Author's Note: Here is the epilogue at last! My apologies for the unexpected delay, but I just had to leave my wonderful readers with a bit of fluff after twenty-four chapters of tragedy. My deepest thanks to everyone who read this story and took the time to leave such wonderful, thoughtful feedback. Thank you all! Your comments have been greatly treasured. As always I do not have a beta and while I have proofread this chapter many times, I am sure I have not caught all my mistakes. Any errors that appear in canon, grammar or spelling are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Tolkien's masterpiece.

Epilogue

Eowyn adjusted the stirrups, pulling the leathers tight and shortening the length. Miresgal stared at his pony, his head to the side.

"Would you like to try?" Eowyn asked him. She clapped her hand on the pommel of the saddle and the pony flicked his tail.

Miresgal did not hesitate. Nimble fingers found the stirrup leathers and he pulled them taut and away from the pony's flank.

"Like that?" His eyes were bright and wide, wisps of his hair sneaking out of his braid.

Eowyn laughed into her hand. Miresgal frowned.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"Not you!" Eowyn stifled her mirth behind the sleeve of her moss colored gown. "Why, I think you must be a child of Rohan, so quickly do you learn!" And she tugged playfully at his flaxen plait.

Miresgal's mouth dropped open. "Then I can be a Rider of Rohan, just like Uncle Eomer?"

"Didn't you wish to be a guard of the Citadel?" Eowyn asked shrewdly.

"And an Elven warrior," Miresgal paused, "like Naneth."

Eowyn flipped the reins over the pony's stout head. "You can be all three, if you like." She led the animal over to the fence and Miresgal climbed up into the saddle. His hands fit comfortably over the reins and Eowyn helped to correct his posture, her hand on the small of his back. Often, she marveled at her son's keen intelligence though Faramir said that the minds of Elf children grew quicker than their bodies.

"Now walk him about," she directed with a nod. Miresgal pressed his short legs to the pony's side and moved him in small circles around the enclosure.

Eowyn leaned against the fence, her elbows resting upon the sturdy slats of wood. Sweat made her brow slick and her palms sticky. Already, the chill of the early morning had faded into the heat of the afternoon and a round sun sailed overhead. Spring had come early to Minas Tirith and summer even earlier. Eowyn rolled up the sleeves of her gown, her eyes falling on the Tower of Ecthelion that cast a cool shade over the city. Birds darted across the cheerful blue sky.

And only last year, all had been covered in darkness, the world trembling and falling to despair as all of Mordor poured forth from that black land.

Eowyn pushed the thought away quickly and instead focused on Miresgal who now sat straight in the saddle, his hands soft upon the reins.

"Heels down," she said and he wiggled his feet, his toes sticking up in the stirrups.

Eowyn smiled. Yes, he was learning quickly.

"You can trot him now." And she flicked the edge of her gown, hoping to coax some speed into the pony's gait. He was a sweet creature, with a fine temperament, but terribly slow.

Miresgal clucked his tongue and the pony ambled forward at a slow trot, his small hooves striking the packed dirt with a slight thud.

"Hey ho, easy there!"

Eowyn glanced over her shoulder and Miresgal looked up. Faramir was striding across the stable yard, his tunic slightly opened and loose at the color. The wind had mussed his hair, which lay at odd angles against his sun burnt brow.

Eowyn climbed over the fence and soon found herself in his arms.

"Back so soon?"

"You sound disappointed." Faramir raised a light eyebrow. "Have I been overthrown already?"

"No, but your son is planning to replace you as Steward any day now, if he doesn't become King of the Mark first." Eowyn smiled, the very corners of her mouth twitching mischievously.

Faramir's eyes widened and his dumbfounded expression lead Eowyn to peals of laughter. She kissed his chin. "Has the house been finished yet? I daresay we won't be able to keep Miresgal and his pony penned up in the stable yards much longer. They both belong in the meadows of Ithilien." And she glanced back at the young boy who was urging the pony into an ungainly canter.

Faramir frowned. "Careful now, child," he chided gently.

"Leave him be, bully." Eowyn tugged at a lock of Faramir's hair, making him wince.

Her husband captured her devilish fingers between his own and brought them to his lips. "It seems that my lady would be better suited for the meadows as well. You both have grown wild in my absence."

"Ah, but we always were."

Eowyn whipped about and moved back to the fence, her hands gliding over the rough wooden posts. Faramir joined her, his concerned eyes following Miresgal's steady progress about the enclosure.

"Legolas and his kin have left the garden to you," he said at length, "though already it grows. I had quite the time wading through the honeysuckle and there are a fair amount of rosebushes on the south side of the house."

Eowyn sighed wistfully, her mind galloping amongst images of dew-kissed flowers and endless gardens. "When do we depart?"

"Whenever you like, though our household must be moved first and-"

"Ada! Ada! Watch me, Ada!" Miresgal passed close by the fence, one hand raised to wave at his father.

"He steals my attention yet," Faramir said in an undertone, directing a sharp eye at his son. "Keep both your hands upon the reins, child!" he called. "I should not like to see you go tumbling to the ground."

"Do not listen to him, Miresgal," Eowyn crowed. "He knows naught in the way of horses."

Miresgal gave them both a puzzled look and continued on his way.

"You corrupt him," Faramir moaned, his head against the fence post.

"As do you." Eowyn looked out over the enclosure. "And after all, he is my son. I might do as I wish."

She heard Faramir inhale and a smile formed along her thin lips. Birth and blood, she knew, would never come in the way of happiness.

The sun fell over the stable yards, catching dust and haze and leaving the world gilded.

From out of the shadows a voice came, stern, harsh, yet sorrowful.

Guard them well.

It was a warrior who spoke and Eowyn recognized the words, which nestled close against her heart.

Looking up she saw a form standing on a pale balcony above. But the creature was of mist and wind and memory, a thing that had never quite existed at all.

And in a moment the shade was gone, remaining only as a promise Eowyn kept to herself for many years to come.

The End