Author's Notes: A little reminder about the separators: one row of ~~~~~ means a relatively short amount of time has gone by since the last scene took place; two rows point to a longer period of time.

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In the same way that they had barely shared greetings during the days that they both had spent in Gondor upon their betrothal, so too did the Lord of Ithilien and his Lady see little of the other after her leaving to her own lands. Yet their words were born between them in letters steady in their coming, so that those who had settled near to the border took to saying that the very day of the week could be told by their comings and goings; and their hearts welled with the knowledge that the two lands would indeed come together and stand fast one for the other.

Yet for all the glad words spoken about them, and the care which was believed to stand between them, the two betroths learned little of the other save for their way of speech and turn of phrase. For in their many letters they merely planned the building of their house in Emyn Arnen so that they would both take comfort within its walls, and they spent little words on other things.

For this, upon the first month of autumn, as half the time had passed till the day they would be wed, Éowyn woke once day to see that she knew naught of her lord’s likes or dislikes, of his ways or of what he would await from her. Too much of her time had been spent in labouring to aid her country, and she had given little thought to her new life to come, reluctant as she was for it to begin. And to her knowledge, her betrothed knew little of the same. Yet, even with these thoughts, she shied away from speaking of them in her letters to him; as was their unspoken agreement, such things were silently avoided. Instead she asked a little more of the ceremony that would bind them, questioned him once again of the setting of his lands, and wondered about the horses they would have, and how they would be cared for. Not little was her surprise, then, to read his answers later on, and questions of his own, tying both to her written and unwritten thoughts; and that the Lord Faramir would come to Rohan in two weeks time to draw upon the trade agreements between the Mark and Gondor; and to see her.

And when indeed he came she hid her wonder not, but instead questioned him of it before he even set down from his bay. Yet she received no other answer than an awkward smile and a promise that all would be revealed to her. And so it was that the two found themselves riding across the plains of Rohan at midday upon the second day from his arrival, both waiting for the other to begin.

“My lord,” she said at last, “you have said you would explain to me how you came to know my thoughts.”

“Not your thoughts, my lady, but some workings of your heart,” he answered.

“You believe you know my heart?” she asked, and where her eyes had been tuned to the sights before they were now set sharply upon him, nigh filled with scorn.

“Aye, lady, for a fashion. The gift of the House of Húrin allows me to read into the hearts of men and see both their pains and joys, although I can be blind to it if I so wish it. Yet in tying with your thoughts no legacy of kin has helped; your questions had been my own, and in perceiving them I needed only to read between the lines of our letters for what was left unsaid. If anything, my years spent as a Ranger have been my aid, for they taught me to read unanswered answers and unasked questions.”

“How so, my lord?”

“After a time, trespassing in Ithilien was forbidden; the penalty was death,” he said, and his voice turned silent and withdrawn. “There were many things to know before bringing about such and end.” Then seeing the question in her eyes he spoke anew: “I was wary, at times, to end the life of worthy men for breaking such a law, although such was the will of my Lord. Yet there were very few good men crossing our borders, many a lie they wove, and the decision to proceed either way fell unto me.”

“’Twas you who sent Frodo and Samwise on their way,” she said. “What penalty was it that you risked, my lord?”

“I, also, risked my death.”

“Even by your father’s hand?”

“Even so,” he nodded, and she asked no more.

But on their ride back to the gates of Edoras she weighed his words and saw that the tide of the War had been turned by his keen eye and his decision; for another Captain would have slain the two Halflings on the spot, strange a folk as they were in those times. And she wondered once more of the workings of fate, and how many times the world’s ending had hung by a thread.

For a time, they rode in silence, both delighting in the run of the horse and the wind in their hair as they galloped towards home. And they saw naught but the earth before them, so that when lightning split the sky in two they stood amazed by the grey colours shifting upon it. And they both were short of breath, but with a glint in their eyes they set off at full speed once more. And so it was that when they reached the stables their coming unsettled the horses within, and one that had been newly trained tore from his bonds and took to bounding.

“Frealwine! Quick! Fillias is loose!” Éowyn called out, and, when the man charged with the stables came, she walked with him toward the troubled horse to calm it. Yet as they reached for it Faramir stood forth as well, and approached the steed with arms open before him. And though their hearts were wary, for it was known the horse had ever brought them pains, they left him to his doings, and wondered to see Fillias pause in his presence and bear his touch; and when the man of Gondor whispered in its ear the horse calmed of its own, so that it could be taken by its bridle and led to its stall once more, to settle quietly while there.

“Such a way with a horse,” the Lady Éowyn began, her eyes wide in surprise, “is only that of our tamers! How have you come to know of it?”

“I cannot say, my lady. None have taught me, if that is what you ask. But from my early years I have seen that all good beasts heed to my words, perhaps for the same gift that I have spoken of to you.”

And hearing his words she said no more, but unknowingly her regard for him grew with this display, and her heart eased a little, for she could see that at least in this they were a match. Then when the rain began to fall they both retired from it, and found themselves within the training ring, their hair and clothes both damp.

“My lady,” he said, “would you rather we risk returning to the Golden Hall or wait the rain out here?”

“If you have naught against it, I would rather wait here; the rain will be quick to end.”

“Very well,” he nodded, “then I would bid you tell me something of your country and your ways, what you have not spoken of before; for there are many things I have not heard of, and that should be amended.”

“What would you wish to know, my lord? And there are some answers of your own I would desire to have, for you have not been forthcoming regarding your own life.”

“You may give me any answer you see fit, and ask me any question.”

And as they sat before swords and spears and bows she began to speak of her own training as a shieldmaiden and the lore and tradition of fighting in her land; and in his eyes she saw attention and true interest and was moved to tell him all the more; and for every answer she gave he told her of their own ways, and to every question she made about him or his kin, as little as the were in number, he gave answer as well. And when the rain came to an end they knew the other better.

“The rain has ended, my lord,” she said to him, and looked to her left towards the open doorway. But he gave no answer, instead stood from the bench; then he went to the practice swords to pick one up, and felt the edge of its blade.

“My lady,” he said, and turned toward her, his eyes bright, “I would spar with you.”

And she was startled by his words, but stood up nonetheless, and, walking towards him, said: “I have not the proper robes upon me, nor any here that I may change them.”

“Would your dress hinder your movements so?” he asked, and looked to the cut of her raiment, wondering to the moves that she would have to make.

“Not very much so, no,” she answered, and turned from him to choose a blade of her own; for his searching eyes had somehow brought colour to her cheeks, and she wished to hide it.  But then she came towards him when her face was pale once more, and they both measured the other to search for flaw or weakness. Yet they found none, save that they were equal in skill and different in style. And as they fought the Lady Éowyn was pleased to see that he neither held back as not to harm her, as was her brother’s habit, nor stroke with force as if to overcome her quickly, as other men would have; his moves, instead, were graceful and more fluid, and his strikes were subtle, and he taught her more than she knew without breaking the fight, but by repeating such moves that he saw she took notice of, until she had made them for her own.

And the time came and went, yet they did not pause, except to catch their breath or grip their swords anew; and in the end they found that they had grown so accustomed to the fight that they parried and turned with nary a thought to it. Then when their swords met at the last they saw the flame in the other’s eyes and felt the hitch in their own breaths, and their blades were lowered.

“Your skill, my lord, is…” Éowyn began, yet her words went unfinished, like her thought; for there stood the Lord Faramir upon the ring, lips parted and body strong and strained from effort, and for the first time in the months she had known him she felt a wary shiver while standing at his side.  

“What of my skill, my lady?” he asked, and a smile reached his eyes and lit them with kind humour; but she shied away from them, and with her back to him she said: “Your way with the sword is different to what I was raised to know, and you are a master of it. Would you not also show me how you handle the bow? For I have heard that is your true craft.” And as she spoke she felt his gaze upon her back, and chided herself for being so weak in his presence; for, she deemed, there was naught in his look or manner that she should fear or desire, and she had ever been composed around him. It was, she thought, the weariness of the fight alone, for they had charged each other far into the day, which now diminished with the setting sun.

“If you so wish it, my lady,” he said, and brought her from within her thoughts and into common feeling once again. And when she went to him to hand a bow and quiver there was neither weakness nor strain in her limbs, and she could gaze upon him steadily. Yet it was not his face or form that she watched at that time, but the arrows he released, which never fell short of the mark, no matter the distance. And with his every hit she saw the Ranger come forth from within the Steward, and his deeds in battle played before her eyes; and she understood then that her betrothed was a man no Rider of the Mark could overcome.

And as the days passed she began to see him for the man he was, though only in mind alone; for her heart was still kept far from him and would find no acceptance, no matter the light in which he walked. And her reason took notice of his own, for during the talks between their lands she saw his words to be as wise as ever they had been, and laced with dignity; and they were meant for her as well, for when he spoke he looked towards her also.

And when the days he was to spend in Rohan came to an end she found she knew of him not all that she had wished to, but enough that she could think to understand him, and how their days together would come to be. He would be patient and calm, at times a teacher, at times a listener, ever the voice of reason. But the thoughts that had come to her upon the walls of his White City before the ending of the War she could not turn away: she doubted still whether there would be love for her; for she knew not if she could love him, as a woman loved a man, a wife loved a husband, or indeed if he could love her. For no such signs had she seen, either way.

And so she watched him in the distance as he left, and thought of the many times that she would do so, and how his parting would perhaps mean nary a thing to her; and doing so she did not hear her brother come towards her and take his own place by her side.

“He is a noble man, and worthy,” Éomer said.

“I know this,” she answered. Then with a quiet hand upon her shoulder he walked away, to leave her to her thoughts. And she looked into the distance for a little while, and saw her husband to be take his leave from her lands. Then she walked into the Golden Hall, and knew that upon his parting they both left the other a stranger still, no matter what they had learned of their pasts and customs. And as she paced the hallways to her rooms she felt numbness and coldness strive to take hold of her, as they had in the darker days. And for a moment she nigh let herself fall into their grasp, but then fought her way towards the light instead.

For now there was a purpose to her life, another duty placed upon her, and part of it was to dwell in sunlight and in glee, for all to see; and fulfil it she would, and seem merry to the rest, and content, although her heart would turn heavy in the loneliness and idleness that would take hold of her days. And she was pained by the thought that her future was set, and that her duty had once more been of another’s choosing.

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Her wedding night had come and was nigh gone, and she was a maiden still. To their chambers the Lady Éowyn had walked dressed in shimmering white, and each of her steps had been a burden, each one taken upon a foreign floor, in a foreign land. And the wood of the doors had been both cold and warm beneath her hands when she had pushed them open, for she herself had known not whether she burned with shame or grew cold with fear. And so it was that she had come before her husband, her fingers barely trembling from the strain of keeping them still, her chest barely moving beneath the soft fabric of her robes, her eyes downcast and not bearing to look upon him; for she had feared what could be read in his face – yearning, desire, or nothing at all. And he had known the anguish of her heart then, the fluttering of her soul, and most of all her gall at feeling so. For had she not agreed to this the year before?

Seeing her so Faramir had thought his heart would break, and would have turned away from the fear he felt in her, fear of him; and he was stricken for it, and shamed, and would have greatly wished to ease her cares and fears. Yet he had stood bound to his place before her, and had only watched her empty face, and felt her fear; for he had known that any move of his would have the more inspired her retreat, brought to the edge as she had been; and too because his coming steps had been so difficult to guess. For standing proud and silent by the doors she had seemed fairer than his memories of her had ever been, and she had, in her sorrow, drawn him to her, and made him long to offer care and comfort, so that he might as well find his heart eased. But he had moved not, instead stood thinking of his words to come, and the disgrace that they would bring to her, yet knowing that they must be said. And for many moments he had kept his piece, for he had also thought that speaking from a distance would perhaps have hurt her pride, while coming near would have unsettled her the more, and made his words in vain.

But then the silence had turned heavy, and Éowyn had felt her shoulders tremble under his gaze, and he could bear no more; and coming toward her he had threaded his fingers lightly through her hair; and with both hands along her face he had stooped down to kiss her brow.

“My lady,” he had said, and his breath had played warm upon her face, “we must speak, you and I.” And in slow moves he had lead her by the shoulders to their bed, but had not bid her sit. Then when she had raised her eyes at last she had seen the disquiet in his own and the veil of what she had both feared and expected; but his expression had been calm and brought her enough ease that she could suffer heeding to his words.

“This will be difficult to hear,” Faramir had spoken once more, his voice lowered and strained, “and difficult to say, yet I would bid you have patience and give me pause until I am done; for I hope to make my meaning clear.” Then he had paused, and for many a moment there had been silence in the room once more, until she had nodded her approval and he had said:

“One year ago this day our countries have made a bargain to bring them together; none save us and our Kings know of it, and for it to bear fruit none else must. For that reason, we are to play the act of a marriage both happy and desired… and this night has also been entered into the agreement. Yet I am not that cruel or uncaring to go where I am not welcome… If it is your will, our chambers in Emyn Arnen shall remain separate for as long as you wish, and here in Gondor as well; but now, while our bond is fresh, such a thing cannot be. To speak plain, for, alas, I see no other way, for some time, at least, we must lie one next to the other to avoid what tales would be told should anyone discover otherwise; for if that should happen there would be no point to any of this… Trust in me, my lady,” he had whispered, his voice for once wavering, and his chest welling with an unknown heat.

“I trust you, my lord,” she had answered, yet her eyes had fallen from his face down to his hands where they had hung limp along his body, and the thought of them touching her skin had made her eyes close. “Still,” she had said, her gaze upon his chest, and her voice soft, “what we have both agreed upon… it was meant to bond two countries… and two peoples. Surely the Mark and Gondor would… expect… an heir… to both their heritage.”

“Aye,” he had nodded, his voice slow as he searched for words, his eyes grave and pained, “that they would. But I believe that he or she could well be late in coming; there is time enough for that, if ever it should come to be. This night… these nights… that should be spent here would only be… for acquaintance and ease, for I believe that above all we must be at ease with the other, and at all times speak our minds… I would see no reason to deny ourselves this right we have towards each other, no matter the… state of things between us.”

Such had been his words, and she had taken them to heart, and silently thanked him for them; for in his gentle understanding he had answered all her unasked questions, even those she had too little strength to ask of herself. And so it was that they had both lain between white sheets, and took the other in their arms; and their moves were strained and awkward, and their bodies tense.

But now, as she rested her head upon his chest and felt his heart beat softly, her old fears returned, and she once more saw herself the slave of her husband’s will, more wretched for his kindness and the pity he would no doubt feel for her. She wanted not his pity, nor did she wish to see his remorse, if he should feel any; and she was saddened all the more that though one year had passed he was still so foreign to her that she could not trust in the nobility he bore, and thought it a lie. Such a lie as she would have to live with in the mornings that would come, when she would hide her face from the memories of night; the night that she would have to bear, in eyes closed and mouth clenched; for there will come a time when he would wait no more.

These dark thoughts would do battle with her reason, and often come forth the victor; and in the arms that should have brought her comfort she despaired, and where their warmth should have been welcomed it turned smothering, and she longed for escape. But then fear took her when her lord’s arms strained around her own; and her blood turned cold, and her breath was stilled, and the thought that he had lied to her with gentle words burned her whole. But then beneath her cheek she felt his breath hitch, and as she raised her eyes up to his face she saw his anguish in the furrow of his brow and the trembling of his jaw.

Soft mutters came from him, and he grew restless for a time, to then wake with a start, taking her with him; and in between strained breaths and clouded eyes Faramir took no notice of his lady’s cheek resting upon his chest, nor of her arms held stiff, and far from him.

But once his breath eased he felt the body his arms had wrapped around, her breath, warm upon his collar, and her tresses soft beneath his chin. Then as some moments passed Éowyn turned in his embrace, and he knew that she wished to be released. Yet as his hold slackened she moved not, but turned her head towards the window, and then said:

“The sun is rising.”

And his eyes moved, from the linen tangled about their legs towards the balcony which lay outside the windows, and with no reason to his words he answered: “My brother and I used to watch it both as its first rays shone upon the walls of the City… Gleaming white… A hope that darkness and shadow would not come… I have not watched it since his death.”

And with the burden of his silence upon her shoulders Éowyn said: “Come.” And he took her in his arms once more, the white coverings about her, and, walking softly out from the room and into the clear air of morning, he set his lady down upon the cold, stone-made floor. Then with his arm around her he watched the first light pierce the heavens and wash upon Minas Tirith like an embrace and blessing. And tears came to his eyes that he alone from his closest kin should still be living to bear witness to it, and that indeed he was alone, though he could feel the slender body of his lady wife beside him. For her stance had not softened, and even as it no longer seemed to speak of fear it showed her distant and cold to him.

Then Faramir’s head lowered from the sight before him, and he saw his lady strive to keep her eyes open to the sunlight, and failing. And she looked sweet and child-like, as she fought with sleep, but also care-worn from the lack of it; and he felt guilty for it, and vowed that he would make her worries rest, and offer her what best he could. Then when the sun had risen from between the towers of the White City and she had given into sleep, its rays fell bright upon her and her hair caught fire in their light; and watching her Faramir knew that he would come to love her, if only she let him.

And so he slowly placed a kiss upon the crown of her head, and once more took her in his arms to lay her back upon the bed and to her rest; and lost deep within his thoughts he knew not that many had seen them upon the balcony, and rejoiced for their love for each other.

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