Faramir glanced at his wife to be. She was achingly beautiful, despite the lines of sorry that lined her pale brow. Perhaps sensing his gaze, she turned her head slightly, and smiled at him.

"My Lady Eowyn, please!" The old seamstress tugged on the bottom of the white gown Eowyn was wearing and frowned. "Even the slightest movements send the whole thing off!"

Hastily faking a chastened look, Eowyn hid her smile and apologized. "I'm truly sorry Meredith," she told the crone.

Faramir stifled a laugh. His wild shield-maiden had been standing like that for the past hour, something she had probably never before had to do. She was so free . . . so playful . . . quite a change from the proper Gondorian ladies he was used to.

"Laugh all you want my lord," Eowyn said hotly, "But it's your turn next."

"And I'm done." Eowyn heaved a sigh of relief and, without a thought to modesty, tore the long white gown off. Feeling colour rise to his cheeks, Faramir quickly looked away. Seeing this, Eowyn sidled mischievously over to him. "What's the matter my lord? Have you never seen a woman in her shift before?"

With a mock serious look, Faramir looked her in the face. "Do you want the real answer, or the one that would make my wife happy?" She playfully punched him in the shoulder, and he winced and said, "Careful Eowyn! I'm not unbreakable!" She gave him a wry look.

"My lord is acting rather like a weakling at the moment."

Faramir grinned and started to say something, but one of the ever present maids scurried up and grabbed Eowyn by the arm. "My lady," she said frantically, "You have to choose flowers!" Eowyn was whisked away, and with a sigh, Faramir took his place on the fitting stool. It's for Eowyn. Just keep telling yourself it's for Eowyn!

Eowyn walked slowly along the wall of the seventh level of Minas Tirith. The wind tore at her fair hair, whipping it in front of her face. The wind stirred something within her- a deep, aching longing. Yes, she loved Faramir, far more than she had ever loved Aragorn, but that knowledge did not quell the feelings of homesickness within her.

Everyone was so different here, so serious, so stoney-faced. No one ever laughed just for the sake of laughing, or smiled at the sight of the first robin in spring. Even when my uncle was possessed, Eowyn realised, My people were still able to find joy. Can I live out my days in this cold city?

"Eowyn?" Eowyn whirled around at the sound of her name. A woman was standing there, a beautiful woman she didn't recognise.

"Yes," the shieldmaiden replied cautiously. "Who are youthat you would know my name?"

The woman smiled. "I am Arwen. My lord Aragorn has told me so much about you, that I am honoured to finally meet you."

Eowyn curtseyed deeply - after all, this she-elf was going to be her queen. "No, my queen," she said respectfully. "The honour is mine." Eowyn couldn't explain this feeling she had - like she was only a clumsy little girl compaired to this graceful woman.

"You do not seem very content, Maiden of Rohan." Arwen smiled gently. "Perhaps I can help?"

Eowyn was disconcerted, to say the least. "Why - what are you - no, I'm happy. Perfectly happy!" the words sounded hollow, even to her ears.

Arwen raised a perfect eyebrow. "Something is troubling you, that much is clear. If you need someone to confide in, come to the guest halls. I'll be waiting."

Biting her lip, Eowyn watched the older woman go. Maybe . . . maybe she can help.

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