Faramir beheld with some surprise the offer that had come forth from the elves. They were all children of Eru Iluvatar, of course, and it was not unheard of for elves to help the second born creations. However it was somewhat perplexing that leading the Wood-elves of Thranduil was the son of the King. Legolas had come hither with his people whom all wished to settle in Ithilien. An elven settlement was something they could benefit from. His people could use the help the elvenfolk gave freely.
Yet the Stewart of Gondor, appointed so by King Aragorn himself, felt unease creep inside of him. Elves would bring innumerable advantages but the price he was to pay was equally dear. A man in love he had been, Faramir recounted. His eyes and heart had been bewitched by the White Lady, slayer of the Witch-king. It was only now that he understood her cold countenance. She had been gracious, as any well-bred lady should, yet her gaze had not lit once upon him. She had tried to gently dissuade him, but fool that he'd been, Faramir had perceived that as shyness where indifference stood.
Now she was Lady of the Wood-land realm. Éowyn was wife to another man, and Faramir had to strengthen his resolve for she's never seen a lover in him. It had been so very easy to banish her from his thoughts, taking upon himself the work of rebuilding an entire realm. A busy mind had not the time to roam the dominion of fantasy in lieu of reality. Caught up in his work, Faramir had been oft too exhausted to manage whisper or though of Éowyn. That was as well for seldom did a few moons heal the wounds of a human's heart. So it held true for the Faramir, whose eyes had yet to forget the image of her, nor had he erased her from his soul like the see would footprints on the sand.
He'd seen her arrive with the party of elves, radiant at her husband's side. Éowyn had yet to change, although a soft glow seemed to have surrounded her. She had greeted Faramir with the expected decorum and not once had her eyes betrayed a thing. For that, the Stewart would always be grateful. Her elven companion could not doubt see the hidden longing in Faramir's stare. Legolas had not lost his untroubled mien once. If only Faramir could be so at peace with his own heart. Blissful would be his existence.
Avoidance was not an option. Faramir would not once need the council of Thranduil's son and the elves would undoubtedly mingle with the race of Men. Such was written for him by the creators, such he would endure. The sun had risen, the darkness had not endured, neither would the pain.
Comfort could be found in watching the Lady from afar. He could not be a lover to her, and he could not wrench her away from his heart altogether. Perhaps in time he could come to love her as he would a sister. It was to be greater even should he love her thus. All his suffering would find an end, his problems vanished. If she'd only be a sister to him, Faramir though with a tinge of bitterness.
Ithilien would be born anew, and Faramir with it. The Stewart had convinced himself that he could deconstruct all he'd ever been up until that point and then bring it all back together. Suppress he would those part that bled and stop the blow of hurt. And though, most likely than not, the scar would forever bear some ache, the gap within him would slowly fill as time went by. He would find his own place in the new world.
"Upon my father's grave and that of my brother, I am a man of honour."
A/N: I don't really know if this satisfies. I am trying here, so please tell me what you think.