Author’s note: About where I’m taking this (for those wondering) – it will be a slow, smooth transition towards the end (although the end won’t be that far away, really). There will be no monumental changes, no sudden dangerous event that will provide the needed “hit over the head” for the Steward and his Lady to realize they’re in love (or better yet, love one another). From the very beginning I had imagined this to be a very quiet and settled process, lacking any great shocks; I imagined love coming softly here, and the two needing only a little nudge in the end. Yes, it would have been easier to place them in harm’s way and let strong emotions do the trick. But it is itself a trick used too often; plus, my first story about them included a kidnapping, Faramir defending her honor, Eowyn cleaning his wounds, a chase, a race against time, worry, angst and fear. I wanted something peaceful for a change, and tried not to repeat myself.

I also understand the fact that things seem a bit boring and static between Faramir and Eowyn at this time – that’s actually how I wanted and planned them to be; I hope in the later chapters it will become clear why. I also hope (read “pray fervently”) that the following chapters will depict a logical development of the feelings between the two characters, if it can be said that there’s any logic to how feelings progress. So, if there’s any sense to it, let me know, if not… again, let me know.

~~~~ 

Time passed in the lands of Gondor, and, with it, the Lady Éowyn came to see that her lord’s words had once more been true; little were the days she lay in sloth, for apart from her duties to her household she had taken to aiding her husband with some of his many tasks, offering her once idle hours to the raising of Ithilien.

To see this done, she had gone in search of him, a ten-day past their wedding, meaning to fill her time – for the house of the Stewards was well ordered, and in truth had little need of her hand in its keeping. And more because, although to be alone with him unsettled her, she wished to spend her time beside her lord, for she knew of no other means to learn better the nature of a man. That day, his study had been empty, and him she had discovered in his private chamber, seated at table and deep in thought for the many papers before him. And entering she had bid him for his time, and said:

“The seven days allowed to you have passed, and now the City calls you back to duty; time it is that I should begin my own as well. You have said Ithilien is ours to build together, and that you would have my counsel should I wish to give it. I wish it so. Tell me how I might aid you, and I will.”

It had seemed to Éowyn that his eyes had brightened then, and he had set aside his papers for a time to tell her of his duties. And she had marvelled at their number, and that they all had been his own to bear alone the year before. For he had looked to both the lands of Gondor and Ithilien, and had offered counsel as to his country’s dealings with the others; and from all that she herself knew of such things she had perceived the many tasks that had been in his care, and from his coming words – the way and order in which he had handled them all.

“Think not that I have seen to all at once,” her lord had said, “for such a thing would not have been to my doing even with the days growing longer with every coming week. Nay, there has been a rhythm to it all, an ordering.” And gazing at her searchingly he had went on to say: “I will tell you of it, if you wish.”

She had wished for it. And so, the Lady Éowyn had spent that day at the Steward’s side, the first of more others still to come when she would do so. And with the flowing of his words she had known his mind once more, and his notice in all things, great and small; and she had thought her coming tasks a challenge, where she would have to strive as much as him - and she had welcomed it.

“In the beginning,” Faramir had said, “much of my time was spent in seeing to the City, and all things tying to it. I did what could be done to ease the passing of the reigns of power from the hand of the Steward to that of the King, from the bindings of law seen to within the Citadel to the hearts of Men dwelling without it. Yet the greatest labour was spent in talks of peace with enemies of old – for the agreements settled upon the ending of the war had been but temporary, addressing only the wish for peace, and nothing more. Strained were the talks, this I do confess; at times it seemed the embassies had more a battle than a parley in mind, as if they had forgotten that it was they who rose against us, and they who fell; to say that the final agreements were difficult to sign upon would be little indeed.

“In this time still the City was in need of care, so too were her people – streets and houses that had been shattered and repaired in haste were made as they had been before; the ones left with naught were attended to, so that either through aid or their own labour they would not lack again; the orphaned and the lame were cared for; we called for an accounting, to learn the state of the country, and then see where stocks were in need, and where they were to spare - how better to aid and to be aided; at long last, we looked to our allies, and redrew the old ties and agreements into better days.

“No doubt, some of these tasks have been your own as well,” Faramir had said to her, “for so they ever claim time of the rulers of lands after a war is passed; and as you yourself must have received and given aid in them, so too I bore them with help from others, for I was not alone in my work. What was my own to bear, if only for a time, lay in my hours that were spared from duty, and in my deepest thoughts.”

And he had spoken then of his duties to Ithilien, and how he had begun to forge his plans even from the first days that he had known those lands were his to keep. From early on he had given thought to the lay of the settlements to come, to the people who would cross the River, to the time of the building and the means that would be needed. And he would, while not in Council or caring for the City, read through reports of scouts, and the numbers of orcs and other foul creatures that Rangers would find roaming the lands; at times he would himself lead hunts to scour the forests and the vales. And when at last he had known the lands to be safe for the work that would be done, he had gone with those plans to seek the counsel of the King; and, with his Lord’s approval, the building had begun.

And Éowyn had been shown that day by proof what she had thought and guessed without it – that her lord had laboured greatly to do his duties to his liking, even to the brink of his powers. And to see he thought so little of his effort made her regard for him grow all the more - for few were the men to do so much, yet expect so little in return. Indeed, she was nigh happy to be proud for him and to see the pride of his people, and lightened somehow to feel his own love for them when they walked about the City.

For so they had walked its streets during those seven days, and from then on, and Faramir had led her through the City’s every passage and around its every corner; and from it, in the coming weeks, the white stone around her had no longer felt so foreign, nor she so lost or trapped in its midst. Arm in arm they had strolled through the gardens of the City, and climbed up its stairs to its highest tower – and there they both had stood in silence to watch the lands of Gondor stretch before their eyes, and feel the winds as they blew around them.

And as they walked he spoke to her of Minas Tirith, of how it had once been, Minas Anor full of light, queen among queens, learned and wise; how he wished to see it in the years to come, made high and fair for all to love, as it had been of old. Too had he told her of the City as his home - hearth and world in younger years, haven and purpose in the later ones. And Éowyn had seen the streets that he had walked upon in childhood days; she had stood in the places where his brother ever knew to search for him; the tower he would climb to and the benches he would lie upon to seek a moment’s rest when he returned from duties in the woods that were now his to shape.

And whither they would go her lord would have his eyes upon the street on which he trod, or the house he would pass by, as if to seek their state; odd she had found this way of his at first, until in later days some words had reached her of his habit of the former year, when he had strived to make ready the City. And from that day she had been glad for the white chiselled stone before her, for it was a sight for his once tired eyes, and served to wash away the memory of rubble, shade, and ruin. Too had she welcomed what tales of the Lord Faramir were told to her by those who knew him, for in that way she knew that she would learn of him what she could not have brought herself to ask. Yet not long was this habit hers; for apart from pleasant tales from when he was a child, and honoured accounts from his days as a Ranger, they too had spoken - only the passing fortnight - of the late Steward’s dreadful end, of Faramir’s own brush with shadow, fire and death, and of the bitter words that passed between father and son before the coming of the end.

Stricken she had been to hear this, and pained for her lord and for the grief she knew he must have borne alone; but to the teller of the tale she had shown little of her heart, for how could the lord Faramir’s lady not know of this before? Indeed, it had been with much disbelief that she had wondered at her ignorance in this, but as the blow of the harsh news had settled she had at last seen what course of events had made things so. For in those darkened days she had cared naught for news, unless they told the fate of the host riding for the Morannon; that the man who had till then kept safe the City had met his end had been all her knowing at the time, and she had neither dared nor wished to ask the quiet man beside her of his father’s fate. Too lost she had been in her own sorrow and despair to have the heart to heal that of another. Then with the ending of the War there had been few to still speak of the dead, for there was much to do, and a bright future and a returning King were there for the people of Minas Tirith to expect; and what man would have defiled the memory of the dead one to call him mad in gossip? Nay, no words had reached her of the Lord Denethor’s passing, and from the day she was betrothed into the House of Hurin on, no words could have reached her either – for who could have believed she would know not, or that Faramir himself would not tell her? But Faramir had told her naught, for reasons understandable and just, and she still had not asked - neither of his father nor of the cause that drove Beregond of the Guard to forfeit his own life by slaying in the Hallows; and the months had passed.

Later that day she had retired to their chamber, and had given much thought to the words that she and her lord had spoken to the other, from their first meeting to the last. Thus was his bitterness of those first days made clear to her at last, and his haunted gaze of old tore now at her heart, when then it had only given her pause. For he had lost his closest kin to death, without even the chance to speak farewell to them when they had left this world, and him; worse still, he had received such parting words from his lord father that would blacken his memory and make it bitter, and of no help in harrowed times; and since the time of Faramir’s last battle a third of his men had perished, and his City lay under the siege of fear and doubt. All that he had loved and had wished to protect had gone, or had since been turned from his hand; and there had been naught else for him to do but wait for tidings, be they good or bad.

And Éowyn was shamed to not have known his anguish then, nay, worse still, to have known it and not have paid it heed, and ever more grateful than before that he had, with a so burdened heart, taken the time and care to try and heal her own.

Then when the War had ended, and life had begun to flow once more, he had been bound to flow along with it. And she wondered at his will, that he would in such a way master his grief as to still fulfil his duties to the letter, and in time overcome it, when she herself turned still to sadness when thoughts of her dear uncle came; or if indeed the past did pain him still, that he should keep it so well hid that but for the dreams which came to him at night she had seen no sign of it, nay, not even in the home that had once housed the ones he had both loved and lost. And then it was that she had seen at last the bleakness of her husband’s wedding day, to be bound to a lady whom he did not love, and have only his mother’s brother to stand beside them when his vows were spoken; and more that of his wedding night, spent in unrest in the chamber that once had been his father’s.

For all that she had learned then she had for him pity and honour; and for herself she only had contempt, to not have known of them before, and neither to have thought to ask. No wonder it was then, that he had spoken naught of his later years to her, for how could he have told such dreadful tales, knowing she could bring him no comfort? And, knowing them, she could no longer ask him to be told, dreading, as she did, to open old wounds that may still bleed at times.

And where before she had kept silent by his side for the awkwardness that she would feel when they were all alone – and how saddened she was that she had had spoken to him easily when once they had been strangers still, but for him as her husband she would have little words – now she would keep her piece for care; for, as she saw she knew not enough of him, she could not say which words of hers would remind him of hard times. And as Faramir’s grief of old was new to her, she would, of late, turn her face away from his when he would look upon her, to hide the pity he might see there. And when they stood or sat alone she was unsettled, more for his sake than for her own, and she would try to hide her thoughts – for she remembered well that he could read her heart, and she thought he would not want her pity, just as she had once wanted none of his.

But still, learn of her lord she would, and felt she must now more than ever. And wishing no more tales from others – for little justice it would do him to be spoken of unknowingly – and feeling that she could not ask them of the man himself, she sought them on her own, among his books. For through them she not only could descry that which he liked and agreed with, but, too, open a part of him he had till then kept hid – that of the scholar and the poet; for some of the books she opened would have stray pages bearing the writing of her lord, and verses that she thought had been coined by his mind. And yet, to think of it, such a discovery had not been a surprise – for ever had his words been chosen well, and flowing, for a fashion, as would those of a writer be; and she would hear their ripple most when he spoke of the things held dear to him, as was his City and the lands that they would both strive to renew.

And so it was that she had found her interest drawn, in part for the books and tales themselves, but more for what they would reveal of the Lord Faramir himself; her idle hours she would spend within his chambers when she knew he would be away, taking great care not to be found. Indeed, at times she could laugh at herself for stalking so her husband’s steps, yet in her new habit she would not cease; for too she knew that she would through it understand their people, whose very heart seemed to her woven in the words she read – which spoke of elves and fallen cities, jewels bright and battles great, of Númenor the fair that once had been and foundered, and of the Men who built their realms in later years.

At times her thoughts would stray, and she would wonder what her lord’s own thoughts had been to read the words that she read also. She would then see him in his childhood days before her eyes, leaning against some tree in the green woods, a book against his knee. And the image would be dear to her, knowing that, with the shadow so close to his gates, the Lord Steward’s early years would have had little hours free from care and worry. Time and again she would return to that one sight, until she found herself nigh dreaming and hoping once again; and she would flee from it, and from the mood that it would waken, and vow to leave his books until their lure and her own thoughts beckoned – and she would near them once again.

So it would be with her of late, that she would think of her lord at times, when she lay idle, or when she watched him read; and she would shy from her thoughts as they strayed to what might be.  For from her past fault she could no longer hide, as she was bound to dine beside the King nigh every evening; unwillingly, she would return then to the day when she had pleaded on her knees and had been turned away. And so, she would then stay her hand and thought more for fear that her lord would not welcome them than for any fear of him. Since the day they had been wed she had learned to place her trust within his hands – where it was guarded well. For he was kind and gentle, and wise to grant her time – for in that time they had begun to walk the path towards friendship, as he had wished from the beginning; and he would do no wrong upon her.

For even now, four weeks gone by after gaining his right to do so, he made no move to claim her. And for this time gone by she would still lie in shivers when he came to their bed beside her - their bed still, and not separate, because to make a change as that she would have to speak, and in this as in others, her words failed her. The fear that had her trembling at first had gone in time, as had her lack of trust in him; what would not give her rest at night was thinking that her husband of so many days would have till then had his fill with waiting – and so, to her, each night could well be the one when he would wait no more. And though during the day she strove to keep such thoughts far from her mind, she would, for them as well as for her others, keep silent when they remained alone, and look away. And she angered that she could not turn her heart towards him for such a thing, that the ease they had in sunlight left them at night; and more that he should feel it every time, and that she read it in his face.

~~~~ 

“So! Houses are built at last in all, lands are measured, and each man and his kin now have their deeds to both,” said the Lord of Emyn Arnen. “Have we the final count of those who come bearing means from their old home and those who come with naught? For one, what of the heads of cattle and horses each?” And his eyes told of weariness when they turned from the reports he held.

For much of his last five days had been spent in his study, his work stretching with little pause from sunup even towards six hours past the strike of noon. It was now the ninth day of the sixth month of the year, and little over a fortnight remained until the first of those to dwell in green Ithilien would cross the river to where their new homes lay. And with them would the Lord Faramir go, his lady by his side – for, though the Stewards’ manor House had not yet been rebuilt in all, there was one other dwelling ready for their use, close to the grounds of the first. That house itself was not as great, for they had seen no need in it; enough it was that they could live there whenever duty bade them come. As yet, no more than three villages had been completed, while others two still waited to be built.

And it was of the first three that Faramir asked in that very hour, and of the people who would settle in them. For summons had been sent some months ago to gather to the City at this time all those who would move to new lands; most had already come, and these last days saw final details settled, final accountings done. And there to aid the Prince in all these labours sat the Lady Éowyn herself, keeping to her habit of the past four weeks of giving counsel and reports - for of the many tasks to be seen to there had been ones entrusted in her care alone.

“All who have come and are now in the City are accounted for,” she answered. “From those who have not come as yet there are some who have sent word ahead, and so their needs are known as well. Commands have been given as to the ones who would arrive this fortnight coming – what they lack in and wish to have they shall be provided with, to the limits of the City’s stocks; they may pay for them in time, to make them theirs by rights.”

“Are there any yet who will not come, and would thus break their bond?” her lord asked then, a frown upon his brow. “Any for whom we know for certain?”

“Now there are none. Some three weeks ago, though, there was one, Dagrod by name, a carpenter; he spoke to Earnir, who had been sent to gather such men in those parts of the country, saying that in the end he would not come.”

“And this after four months of saying that he would…Did he give reasons for his change of heart?”

“Not a one, though I was told he had been quite remorseful for this deed. His household I have since then passed on to another, whose suit had been denied for want of room. Galdor he is called, a carpenter as well, and he lives closer to the City that most others – he has time enough to settle his business and arrive here in due time.”

“That is well, then,” said Faramir, and turned to the papers before him for a time, before raising his eyes once more: “Should Dagrod be barred from future pleas, what do you think?”

“I cannot say… ‘tis true, he gave no reason for the breaking of his word, and that his trade was needed in the village; if not for Galdor there might have been some hardships. Yet how can one know what drove his heart or mind in such a fashion? In truth, he did give us some time to set things right, if drawing close to little.”

“Indeed. And Ithilien would be a new land, and a new beginning; to overlook this would be the better choice for now. Let him press suit again if he so wishes, then, but let the others who have not proven false have precedence. If he fails in his promise once again, then let him lose his right to settlement.”

“Very well,” Éowyn said, “it shall be so.” And at her words Faramir gave a start, and his thoughts strayed. Unseen by her, for she was then putting his will to paper, the Steward  looked long at his lady wife, and sat quiet and still; for he had in that moment heard from her a tone of voice that one would have when doing the bidding of one’s lord. Not so much humble, but subdued somehow; dispirited. And lowering his eyes before Éowyn would raise hers, Faramir wondered in worry why he had not heard it before, or if, indeed, she had ever used it while in his presence; but mostly as to what that tone of voice could rightly mean.

And then before his thoughts were cleared his lady looked his way once more, pointing at the report he had thus held for nigh a quarter mark, but had read little from. “Is that the lay of the land you read of? Is it settled at the last?” she asked, her voice at rights. “For I know some trouble has been had with its measurements toward the end – the first and last accounts would not match one another.”

“It is,” he answered, his voice betraying nothing, and at peace once more. “And if what I read is true then it has all been righted. Here, the acres of each pasture are counted once more,” Faramir said, passing said papers onto her, “their worth is known, as is the measure for the lands that would be tilled for the needs of the families themselves and for those of the kingdom – what one ought by right to sow in each acre, and what each acre should return according to the lay and shape of the fields, and to the richness of the earth.” And reading from another he went on to say: “I see also there is winter seed enough to sow them this year, and beasts and ploughs to work the land – it is better that we had hoped.

“Now,” said Faramir, taking the final list of men into his hands, “as to the debts that these men and their own may have towards the City; whether they be for the building of their house or for their stock or for their stay, all such debts should be measured, added together to make the sum of it, yet kept apart in all, as it has been decided from the first, so that they may be masters of their own means one by one, and not when the last coin is paid. I would that the debt be laden by no interest and to this the Council has agreed – the better gain would be a prosperous land raised swiftly than what some coins might bring, the better a people helped in its growth, and not charged for it. Also, it would be better if each man was spoken to in part, so that for each there would be proper means devised to suit their trade, and they might thus repay that which they owe at their own ease.”

“For those who are accounted for so too is what they owe,” said Éowyn, “although in the first count there has been interest placed upon the sums that would be paid in later times. I shall see to it that the amounts are righted in all before the day of the move itself. And an account shall be brought before you by then.”

“My thanks,” Faramir whispered, his gaze lost downwards, for just then had remoteness returned to her tone. Yet as the time was not right to dwell on it, he raised his eyes to where his lady sat across from him, and with a smile he said to her: “It would seem we are done, then.” And Éowyn gave a fleeting smile in answer, and nodded at his words. And for a moment there was silence in the office of the Steward, and the sounds of the City outside came clear and loud to them – men treading upon streets of stone, their voices carrying, and now and then the laughter of a child.

“Well then,“ said Faramir at length, “if we are finished, what should we do from now till supper?”

“For my part, I would visit the stables; Beor has seen too little of me this week past and I of him – he would well care for a ride.”

“Then go; I should at first put these away,” he said while waving to the many papers and scrolls before them, “then see what draws my interest.”

“You would not…” Éowyn began to ask, to then turn silent suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Nay, it was nothing,” she said in haste. And her words seemed to Faramir like to a swift retreat from some sortie he had not glimpsed in time to meet. “I shall see you this evening, then,” Éowyn then went on to say while standing from her chair. And then she quit the room before he gave her any answer, and left him in a daze. So it was that, for many moments after, the Steward thought of her and of her manner, seeking the true sense in it. For it would seem to him at times that his lady wife could not decide or even know how to carry herself around him – she would be now nervous and shy, now strained and awkward, as if her words and his would break upon her like to the waves of the sea against the shore; and there were other times – more often in their coming with the passing of the days – when he would feel her eyes upon him; and he would wonder what she saw, what she looked for, but did not turn her way, for fear that she would withdraw once again.

And, as he moved from one answer to another, he wondered also, one more time, if it was sound to wait still for some change, or if he waited all in vain. At first he had pleaded for time to pass for his lady’s own sake, so that it would not be a stranger who took her to his bed. So that they knew each other’s way and nature from living one next to the other – for sharing pasts and memories would not have been enough. And at that time he would have been content with that - a mere ease brought to the duty they had been sworn to. But now, now that the fear he had once felt from her had slowly died away, now that the sight of her brought to his lips a smile – one he struggled to hide – and that the thought of her was dear to him, and came swiftly and often, now he would not be so content. And so he waited more for his sake than for hers; for now he wished for more: not only that she did not fear him, or that she would not turn away, but come to him of her own will, and not for some agreement to their countries.

For many days had passed since he had felt a stirring in his heart deeper than any admiration or care he may had had for her before; a stirring which could turn to even more if he took neither care nor guard. And though he would the happier let his heart wander on its path he was wary to do so; for if Éowyn could not grow to love him he could not turn away as some unwanted suitor, never again to cross her path. Instead, he was already bound to her, and she to him, and they both were bound to live their days together, and seem happy to boot. And so, his love for her could turn to burden for them both. And even more, he thought, how could she come to love him? For he spoke no words of love to her, nor could he with the ever present doubt that she could think them false, driven by matters of the state and not of a true heart - a mere play to ease his way towards the begetting of his heir and nothing more. From the beginning he had worked to earn her trust by keeping a steady distance from such matters; to this day he had given her no sign of his thoughts, and what to him had been a change of heart so slow that he had barely seen it, to her would seem too sudden to be true. And for all this he thought he could not court her as he could have and would have, were they not already wed.

But how he wished to let his restraint give way, from heart to thought and then to word. For he was weary – weary with the distance between them, with the game he had been bound to play – both with her and with others – in noticing no split between he and his wife; but mostly weary with the wait. More than five weeks had passed from the day of their wedding, and he had seen too little change between them; her fear of him had gone, that was a blessed fact, yet awkwardness refused to pass in all, and even now she kept her guard. In all this time he had chosen to overlooked her distance, hoping that his extended hand would somehow reach alone beyond her shield and help her lower it. But it had not. And so he could no longer say whether the passing time would do more good than naught, for, with it, his lady could also be estranged for good. Yet there was little good that could come in that moment if he spoke of his heart to her, and so he would wait still. But he would know that day what kept her so withdrawn, if she would answer him.

And so Faramir left his study with its papers settled at the last and followed his steps towards the stables of the third circle, where, in the training grounds nearby, his lady wife was riding the dark-grey she would take as hers alone to their lands in Ithilien.

The sun was close to setting as he reached those grounds, but the day was warm still, and the air held a breeze; around him there were songs of birds and neighs of horses, and he caught the scent of hay and grass nearby. Not too far off from where he stood close to the stable doors there was his lady in her riding habits, her hair bound in a single braid and winding slightly from the turning of the horse she rode. And she glowed with the red-hued light about her and the strength within her.

How long he had been lost in watching her, Faramir could not say; but after a time he heard the clear sound of nearing steps, and so he turned towards the stable master when he drew close. White was his long hair, bound like to the tails of the very horses he looked after, and many were the lines upon his face to tell of the years that had passed him by. Minardir, for thus was he called, was well known in the City for the loudness in his step and the kindness in his heart – for he loved all good beasts in his care as if they were his kin – and the people of Minas Tirith would stake that even the horse lords could leave their mounts into his care and not be troubled.

“Good day, my lord,” he said.

“Good day, Master Minardir,” said Faramir. “What troubles you this day?” he asked; for there was a frown upon Minardir’s brow, and his arms were crossed at his chest before him.

“In truth, my lord, not much,” said he. “’Tis only that which troubles me each day her ladyship takes out that mount.” And he pointed to where Éowyn raced Beor along the fence of the encircled space, never breaking their stride.

“Is aught the matter with him that is yet unknown to us?”

“Nay, my lord, he is a fine horse, as fine a breed as ever I have seen, and as you know well, the Lord King of Rohan did gift the Lady with many horses of great breeding upon her wedding day. But, lord,” Minardir said, and then faltered a little, “he is so spirited! Ever does he stomp and snort when any of us pass his stall, and-”

“And yet, look how straight he bears your Lady. Many a time have I watched them together, and he was ever cool and mannered at her side. Worry not - the Lady Éowyn’s hand is as steady as it is gentle, and Beor bends to it of his own free will.” Then Faramir looked sideways at the stable master and smiled: “Doubtlessly, horses have borne her before they had either you or me; and has she not handled a one in the midst of battle? Nay, Master, in this you should worry not, as I do not.”

“You speak as to your own beliefs, my lord, and right they are,” Minardir said then, ”but still I will watch that horse, and my lady, today and in all the days to come. By your leave, my lord.” And he went on his way, leaving his lord gazing in the distance. 

And Faramir smiled to himself for the man’s well intent, but mostly for the sight of his lady before him; for whether sitting in the saddle or treading on the earth her bearing held such grace and pride that ever caught his eye, one he had seen in no other lady before her. And he would watch her at times, how she carried herself and how she did a sword, enthralled by the play between the steel in her hands and that within herself. A daughter of Kings she was indeed, wherever her steps led her, in the court and in the ring alike; and Faramir still marvelled at the air about her, not silent and stern as that of the Kings of old, but living and burning before his eyes.

And, for it, there was little wonder to him that Éowyn had ridden into battle and had stood before the creature that would have brought her kin to death; and he was grateful for the fire in her blood, even as it had put her in harm’s way to make her long for battle - for it had kept her safe, and strong enough to fell an enemy so foul and dreadful that a great many men, her elder in years lived and spent in serving the sword, had cowered before it. Strange it was – and yet not so, to think of it – that he would see her fastness all the clearer when she would wake from some dark dream at times, trembling and frail within the circle of his arms – for there is no courage without fear, nor greatness without frailty.

But of that fear and frailty no signs were left during the day, and how gladdened he was to see at last that she had set aside the grief that had threatened to smother when first they met; that the strength he had then read within her eyes could now be read into her bearing also, and that with every move and word she now turned towards the light. The very light which shone upon her now, and made her hair glisten with gold, so tempting that he longed to draw his fingers through it, then touch her tresses with his brow.

Indeed, the day seemed brighter when she came, and the air cooler somehow. For she herself seemed clear and fresh, and could be more if only she would leave behind whatever strain she might still feel. And he laughed at his thoughts, and at his foolishness to have them, and turned away from her. To a stone bench he walked, close enough that he could see her still if he so wished, and so too for her to see him waiting when she came down from her horse. And as he sat he turned his face towards the sky above and to the listless air of the moving twilight, and closed his eyes; and for the smells and sounds around him he felt as if he were no longer in his City, but out in some rich field, the heavens and the earth the only boundaries in sight. So he sat for many moments, until the neighs quieted in the distance and the sound of measured steps came to him instead. And opening his eyes once more he saw his lady come towards him, her gait slow and her eyes fastened upon him in such a look that he could not make sense of.

For Éowyn had seen him from the distance, and the sight of her lord - resting in peace, his eyes closed to the world like to the image of her very thoughts - had suddenly struck her somehow, as if she had for the first time laid eyes upon him. And so she walked towards him, watching him as he watched her, and how some strands of his dark hair strained against his neck in the soft wind. And it seemed odd to her that she should notice such a thing, yet know not in that moment whether his sight brought her gladness or not; but nonetheless she sat down by her lord, hands gathered in her lap and shoulders straight for the fey air between them.

As she sat, Faramir turned towards her; and as she did not break his gaze he saw her eyes alight in the wake of her ride, searching and open. Then he caught sight of the flush in her cheeks, and of her parted lips, and he thought unbidden: ‘Here, here is a time to kiss her – but alas, she would not welcome it.’ And they said nothing for a time, but looked upon the other as if in search of something; and in the end Faramir turned his eyes a moment, to then ask:

“Are you content, my lady? We have not spoken of this for quite some time. If you are not, I pray you, tell me, so that I may do aught to bring amends.” And he sought her face for answers that her voice would shy to give.

But startled at his words and at their nature Éowyn merely looked at him, and at his eyes that would see much and reveal little if he so wanted them to. Something from deep within begged her to speak words from the heart – the heart she had of late questioned more often than before – and that her words be true. And in all truth she said at last: “I am so… content… I am, my lord. I am proud and much gladdened to be part of this labour” – ‘and that you treat me as an equal’, she thought but did not say. “Truly, it does me good to see to things that grow, to men, and fields and homes alike.”

And she grew quiet then, although her eyes moved still. And touching his mind to her heart for the first time in many days, Faramir read a strange blend of both gratitude and unease, as strong one as the other, and the faint makings of some hope that was so deep he could not fathom. Yet he could feel no great misgivings from her – and for that at least his heart lifted. But from her answer he could draw no comfort, for it spoke only of her duties, and not her life; and so, he spoke once more, and his voice was quiet:

“That is well… and, truly, I am glad for it; but I do not see you so at rest, at least not when we are alone and there is no duty before us to occupy our minds. I asked you once, upon our wedding, to call me by my name – so that you might see past titles or honours, and to the man himself… simply to me. Yet you do not. And more, to every word you speak, I nigh expect ‘my lord’ to follow. But I am not your better in this life between us, nor do I wish to be; why do you treat me so?”

“Neither do you call me by my name…” said Éowyn after a pause; and, as she sat, her eyes were set upon the ground, and her arms were stiff with unease and surprise – for she had waited for that question from her lord husband for some time, but had not thought to hear it then.

“I do not… that is true,” Faramir spoke once more, “for I cannot if you do not; yet it is not our names of which I truly speak, but of some other thing that I myself know not what name to give. There is… a distance in you; a distance you have from no other, unless they are a stranger to you, or merely a face, and nothing more. And though they are a start, names alone do not bring closeness, so it is not them of which I speak… Why do you keep away from me?” he asked after a pause. “What is it that I do that-”

“Nay… nay, m-” Éowyn stopped her words from coming, while still looking away. And Faramir could see her shake her head with the corner of his eye, but heard no other words in coming. For Éowyn’s part, she had no answer to his question, for when it came unbidden in days past she shied from it. And now she sought in vain for answers, ones that would be the truth, and also do right by her lord – by Faramir –  who sat beside her, silent and waiting still.

“There is naught in your manner or your words to drive me so,” Éowyn said at length; to then stop when he looked her way, and she could feel his gaze upon her cheek. And for a time all her thoughts still seemed wrong to say, until at last her courage found her, and words were given leave to be spoken aloud: “I am the one to blame, if there is any to be laid…You are my husband; you were made my husband and I was made your wife. Yet we were brought together before any such ease of which you speak was made between us – at least for my part; what… ease might have once been was barred and turned away, by no wilful design of mine, when I agreed to wed you… nay, when we were wed… You see,” she said and turned her face towards Faramir’s, although she would not meet his eyes, “I knew you then, I know you now, as a high lord of these lands; and in those terms I spoke to you, and in those terms I thought of you. And now I see no way to go about it differently.”

“So… I am to believe it is merely… habit – or lack of it – and not myself alone which keeps you from-”

“Calling you by your name, aye,” Éowyn said, to leave the rest unspoken. And Faramir discerned from her such awkwardness that he himself felt awkward by his lady’s side. But when he nodded to her words he felt relief wash through her; and, thinking that all things have their beginning, he gently took her hand in his, delighting that but for a surprised start he felt in her no doubt – but only wondering, as she sat waiting for his coming move. And then he slowly raised it to his lips.

And Éowyn felt a shiver pass through her at what she had thought a small thing, as it was somewhat unlike to her lord’s fleeting kiss to the same hand when he would take his leave of her and they were in another’s company. For now he lingered, and she could feel the softness of his lips against her skin, and the warmth of his fingers; and with a ring of tension in her chest she could only stare as he rose from her side, holding still her hand in his.

“It is nigh time for supper…” Faramir said, but she did not look to the sky to see whether he erred or not. “Come then, my lady – Éowyn; we shall see if new habits can be made – in time, perhaps?”

She nodded at his words then, tongue tied for more than she had spoken of already. Then she rose to stand by him, taking great care not to withdraw her hand, not even to strain it at all; and in the lighting of the twilight they walked together to their house. And till they reached its gates Éowyn felt a shiver, and her hand cold where her lord had released her, and wondered why that was.

~~~~