"Before we start our afternoon, I have a few requests," Éowyn said the words with a bright and guilty smile upon her face, "Tomorrow Frodo awakes, and I have now promised not two but three Hobbits I can provide more hot chocolate, please find it in your heart not to make me a liar! Also, can we get bread, cheese, and wine sent for our meal? I've had little for lunch and am starving!"

"Consider both done. Merry and Pippin should win some sort of award for most impressive depletion of the Steward's stores," Faramir laughed, and put his arm around Éowyn's waist, then grimaced.

His shoulder had protested at moving more than he had expected, and he could feel the bruises blossoming in many places where metal had met flesh. In a single day, Éomer had not only found his mark, he had stopped softening his blows. What had Éowyn told him the previous night?

"Should I take it that my need for soothing salve may be partially your fault?" Faramir looked down on Éowyn as they walked, and he could see that she was smiling to herself.

"I told him how you make me feel," Éowyn replied. It was matter-of-fact, but both pulled the other closer in that moment.

"And how do I make you feel min elskede?" Faramir kissed the crown of Éowyn's head.

"A conversation for a more private audience," Éowyn fixed her eyes on the path to the Steward's house.

Faramir quickened his pace, now wanting more than before to be alone with her. Ouch. Éomer had landed a blow on his thigh too. That one would hurt in the morning. Despite his new injuries, he was glad for the time with his soon-to-be brother-in-law. Éomer's thoughtfulness not only about his sister, but about love, was refreshing. And Faramir would make more of an effort to tell the young King what he could do to improve his sword fighting skills, even as he knew that would mean more numerous bruises for him in the future. Éomer had improved tremendously in only a single day, simply from having observed Faramir's style. Éomer was a great warrior, and was clearly a thoughtful King. The children of Éomund were truly remarkable.

As they crossed the threshold into the house, Faramir summoned the butler and asked that lunch and wine for two be sent to his office. When he returned his attention to Éowyn, he could see she was pondering something.

"What brings that look to your face min elskede?" Faramir looked into her eyes, and could see depths of contemplation.

"Lord Aragorn is coming to dinner tonight. When you've told me there is something that I need to know," she looked in his eyes, studying him.

Faramir's stomach knotted, but he kept his composure. What would he say? As always, he would be honest.

"Yes. Last night I discovered something that ties you, Merry, and me to Aragorn, a secret that needs to be shared between us," Faramir replied, begging his brain to find the right words.

He wanted to ask her to forgive him for confronting Aragorn first. It was a gut instinct, that gathering the companions tonight with their healer and the keeper of their secrets would better heal the wounds that had been inflicted. Faramir looked at Éowyn's beautiful face, silently pleading with her to trust his gut.

"And you think it best to keep it from me now?" Éowyn's voice held a note of challenge.

"I won't keep anything from you. And if you demand it of me, I will tell you everything. But my instinct is that there will be a lot less hurt to all of us if we wait just a while longer, when we have requisite time and privacy together to fully speak our hearts," Faramir said, the knot in his stomach tightening, "The answer to my riddle is Chapter 7 of The Elven Arts of Healing. I know you are practicing Sindarin, and I've translated the chapter in full. But I ask that you wait to read through that chapter until tonight."

Please trust me Éowyn.

"You've left me quite a temptation Faramir," Éowyn looked intrigued, "And have given me enough that should I want to seek answers myself, I now can. Yet you ask me to trust you and to wait..."

Faramir nodded, but could find no words.

"You promise that I will know all tonight?" Éowyn asked.

"Yes."

"I trust you. I have other books I must read today," Éowyn said the words Faramir longed to hear more than any others, "Now, let's head to your study so I can practice my healing."

He pulled her in and kissed her. He couldn't help it. Her trust pulled him out of the dark shadows that had begun to rise in his mind. When they made it to his study, Éowyn looked around the room in a way he had not seen her do so before.

"What is it that you are tasked with today, Lord Steward?" Éowyn asked, but there was mischief in her eyes.

"Mostly reading and jotting down notes. I must go through the list of our supplies and the needs of our people, and make sure that all has been taken care of," Faramir answered, but Éowyn's eyes were fixed on the ring on his desk.

"So you are free from wearing that nightmare ring for the day?" Éowyn asked politely, but Faramir could hear there was depth and concern below her question.

"Not today," Faramir smiled at Éowyn's concern, "How long have you known it gives me fire dreams?"

Éowyn looked up at him, "I didn't know it was a cause of your fire dreams min elskede. That makes me dislike it even more."

Faramir walked to her, stopped just before he could kiss her, and looked into her eyes.

"I do not deserve you Éowyn," Faramir smelled the lavender in her hair, "You are me'a en' coiamin - the light of my life." and he pulled her to him and then kissed her. Éowyn's hand found his shoulder and squeezed it. Faramir grimaced.

"My brother many dents into you I see," she was smiling smugly now, "Close and lock the door."

Faramir searched her for why she asked, but did as she requested.

"Take off your tunic," Éowyn said the words so matter-of-factly that Faramir nearly started obliging, before realizing what she was asking.

"Min elskede…"

"Faramir, I apply my healing touch to all parts of injured men and women, and will dedicate my life to such a task," Éowyn looked stern, "Now please take off your shirt so I can assess exactly how much damage my brother did."

Faramir had strong suspicions that this would not be the same. He was not one of her patients and she was not just some healer. She was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. He craved her touch, her mouth, her skin… but then he remembered her words the night before. Taking small enjoyments in each other would not cause some wanton chain reaction that stole the sanctimony of their wedding night from them. She trusted him, and she trusted herself. Did he trust himself? Yes. Faramir knew without reservation that there was not a thing in Arda that could tempt him to try to take Éowyn. He would cut off his own hands before he did so.

Faramir sighed, looked at Éowyn, who had clearly been waiting for him to concede defeat, and he took off his tunic. The moment she laid eyes upon him, Éowyn's expression changed. It was heated, flushed. Faramir looked down at himself. To him, it was but the chest of a man, honed through endless years fighting the Shadow. There were some scar marks from swords that had landed lucky hits, and the still-angry arrow mark on his left shoulder. He smirked when he saw just how many new bruises Éomer had gifted him, I will have to put more effort into my parries next time.

Éowyn had not moved, a conflict was clear on her face. Then she looked determinedly at his bruises, nodded to herself, and moved forward, soothing salve in hand. Éowyn took a tentative look in Faramir's eye, then opened her small container and spread some of the pungent cream onto her fingertips.

Éowyn's fingers were on Faramir's right shoulder, rubbing in the soothing salve. Faramir's heart raced with every gentle probe. He willed himself to stay still, not to betray how naked he felt in that moment with her; not to betray that the warmth of her touch was sending sparks of desire coursing through his veins.

Éowyn moved onto the second worst bruise, one just above his pectoral muscle. Her hands were becoming more confident in their touch of his body, but also somehow more intimate. Her fingers caressed his chest hair as she worked the salve into the bruise, just gentle enough not to elicit a scream of pain from the tender flesh. Faramir had lost the ability to keep his breathing steady, as he closed his eyes and gave into the sensation of her hands. Third bruise, this time on his left side just below his ribcage. Éowyn's hands became ever more confident, and Faramir wanted to cry out for the bliss he was feeling from her touch, applying soothing salve, but also humming with love and light. The fourth bruise, on the right hand side this time, and a little lower down. Faramir could feel his own desire stir, a long dormant fire stoked and now burning. Éowyn's fingers were lingering now, no longer solely a healer's hands, but also a lover's hands, exploring his body, mapping his muscles, the hair of his chest, his skin. Faramir wanted to lean forward and let those exquisite hands explore his whole being, but still he kept motionless.

"Healing you is not the same." Éowyn let her hands linger on Faramir's chest, continuing her exploration.

"No, I reckon not," Faramir took one of her hands in his own, and when their eyes met, he could see that his fire was burning inside her too.

He leaned in and met her lips. The kiss started gently, then built, becoming insatiable and passionate. Faramir put his other hand into Éowyn's hair, freeing some of its intoxicating lavender. He wanted to pull her to him, to feel her softness against his naked flesh. But he would not. In that moment, he pulled away from her. He did not want to break from this thrilling sensation, but he did not want to test his own resolve any further, not now. Not in this first wonderful moment, where he experienced Éowyn's tender touch on his skin, healing him and exploring him.

He smiled broadly, "I should hope that this is not how you heal most of your patients min elskede."

Éowyn's concentration broke and she let out a rapturous laugh. Her hand gently rested on his stomach, fingertips raking the hair she found there. The sensation of it kept thrumming through Faramir's nerves. The fire inside of him was starting to build uncomfortably again. Oh to be married to her right now.

"He got my thigh too," Faramir smirked, "But I think for now it is better if I take care of that one myself."

With the greatest of efforts, Faramir took Éowyn's hand, and removed it from his person. He craved their further exploration of one another, of the electric energy that pulsed through him with this new intimacy. A first for him. He channeled that need into the excitement of marrying Éowyn. Of the many firsts they would get to experience together. If the simple caress of his skin could bring him this much enjoyment, he couldn't imagine what awaited him when their caresses were unrestrained.

"I fear I have failed as your healer," Éowyn was smiling at him, regaining her own composure.

"The way you are making me feel… it's no failure," Faramir was slowly coming back to earth from his bliss, "I just… suspect that it will take a while before your touches don't feel so… electric."

"The wait for our wedding day seems endless!" Éowyn had thrown back her golden head in frustration. A frustration that their wedding night was still far off. Her words did little to quell the fire in Faramir's gut.

"If our conversation continues in this direction, I will get none of what I need to do done," Faramir said, reeling in his desire, "Please min elskede, release me from this bliss in which you've ensnared me."

With one final soft touch to Faramir's chest, Éowyn backed away. Faramir pulled his tunic back over his torso, and noted how much better his bruises felt. He wondered if that was solely the work of the soothing salve…

Éowyn then handed him the soothing salve, "I will not tempt us further by insisting on applying this myself, but I must ask that you put some on your thigh, before the bruise becomes too angry. I have a message that needs to be written, which I will do downstairs… but I will be back shortly."

Éowyn slipped from the office without a backwards glance.

Valar give me strength, Faramir thought, my bliss in the presence of this woman threatens to end me.

Faramir quickly removed his pants and rubbed the soothing salve into the bruise on his thigh. Immediately he felt the area go numb, pain replaced with relief. Faramir then replaced his pants, and turned to sit at the Steward's desk. The soothing salve had done its good work, yet the chair insisted in causing him pain. His father's chair.

Not today, Faramir thought, closing his eyes and feeling Éowyn's hands heal him. The memories of fire and ash were giving way to the very real fire of him being near her.

Éowyn was back through the door, smiling brightly. Faramir wondered at her task and message, but put it out of his mind. Éowyn then settled herself on the loveseat in the office, paging through one of her healer's books. Faramir watched her for a little while, entranced. Finally, he picked up the first of several ledgers worth of work. Pleas for help from villages had begun reaching the Steward. Sauron's enemies had razed nearly everything in their path, and there was incredible need. They would manage, especially if Gondor could count on their allies. Faramir looked at Éowyn again, unable to contain his smile. Gondor called. Rohan answered. And now, she was here. She was his.

The next ledger Faramir had to open had been sitting waiting for him for days, since the host had returned. It was a ledger of the dead, but Faramir was still not ready to read their names. As he thought about all those deaths; men he had led, men who had died defending that great city, he could feel tears start to well up. He needed to look, he needed to start writing out the letters to their widows and families. There were so many of them. Faramir shuddered, then sniffled.

Her book shut, then her arms were around him, her cheek to his cheek. She was willing her love into him, and he felt safe. He stopped trying to push away the tears; he let them come.

"I've avoided opening this book, knowing just how many names I will recognize," Faramir's grief was palpable, but manageable, "They died saving us. Yet I know by seeing them in this book, that they are truly gone."

"Then we will open it together. You, me, Éomer, Imrahil, and Aragorn. We will look upon their names and mourn them together. And together, we will heal," Éowyn gently took Faramir's hand off of the ledger, "You've shown your worth in your first council min elskede, you will shine even brighter in the next one."

Éowyn kissed Faramir's cheek, then caressed it with her nose. Her lips did not titillate him, for their purpose was comfort. Faramir closed his eyes, letting Éowyn's warmth bathe him, and he cried for his fallen brothers. She did not move from him, holding him. And Faramir realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks too.

And so they cried, for the fallen.
They cried for their wives and children.
They cried for the villagers who burned in their houses.
They cried for fallen enemies, young and naive.
And they cried for their fallen friends and kin.

So many had died; the new dawn had been baptized with their blood. Everything was changed. And they could mourn for those they lost, truly, for the first time, without the shadow pressing upon them. After his tears had fallen, Faramir felt lighter. Éowyn had that effect on him, that effect on people. He would call another informal council, to speak of what they were to do with the dead who served bravely. He could ask Imrahil and Éomer this afternoon for the council to take place the following day. He would ask Aragorn before their dinner that night. Another of Éowyn's instincts that just was… right.

The last business was the Amroth ledger, and Faramir realized he would much rather work on that with his uncle, hopefully in the presence of cousins and loved ones. Faramir took the overlarge ledger and walked it over to his satchel. He suspected the prince would be unhappy, but would oblige him in discussions of the Amroth supplies.

A knock came on the door of his office at that moment, as if sensing his hope, and Faramir walked to get it. Éowyn resettled herself on the loveseat, looking as if she had spent the afternoon there. Faramir smirked at her. Theirs would be a happy life.

"Your uncle the Prince Imrahil has sent word asking you to join him and your cousins at his residence this afternoon. He's asked that you bring the lady Éowyn." Faramir's butler conveyed the message.

"Thank you," Faramir smiled, "We will be on our way shortly."

The man bowed and left them.

"Shall we min elskede?" Faramir turned to Éowyn, who had risen from the loveseat. She had mischievous light in her eyes.

"Yes, please! Though I should like to go back to my apartment for a short while and rebraid my hair at least. Give me a 5 minute start and call upon me soon?" Éowyn kissed Faramir upon his cheek, and was away.

Faramir breathed out, looked around the study, then noticed something was off. A small clay block and a piece of paper lay on the Steward's desk, and the ring was missing. He went and opened the paper.

Min elskede,

I've taken your ring. This clay stamp should suffice as a seal for the time being, and I promise that when your ring returns, it will feel cleaned and new.

Love,
Éowyn

Faramir stared at the note, then picked up the small clay block. It was an excellent replica of the seal. Elven made, Faramir realized, to clean a ring made of mithril by the hands of dwarves. That was likely why Éomer asked for access to the forge.

So this was where that mischievous light was coming from min elskede, Faramir grinned. The ring that encased him in fire. She set out to change it, to fill it with her love. There was nothing he could do now that she had it, so he just had to trust her. Faramir sighed, placed the small piece of parchment into his pocket, hoisted his satchel over his shoulder, and set off.

The new dawn was upon them. It was time to mourn, but also time to celebrate. It was time to think upon fallen family members, but it was also time to celebrate new family.