Come Home to You

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I know I don't own The Lord of the Rings (or anything affiliated with it), and you know I don't own it, and so do the companies that DO own it, so what's the point of these disclaimers?

Note: I wrote this fluffy little fic based on a song called "I Get to Come Home to You." I don't know who sings it, or when it was released, or who produced it, but I thought it was a good song, and it inspired me. So there.

Note the Second: This is a slightly revised version. Thanks to Deandra for notifying me of the errors.

Faramir pulled his cloak closer around him and shook his head, attempting to free some of the water that had accumulated in his hair due to the pelting rain that had started approximately two and a half hours ago.

Never, he swore to himself as he hunched over miserably in his saddle, never, ever, ever again, would he leave home for more than an hour. It never turned out well for him. A scheduled week in Minas Tirith always turned into at least three. Typically, all three of those weeks would see Faramir practically chained to a desk with a pile of paperwork the height of one of the Halflings in front of him, or in seemingly endless meetings with King Elessar and other random nobles and dignitaries discussing the same old things that they had already agreed upon and would never change.

And all of those three weeks would see Faramir homesick and missing his wife, Eowyn.

This particular visit had somehow managed to stretch into seven weeks. Getting away had required some less than dignified begging by the Steward of Gondor to the King. In the end, Aragorn had agreed, and Faramir had been out of the city in less than forty-five minutes, lest the King change his mind.

So now Faramir was on his way home, and to his knowledge Eowyn wasn't aware. He smiled to himself despite the weather at the thought of seeing her again. She would probably usher him inside and call for some dinner, and insist that he change into some dry clothes. Then she'd ask him about his trip, and he'd complain while she listened sympathetically.

He couldn't wait.

And he wouldn't have to for very much longer. They should be coming up on home any minute. . .

Then, they came up over a hill, and suddenly Emyn Arnen was spread out in front of them, lights in the windows and smoke rising from chimneys.

The men gave a hearty cheer, and Faramir smiled. He raised his voice over the rain and the horses.

"Home!"

The men cheered again, and Faramir spurred his mount to a gallop toward the city, reveling in the sound of thunder as the other horses followed.

Eowyn sat quietly in her sitting room, reading a book that she had stolen from Faramir's library. The mixed sounds of the rain, her household bustling about, and the fire crackling was calm and comforting, making her drowsy. The only thing missing was Faramir. He's been gone from Emyn Arnen to Minas Tirith for seven weeks, and had sent no word of a return trip.

Eowyn missed her husband, as she always did when he was away. She missed his strong leadership, his wise guidance, and his calming presence. She missed him in their bed.

But there wasn't anything she could do about his business trips. He was the Steward of Gondor, and the new King needed him. So she went about her business as usual, running their household and the city when he was away.

Eowyn forced her thoughts to calm, and closed her eyes as she laid the book on a small table beside her. She relaxed and listened to all the sounds around her. The rain. The fire. The sound of boots echoing down the hall. Then, suddenly, there was a new sound, barely audible under the sound of the rain: one she did not expect. It sounded almost like. . .

Eowyn leaped from her chair and hurried to the window. Yes. She had been right. There, thundering down a hill toward the city, was a herd of horses. She stood still for a moment, hoping against hope. Then a cry rose up from the horse riders out of the dark and the rain.

"Home!"

Eowyn let out a cry and tore from her chambers, shouting orders for dry clothing and warm food as she went.

"And ready the stable for new arrivals! And wake the gate-keeper! Open the gates! Open the gates!"

The Prince of Ithilien and Lord of Emyn Arnen was back.

Faramir's company had cheered again lustily as the gates had opened, and then broke off in all directions toward their own homes. By the time he reached his own home, Faramir's party had considerably decreased in size.

But Faramir didn't care. It had been seven weeks. Let them go home to their families as he raced to his.

When he entered the courtyard in front of his home, he pulled his mount to a halt just in time to see Eowyn burst through the front door toward him. He jumped from his horse and she crashed into him, throwing her arms around his neck and almost knocking him to the ground.

Within seconds she was as drenched as he, but she didn't care. Faramir was home.

"Faramir," she whispered into his shoulder over and over again as his arms surrounded her. "Faramir, Faramir, Faramir."

He kissed the top of her head. "Eowyn."

They stood there for a moment in the pouring rain as a stable boy led away Faramir's horse and the other men were shepherded into the house for a hot meal. Then Eowyn regained her senses and freed herself from her husband's arms.

"Come, my lord," she said as she put a hand on his arm and steered him inside. "Change out of those wet clothes before you catch your death, the Valar forbid. Then we can have a nice dinner, and you can tell me all about your stay at the Citadel."

Faramir smiled down at his wife. "That sounds wonderful, my lady."

No matter how long he was forced to be in Minas Tirith, he always got to come home to her.