made for the Lady Éowyn,” she said.

“Very good, my lady,” the woman answered, reaching into a pocket of an apron she wore around her waist and drawing out a coiled-up cord. “I shall just have to take some measurements first, of course. Have you picked out some cloth?”

“I have not yet had the opportunity,” I answered tentatively.

Lothiríel fixed a solemn gaze on the woman. “Before we begin with that, I would also like to specify that the skirt is to be divided.”

The woman paused, then answered, “My lady?” glancing over at me uncertainly.

“My saddle requires it,” I answered bluntly.

Lothiríel’s eyes were sparkling, but she kept her face solemn as she added, “’Tis a custom among our friends from the North; the ladies ride astride as well as the men. I believe I failed to mention that the lady is the sister of Rohan’s king, and I am certain that you do not wish to offend…”

The older woman’s face visibly paled. “Of course not,” she answered swiftly.

“I did not believe so,” Lothiríel said evenly, a gracious smile crossing her face.

“I must see to figuring out the skirt,” she answered. “Please, feel free to take as much time as you wish in choosing the cloth. If you need any assistance, I shall be in the back. Come, Elwen.” She hastily retreated, the apprentice seamstress following after a quick curtsey.

Lothiríel and I glanced at each other; she covered her hand with her mouth to stifle a giggle, and I was forced to look away as my own laughter threatened to nearly choke me. “I believe you frightened the poor woman half out of her wits, Lothiríel,” I finally said once I felt capable of speaking again.

“I was merely trying to be diplomatic,” she replied, still trying not to burst out laughing. “But come, we must choose some cloth for you; the sooner this dress is made, the sooner we can go riding!”

I needed no further incentive to begin searching through the piles of cloth, eager to make a choice and leave the shop. It did not take me long to find a length of brown linen that I thought would do nicely for the skirt and bodice. Lothiríel, in the meantime, had been searching for something suitable for the tunic. I left the cloth I had chosen lying on the table and walked over towards her. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked deep in thought as she perused the selection. “Have you found anything?” I asked.

“There was some green silk that would look quite lovely on you, but I do not think it would be at all suitable for a longer journey,” she answered. Then her eyes lit up and a devious grin crossed her face. “This would be perfect!” she exclaimed, holding up a length of cloth that was the color of the sky at twilight.

I fingered the fabric gingerly; it felt sturdy enough that it would not get completely ruined on a ride, I decided, but it was still soft to the touch. “Yes, that would be good,” I replied suspiciously. “But why do you say it like that?”

“It seems that my cousin is quite fond of this color,” she said, smiling. “At least, I have heard him say so on previous visits to Dol Amroth, and I am quite certain he would greatly enjoy seeing you in it.”

“Oh.” I glanced down, feeling a bit awkward.

Lothiríel quickly apologized. “I did not mean to imply that you have to take it,” she said. “If you do not like it, we can keep looking.”

“No, it is not that at all,” I said, lifting my head again. “I did not know that it was a color he liked; I am just being foolish, I suppose.”

“Oh, do not let that trouble you,” she replied, giving me a reassuring smile. “You can hardly expect to know everything about a person after knowing him for so short a time, even a person you love. And besides, you have plenty of time to learn these things, do you not?”

Even a person you love? I suddenly realized that though he had said as much to me many times, I had never told him how I felt about him at all. I cared about Faramir, I knew that. But if I truly loved him, it would be easier to tell him, would it not? I wondered as a tiny seed of doubt began to take root in my mind. “Yes, I suppose you are right,” I said, pushing my troubled thoughts aside and trying to sound lighthearted. “And this cloth will do quite nicely, I believe.”

“Good,” Lothiríel said, smiling again. “I suppose we had better finish this up, then.” With that, we made the arrangements for the outfit to be made and left.

-------

Throughout the rest of the day, and for several days afterwards, my conversation with Lothiríel continued to haunt me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how little I truly knew about Faramir; after all, I had not even known him for a month. And though he made every attempt to visit me as often as possible, and assured me that he would be at liberty to spend more time with me once the reports that had piled up during the days prior to the siege and throughout his recovery were all taken care of, it seemed that even with Amrothos’s aid I never had more than a few moments with him at a time. I could not rid myself of the nagging doubt that perhaps once again I had fooled myself into believing that I felt more than I truly did, though I fervently hoped that was not the case. I did not want to hurt Faramir by being unable to return his love.

I did my best to keep myself from dwelling on such thoughts through my work with the healers, though spending so much time around the wounded and sick often made it difficult to keep my spirits up. Finally, just when I was certain I could bear it no longer, Bergil returned from the Citadel one afternoon, accompanied by one of the guards and bearing the message that “the Lords Faramir and Amrothos, and the Lady Lothiríel, wish to know if they might have the pleasure of your company at supper tonight.” After speaking with Ioreth in order to ensure that I could be released from my duties early, I quickly agreed, and the guard escorted me to the Citadel.

It seemed that my arrival had been anticipated; Lothiríel met me almost the moment I entered. After we had exchanged greetings, I said, “It was very kind of you to invite me here.”

“Oh, it was entirely Faramir’s idea,” she replied cheerfully. “And he has also requested that he wishes to speak with you in private before supper—he said he wishes to show you something. I believe he is still in his study, if you wish to go to him now.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, my curiosity aroused.

“I will take my leave then,” she answered with a grin. She paused, then added, “Do you know how to get there?”

“I believe so,” I replied, “though I am certain that if I lose my way, there will be enough guards or servants around to direct me.”

“Very well. I will see you at supper, then.” With that, she turned and left, leaving me to find my way through the winding halls of the Citadel.

I remembered the way to Faramir’s study surprisingly well, considering I had only been there on one occasion. Once there, I paused in front of the door, feeling suddenly hesitant to see him. Then, scowling at my unfounded fears, I knocked firmly.

Faramir opened the door a few moments later, smiling brightly when he saw me. “Éowyn! I am glad you came,” he said, taking my hand in his. I forced a smile, but did not answer. “Is something the matter?” he asked, his voice softening as his smile faded somewhat.

“No,” I quickly answered. “No, I am fine.”

He did not believe me; I could tell by the intense look in his eyes as his studied my face. But he did not press the issue, thankfully. “Come with me,” he finally said. “There is something I wish to show you.”

His steady grip on my hand made me feel even more agitated as he led me through the marble halls of the Citadel, his footfalls barely making a sound on the polished floors. My own steps sounded dreadfully loud to my ears in comparison, and this did nothing to calm me. Finally, Faramir stopped in front of a plain wooden door in a darkened hall; he seemed to sense my distress as he turned to me and asked, “Éowyn, do you trust me?”

“You know that I do,” I answered.

“Then please, close your eyes,” he said. I furrowed my brow, looking at him curiously, but he merely smiled in return, and so I complied without further question.

He released my hand, and I heard a faint click as he unlocked the door, and a harsh squeak as he opened it; it sounded as if the room had been unused for quite some time. This left me feeling oddly reassured as I felt his hand wrap around mine once more, and he gently pulled me forward a few steps.

To my surprise, I could feel a light breeze upon my skin. “May I open them yet?” I asked.

“In a moment,” Faramir promised. I heard the squeaking noise again, fainter this time, then the door closing. Then I felt his hands upon my shoulders, carefully turning me around.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He did not remove his hands from my shoulders, and I could sense him standing close behind me. “You may open your eyes now,” he answered.

As I opened them, I gasped at the sight. We were standing in a small courtyard, enclosed on three sides by a wall that stood about half my height, though climbing vines obscured much of the stone. I briefly twisted my head around to look behind me, and could see the wall of the Citadel itself enclosing the fourth side. Unlike the main courtyard of the Citadel, a thick carpet of tall grass covered the ground. I could see a few planting beds similar to the ones in the gardens at the Houses of Healing; though they were overgrown, there were a few patches of color from the wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. There was a fountain standing off to one side, and I could hear the steady splash of water as it flowed into the stone-surrounded basin below. Though it had obviously been untended for quite some time, I could see a sort of wild beauty in it that reminded me strangely of my homeland; my heart ached at the sight.

But what really took my breath away was the view. We were high enough that the wall blocked out the view of the white stone buildings; all I could see were the fields of the Pelennor spreading out before me, the waters of the Anduin shining golden in the late afternoon sunlight as it wove its way towards the sea, and further south to the plains beyond. “This is beautiful,” I finally said, unable to take my eyes away from the view; for the first time since I had come to Minas Tirith, I could almost forget that I was in a city.

“I thought that you would like it,” Faramir said softly, releasing my arms and stepping forward so that he was standing beside me. We stood in silence for a long moment, looking out over the fields. The scarred earth was beginning to turn green again, save for further away from the city, where it appeared that Gondor’s farmers were beginning to sow a late crop. I could not help wondering if my people were doing the same at home, and I was so lost in this thought that I did not hear Faramir speaking my name until he took my hand again.

“Forgive me,” I said, turning towards him. “What did you say?”

“What is wrong, Éowyn?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I answered, forcing a smile but not really looking at him. “It reminds me a little of home; that is all. I would not think of a place like this within the Citadel,” I added, deciding to change the subject as I walked towards the fountain and sat down on the cool stone wall surrounding it.

“There are few who know of it,” he answered, a far-off look on his face as he sat down next to me. “My father had it built for my mother, shortly after they married; she found it difficult to bear, living under the shadow of the East, and so he wished to give her a place where she could look towards her homeland to the South. After she passed away, he ordered for the door to be locked, and that no one be allowed to enter.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” I asked, wondering yet again how someone who seemed so stern and unyielding could have sired a man like Faramir.

Faramir glanced down. “I have heard it said many times that he loved her dearly, after his own fashion. It always seemed to Boromir and I that, after she died, he could not bear the presence of anything that reminded him of her.. I have always wondered why, if he loved her so greatly, he would wish to forget her.” He paused, then looked up at me. “I think that perhaps I am beginning to understand; I know not if I would be able to bear such a loss.”

Though I could see conflicting emotions on his face, as he had temporarily allowed the careful control he normally kept over his expression to slip, it was the love I could clearly see in his eyes that left me feeling overwhelmed. He deserves so much more, I could not help thinking, and I looked down at my hands in my lap, unable to bear the look in his eyes.

Immediately, I could feel his hand on my arm. “Éowyn? What troubles you?” he asked. I shook my head in reply, afraid to speak. “If I said anything to offend you, I would have you tell…” he continued.

I glanced up briefly, laying a finger against his lips to silence him. “Nay, Faramir, you did not offend,” I interrupted, then glanced down again. “But please, do not look at me like that!”

Faramir furrowed his brow, clearly confused. “I had no intention of…”

“Can you not see?” I asked, growing increasingly agitated as I pulled away from him, fidgeting with the loosened edges of the linen strips that still bound my arm. “You did nothing wrong, Faramir, save to give your attentions to one unworthy of such devotion.”

“Éowyn,” he said, but I continued as if I had not heard him. “You deserve better than an ill-mannered woman of the North who can slay orcs, but who cannot find the courage or the words to tell you that she loves you.”

“Éowyn,” he tried again, this time reaching for my hand. His fingers lightly caressed my palm, and the gesture both warmed me and increased my sense of guilt. “If there is something bothering you, please tell me.”

I could not look at him; I did not wish him to see the tears that I felt pricking at my eyes. “I do love you, Faramir, I truly do,” I said. “I realize that now, and I know that I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I could never quite seem to find the words.”

“Is this what has been troubling you? That you did not say anything sooner?”

“Yes,” I answered, glancing down and fidgeting with the bandage strips. “I know it is probably foolish of me, but you have told me so often that you love me; I feared that since I could never bring myself to tell you the same, that I did not love you. I had no wish to hurt you by being unable to return your love, Faramir.” I knew all too well what that was like, I silently added. “But neither did I want to say I did if I was not completely sure it was true. I wanted it to be true, but…” my voice trailed off as I fumbled for what to say next.

Faramir took my hand in both of his, “You truly mean this?”

I lifted my head so I could look him in the eyes. “With all my heart,” I said, quietly but firmly.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady, though his entire face lit up with joy at my words. “Then why should I fault you for wishing to be certain of your feelings before expressing them to me? You have often told me yourself that you wished for plain speech and honest words; I would rather you not say anything than believe you were not speaking the truth.” Faramir smiled then, and added, “Though I am glad that you said it.”

I finally relaxed then, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from me. For a moment I debated telling him why I had hesitated—that I was so accustomed to being told I could not love or be loved by another that I had truly begun to believe it—but had no wish to spoil the joyful moment by speaking of the darkness in my past. I will tell him someday, I resolved. But not yet. So instead, I smiled in return. “So am I,” I answered. “And thank you for being so understanding.”

“I have a confession to make as well,” he said, his hand lightly caressing mine. “I never doubted that you loved me.”

“You did not?” I asked, surprised.

A rueful smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps for a little while after I left the Houses, but not since that day I came back to see you.”

My face grew warm at the memory of our kiss atop the garden wall, but the thought made me smile again. “Then perhaps I should ensure that you have no more reason to doubt,” I teased, kissing him lightly.

Faramir smiled and pulled me closer as he returned the kiss with an intensity that had not been there before. It both exhilarated and frightened me; he seemed to sense this, and began to pull back a little. I suddenly realized that I did not want it to end so quickly, and laid my hand on his shoulder to stop him. For a brief moment, my eyes met his, then he smiled and closed the distance between us once more, drawing me further into his embrace as I returned the kiss with a fervor that I had not known that I possessed.

Eventually I pulled back, and he immediately loosened his hold on me. Then he moved his arms around my waist, pulling me closer again. I relaxed and leaned my head against his shoulder, content to leave any further words of love unspoken for the time. I knew he understood, and that was enough.

Later that evening, Faramir and I went down to the courtyard; though he told me he would have wished to stay in the little garden, he needed to go to a place where he could be found if duty required it. The night had taken a cold turn, and so Faramir had sent for the blue star-embroidered cloak for me before we left the Citadel. I had not thought I would need it, but as the breeze picked up, I pulled it a bit tighter, grateful for the warmth. “Are you cold?” Faramir asked as we walked.

“Not very much,” I answered. “Thank you for lending the cloak to me again; it does help.”

“Éowyn,” he said, stopping and taking both of my hands in his, “I want you to keep it.”

“But, Faramir, this belonged to your mother,” I protested. “I cannot…”

He placed a finger on my lips to silence me. “I believe that she would wish you to have it,” he said.

“All right, if you are certain that you do not mind parting with it,” I replied.

“I am.” Faramir released one of my hands, moving his hand to rest against my cheek. “Though I cannot say I would be parting with it forever.”

“What?” As I looked up at him, suddenly it sank in that I would be marrying him. The thought made me smile, then all of a sudden I burst out laughing. When he gave me a questioning look, I added, “It is still strange for me to think about, that we will be wed. Though, it is hardly an unpleasant thing to think of.”

“That is good to hear,” he replied, laughing. Then his face grew more serious as he added, “To tell you the truth, I cannot yet say we are officially betrothed. I do wish to speak to your brother first.”

I furrowed my brow and asked, “But your cousins? Do they not know?”

A hint of mischief appeared in his eyes. “Only that I love you. I have not said anything beyond that to them.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised.

“I would not be surprised if Thíri has already guessed that I wish to marry you,” he added with a laugh.

“She has hinted at it,” I admitted. “She was not exactly subtle about it either.”

Faramir smirked, then his expression grew serious again as he said, “I knew that you would want Éomer to be the first to know.”

I smiled up at him gratefully. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

“I had no intention of doing otherwise,” he answered, then kissed me once more. “I love you,” he repeated as he pulled back.

“I know,” I answered, tightening my arms around him once more. “I love you, too.”