Disclaimer: Recognizable characters/settings belong to the heirs and estate of JRR Tolkien. No monetary profit is gained by the fiction writer for this piece.
Enjoy!
-Nuingaríen
He is gorgeous! The lady breathed to herself as the lord walked by the window where she was seated. His movements were graceful and unaffected, unlike other young men she had observed. He was tall— taller than most Gondorians and they were a tall people. He had raven hair that had a hint of waviness to it that looked inviting to the touch. Her hand almost twitched at the thought. She sighed again.
"You're back!" a woman's voice called out in surprised delight and the man's face broke into a sudden smile. The woman at the window did not have to turn her head toward the unwelcome intruder to know that the woman who had brought the smile to Faramir's face was the Lady Éowyn "of Rohan" she muttered in contempt. Why didn't the Lord Steward of Gondor have the good sense to marry a woman of Gondor? she thought bitterly. She knew of other ladies of rank anhd noble birth such as herself who had had their eye out for the desirable bachelor and not a few had even made subtle hints but he just was not interested. Faramir had been quoted as saying that he would "not marry unless he found a woman that he could not live without." That declaration had only served to cause more maidens to swoon, hoping that she would be the one. But no, he had settled on a foreigner. True, their engagement had yet to be announced—if they were trothplighted—but one had to be blind not to see the love and affection between the two.
The Lady Éowyn was beautiful, the woman admitted. She had a pale kind of beauty and luscious golden hair that was common with the people of the Mark. She herself had witnessed the fair lady turn heads as she passed through the streets of Minas Tirith and not a few high-born men had been heard to say that if the Lord Steward had only given them "a chance to vie for her hand..." Éowyn was strong too, and a fighter, "A fitting partner for Gondor's greatest Captain," she admitted grudgingly as she jabbed her needle irritably into the embroidery she was working on.
Meanwhile the young lovers had met in the courtyard and were clasped in a tight embrace. They broke apart but he held her hand in his, his dark head tilted toward her golden one as they spoke with each other. Together they walked toward the citadel, quite oblivious of the broken hearts they were leaving in their wake.
