This is it! The final chapter of this epic! Thanks for staying with me!
I may (sometime in the future) create a continuation sequel to this universe, but for now, we end with Faramir.

Coronation night
"So min elskede, who did you break?" Éowyn whispered into Faramir's ear from her perch on his shoulder.

"Loth," Faramir replied, a grin on his face.

"I marvel at your skill," Éowyn replied, nuzzling his neck.

Faramir laughed, if only she knew. There was no way in the past he would have successfully broken Lothíriel's resolve. Éowyn made him lighter, more joyful, wanting to be a part of the game. Over the course of the month, the stern face of Denethor had stopped hovering over his head. Replaced with the loving gaze of Éowyn, the protective respect of Éomer, the delight of the Hobbits, the relief and joy of Imrahil and Lothíriel, and of course, the reverence of Aragorn. When the memory of being engulfed in fire crept back into his conscious mind, he thought of Éowyn sleeping; of her steady breath, her serene face, the glow that seemed to come from inside of her.

Four weeks was all that it took to go from wondering if his father had been right to desire him dead to feeling the joy for the life ahead of him. It was the difference between being a second son and being a Prince, between wondering if his father would sell his hand for an alliance and choosing his own for love. And what a love it was. When he'd seen Éowyn cross the garden in the House of Healing, he felt love blossom. When he asked for her hand, his love for her had taken root. And yet, he looked back on the love he felt then as if it were a shell of the real thing, so profoundly had his love for her grown. That he would spend the rest of his life with her was a gift beyond reckoning.

They'd taken to spending near all their free time together. Faramir consulted Éowyn frequently as new and challenging tasks came to his desk. Planning the coronation had been a test of Faramir's patience and his skill. Éowyn advised him, spoke on behalf of Rohan, and shared the load (in addition to her regular shifts and studies in the House of Healing). And the nights and afternoons together! Éowyn's tentative touches were no longer tentative, projecting both her desire and her familiarity. And while the electric sensation that quivered under his skin had faded in intensity, it was now accompanied with an overwhelming feeling of warmth. Faramir had finally given in to closing his eyes and picturing their wedding night in its full detail, made all the more enjoyable, as he knew she did the same.

During the nights, as Éowyn slept, Faramir read correspondence, or carefully wrote out letters. On the rare nights that Éowyn stirred, he dropped his work and whispered to her until she knew where she was and whom she was with. Nightmares still haunted her. Faramir hated seeing the fear in her eyes at realizing she was asleep with a man in her bed, before the relief and love flooded her when she recognized who she was in bed with. Often after a Gríma dream, Éowyn would pull Faramir's body to hers and kiss him fiercely. Faramir swore she was burning away the nightmares with those touches, and it broke his heart, yet also grew his love for her.

Faramir and Éowyn had avoided talking about her journey back to Rohan. They both understood how essential it was for her to return, but Faramir did not want her to know how sick with worry he was. He had almost asked Aragorn if he could accompany her. Twice. What if the ghosts of Meduseld returned? What if Éowyn was haunted by nightmares? What if Éowyn was haunted by the real person? Éomer had promised that if Gríma came crawling back, he would cut down the Worm. Éowyn had learned dagger work from him. Still, it did not feel enough. He remembered her kiss to his forehead as he'd settled to sleep just two days ago. The fear in her eyes tore at him.

Her ghosts scared him far more than his own. He still had fire dreams, something he never thought he would be completely rid of. He could manage without Éowyn's comforting hand for six weeks. But that he could not protect her where her memories made her the most vulnerable twisted his gut. He pulled Éowyn closer as they finished their walk to her apartment. Their last night together before she said goodbye, before she rode back to the place of her birth to help her brother find his feet and start his reign. It was necessary, and yet, he wondered if they would regress, being back in the environments that brought them to the brink of wishing for their own deaths.

When they were through the doorway, Éowyn leaned into Faramir and kissed him. It was a kiss that told him she was thinking much of what he was.

"I don't want to leave," Éowyn whispered, kissing Faramir's cheek and neck.

"I don't want you to leave either," Faramir whispered back.

Éowyn took Faramir's hand and walked him into her bedroom.

"Tonight as you get your sleep, I fear all I will be able to do is watch you," Faramir saw that his staff had placed less formal clothing in her apartment for him. It seemed that their arrangement was a better known secret than he would have liked…

"I will not be sleeping tonight, not in the last hours of our time together," Éowyn's words were serious, and Faramir recognized the tone as one not to argue with, "Please sit so I can unbraid your hair, my Prince."

"It does not feel real," Faramir sat in Éowyn's chair and felt her hands begin working out the complex elven braid, "As if tomorrow I will wake up from this dream to find myself in Ithilien trying to stop the oncoming charge of the Shadow, Denethor ever increasing his madness under the press of Sauron and his stone."

"I wonder if I will wake up in Meduseld and find that my family are dead and I am the slave-wife of Wormtongue, watching Orcs overrun our beautiful land," Éowyn spoke softly, "Every moment I wish I could stay here, in the House of Healing, with you, even if this place and you are a dream."

Éowyn's hands freed him of the elven braid, and she grabbed the mother of pearl comb Lothíriel had given her to run through his hair. But he couldn't wait, not when those were the images haunting her. He turned to her, putting his hands gently onto the small of her back.

"I am no dream, and will do whatever you need to keep that place from pulling you under," Faramir looked up into her eyes, "We may have but hours left, but in these hours let's create memories that will make the next six weeks of waiting fly with wings of an eagle."

Éowyn raised her eyebrow, and it was only then that Faramir understood what she thought he was implying. His gut lurched and he could feel the color rise in his cheeks. At his reaction, Éowyn snickered.

"I certainly hope that thoughts of the memories we will make on our wedding night will not cause such a blush in your cheeks," a smile broke across Éowyn's beautiful face.

"I fear it may, but I will push through," Faramir pulled Éowyn closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her on his face, and Faramir then did something he'd never done. Faramir leaned completely into Éowyn, laying his head on her chest. She had done it so often to him, but he had never done it. Éowyn inhaled, and he could now hear her heartbeat. He also felt the soft cushion of her breasts against his face. Faramir let the soft sigh of his fiancée overpower the shadow memory of his father. Denethor was now the dream, and Éowyn was the reality.

"Let me just soak this moment up a bit longer," Faramir grinned and Éowyn laughed.

"And is it everything you thought it would be?" Éowyn whispered, still stroking the back of Faramir's neck.

"I would say that it is worth about one week of the six we must be apart," Faramir replied.

"So tonight, we are to find memories for all six weeks," Éowyn's hands then combed through Faramir's hair, catching on the tangles.

Faramir finally leaned back, "yes."

Faramir burned the memory of Éowyn's breasts on his cheek into his mind, on feeling their soft give, then he let his desire take him; thinking of their wedding night when he would get to put his hands or his mouth on them. He thought of the bliss of his body and hers, intertwined in their bed. Of letting his hands have as much liberty to touch her as she had to touch him.

"Now, turn around and let me comb your hair. And I want to see how your bruises are healing. I swear Éomer takes a perverse pleasure in hitting the same places over and over," Éowyn turned Faramir, but not before placing a kiss on the back of his neck.

As Éowyn combed, Faramir closed his eyes. Her fingers through his hair was one of his favorite sensations. He had been tempted to ask her to braid his hair every day if only to guarantee that he would get her fingers combing through it every evening. Éowyn also always rubbed soothing salve into his chest, but Faramir always insisted on taking care of his bruised thighs and legs himself. Maybe not tonight.

"For the second week…" Faramir could feel mischievous glee as the idea formed, "Perhaps you would consent to apply the salve to all my bruises?"

Éowyn paused in her combing out Faramir's hair and walked to face him. Her eyes twinkled with thrill.

"Are you sure min elskede?" Éowyn watched him intently.

"Yes," Faramir was sure. It was the last night before they faced their demons alone. It was a night to create memories.

An impish smile developed on Éowyn's face, matched by the one Faramir felt form on his own face. He had longed to have her touch the whole of him. And her gentle hands rubbing the salve into his skin was nothing short of bliss, even as it became routine. Éowyn's hands were practiced on his skin, and had a healer's touch. But Éowyn often caressed Faramir's skin as well, working her fingers over his muscles, raking through the hair on his chest, then tracing his scars.

"Then a memory we will make," Éowyn's eyes twinkled, "I will go get changed. You should also change out of your formal clothes."

Éowyn swept from the bedroom and into her dressing room. Faramir smiled as his eyes followed her. She looked a vision in her formal gown, another of his mother's. Éowyn was as tall as Finduilas, and it seemed her clothes fit Éowyn as if they were made for her. Faramir had yet to tell Éowyn that he wanted her to have everything of his mother's. Tonight was the right time to do so. It was worth at least a few of the days apart, getting to share the love of his mother with his future wife, the light of his life. Faramir then turned to the clothes on Éowyn's bed, letting a smirk escape his face.

Be sure to thank your staff thoroughly for their care, and for their discretion, Faramir thought.
Yes, he would definitely be sharing some items from Denethor's stores with them.

Faramir was finished changing far before Éowyn, and he had half a mind to ask her if she needed assistance. He wondered if he had made an error in not providing her maids to help, but Éowyn often insisted on doing things herself. Faramir wondered if that was because of Rohirric tradition, or because she was so fearful of spies in Edoras. Faramir frowned at the thought. Gríma's poison. He hoped the fall of the shadow had drawn out at least some of the poison there. Six weeks. Six weeks. Faramir sighed. No, he could not go with her to Rohan. And she could not remain in Gondor.

The door clicked, breaking Faramir away from his thoughts. Éowyn walked back into the bedroom, and Faramir's breath stopped. Éowyn had taken down her hair, which was now just loosely braided. And she was in bedclothes. As with her white gowns, Éowyn's slip shimmered with an inner light. It was made of a material much softer and thinner than dresses or robes, and was the slightest bit transparent. Faramir saw the silhouettes of her curves under the material, igniting both his desire and his reverence for the ethereal woman before him. Éowyn had never worn bedclothes before, as both knew that it was scandalous enough that Faramir visited her each night.

"You're blushing min elskede," Éowyn remarked. She was blushing too.

"I… I… have no words Éowyn. You are beautiful," Faramir felt his heart race, he could not take his eyes off of her, "I pray to the Valar that your brother need not call on you tonight."

Éowyn laughed, "I believe Loth will be distraction enough tonight. Do not forget that we are not the only ones robbed of one another's company when the Rohirrim return to Rohan."

Faramir raised himself from Éowyn's bed, and walked to her. Something in Éowyn's glance encouraged him to let himself look at her, to see what was underneath her bedclothes, to think of touching her skin. He swam in those images, in those sensations that he so craved.

"Touch me," Éowyn whispered. Faramir knew this was not an offer, but a request.

So Faramir let his hand find its way to Éowyn's shoulder, and he traced his fingers down her arm, to her hand. He then moved his hand onto her waist, letting his thumb graze her hip bone, then he ran his hand gently over Éowyn's stomach, feeling hard muscles under a soft forgiving layer. The core of a shieldmaiden, intermingled softness and stone. Faramir paused, looked into Éowyn's eyes, and saw their intensity. She wanted him to go farther, using the fire in her own eyes to burn away the apprehension in his. Faramir's hand trembled slightly as he moved it upward, tracing Éowyn's belly button, then he let his hand drift farther up, feeling her chest heave rapidly at his touch, to her sternum. Faramir looked at Éowyn again, but he had frozen there. Oh how he wanted to explore those glorious breasts. But he was not sure he could bring himself to do it. Suddenly Éowyn's hand was on his, and her eyes were in his. He felt his hand gently move under her guidance, her breastplate giving way to the softness of her breast.

Faramir closed his eyes, taking in every sensation. He concentrated on her rapid breathing, heard the soft sighs as she exhaled. He shifted his focus to the smooth material of Éowyn's night gown, and finally he felt the blissful feel of her breast, perfectly fit to his hand. Faramir opened his eyes, and saw that Éowyn had a look of lust on her face. She was enjoying this. Faramir leaned into her, finding her mouth, and kissed her, matching her desire with his own. He let his hand flex, squeezing Éowyn's remarkable gift, causing her to shudder, then giggle. Faramir's gut reaction would have had him pull his hand away from this forbidden bliss, but he did not.

"Min elskede?" Faramir searched Éowyn's face.

"I could not have imagined how good this feels," Éowyn whispered.

Faramir felt Éowyn's laughter come to his own mouth. Somehow in that moment, tentatively exploring the edges of desire, pushing beyond the boundaries of appropriate and into scandalous, there was only relief. Relief that Gríma's hunt had not extinguished Éowyn's ability to enjoy a lover's touch. Relief that even now, with his hand on Éowyn's chest, naught but flimsy material between his fingers and her nakedness, still Faramir had control. He realized at that moment that there did not exist a moment in desire, in bliss, that he would not be entirely in control.

"I want to pull you in and kiss you, for this is worth near two weeks of memories," Faramir leaned his head down to let his nose touch Éowyn's forehead.

"Can you… keep touching me?" Éowyn's face was pink. Faramir could not have asked her to say any words more perfect than those words.

"Yes." Faramir replied, finding the words hard to force from his mouth.

It could have been minutes and it could have been hours. But in those moments where Faramir was finally letting his hands find Éowyn, letting his eyes drink her in, letting his ears tune in to her moans of his name, letting his mouth both taste her skin and express his own joy, time had stopped. Both seemed to understand the boundaries of their play, and Faramir had no desire to press forward beyond those boundaries.

"Okay, my turn," Éowyn pulled them apart, and took Faramir's hands in her own, "You are still bruised, and I take pride in my healing skill."

Faramir nodded, and shrugged off his tunic. The moment hit him heavily. Éowyn in bed clothes and him shirtless. If Éomer barged in at this moment, Faramir was fairly certain he would be separated from his head. And yet… four weeks had been a revelation. Éomer was playful and thoughtful. He had improved his swordsmanship so far that he was near a match for either Faramir or Aragorn, who had joined their sparring practices. And he adored Lothíriel. Éowyn had expressed frustration with her brother, and Faramir had watched Loth fret endlessly about Éomer's hesitation to touch her. Faramir had not wanted to say he understood, but he could imagine the imprint that would have been left on him seeing a ghoul of a man nearly break Éowyn. Even just knowing that it happened raised his blood pressure. That Éomer had protected Éowyn in that moment made Faramir love his future brother-in-law all the more.

"Where have your thoughts gone?" Éowyn had grabbed the soothing salve.

"To your brother," Faramir replied, eliciting a laugh from Éowyn.

"I recommend you not think on my brother in these moments," Éowyn continued laughing, "I certainly do not!"

Faramir threw his head back as he laughed. But at seeing the look that had appeared on Éowyn's face, he abruptly stopped laughing. Her face was full of resolve, of mischief, of lust. Faramir sat on the bed, as was their routine, but Éowyn pulled him back to his feet. She stepped closely to him, looking at a particularly angry bruise on Faramir's left side. But instead of taking soothing salve onto her fingers, Éowyn kneeled, until she was face to face with the bruise. It was only then that Faramir realized what she would do. He held his breath. Another memory, another unexplored sensation of bliss. He could feel the thrill of the anticipation course through his veins. His heartbeat increased, as did his breathing. Éowyn looked up at him one more time, checking in. Faramir gave her the slightest of smiles, enough for her to know. Yes. He wanted to feel her lips on that bruise.

Éowyn smiled back, then brought her lips to his naked skin, touching them gently to the bruise. It was an explosion of bliss, the pain blunted by the electric sensation that ran through him. Éowyn's lips were soft and moist, and she let them linger. A groan escaped his mouth before he could help himself. Where had she learned to do this? Éowyn then took a dollop of soothing salve into her hand and worked it into the bruise. And so it was, each bruise on Faramir's upper body got a tender and lustful kiss, followed by soothing salve. For the second time that night, time stopped. Once all the bruises were tended, Faramir looked lovingly at Éowyn, about to thank her for those moments. But Éowyn had one more kiss to deliver. She leaned to his nipple, and brought her mouth to it. Faramir nearly passed out so intense was the sensation. It was the electricity of all the kisses combined, reverberating from his toes to his neck to his fingertips… to his loins. His knees went weak, and the desire that had been slowly burning in his chest consumed the whole of him.

"Min… elskede…" Faramir breathed out the words, and all other words escaped him.

"It felt… good?" Éowyn asked.

Faramir thought Éowyn was playing with that question, but one look at the earnestness in her eyes, he realized she was serious.

"I can't… put into… words. Yes, it feels… good," Faramir was still having trouble recovering from the sensation still echoing through his body.

There was an unusual smile on Éowyn's face, halfway between wanton and accomplished. Faramir wanted to ask her how she had known to do that, but something stayed his question. Something told him that this was another of Éowyn's gifts, like the remarkable seals she made for him. He did not want to step on her surprise.

"Now, to finish your bruises," Éowyn looked down at Faramir's pants, "To complete the memory."

Faramir raised an eyebrow, was Éowyn going to kiss those bruises too? No. She had not so much as touched the skin of his thighs, it was too much.

"I think it best if you only use your hands on these bruises," Faramir grabbed his tunic, and shrugged it back on. He would not be so near to naked in this room with her. Not until they were properly wed.

Éowyn laughed, "My how your mind wanders Faramir, I am a lady after all!"

Faramir rolled his eyes, he loved her so much. Moments after kissing him like… like that and now she was teasing him about his wanton mind. He looked back down at his pants, sighed, and took them off. Another first on that night. Éowyn paused, clearly taking in the sight of his legs. Faramir could feel the color coming to his face. He felt shy. No woman had ever seen him in this state of undress, smallclothes all that separated Éowyn from the bodily manifestation of his desire. In but six weeks, she would be his wife, and smallclothes would no longer shield her.

"Faramir," Éowyn was looking at his groin, seeing what the smallclothes could not quite hide, "I heal men in all states of undress. I have no fear of what lies beneath your clothes. In fact, I marvel at it. Our wedding night is one I await breathlessly, but also with my eyes open. Desire is not your shame. I want to see your desire for me, so please never hide it."

He did not know how she knew. How she read it on his face. Yet the moment she said it, a weight lifted off of him. Like so many times before, she shone light into his dark caverns and he found that nothing scary lurked there. He was not afraid he would lose control, and neither was she. That part of him, that he had always been taught was a weapon used against women was seen by her as something to celebrate.

"I fear as with your soothing my other bruises, it will not be the same," Faramir replied, the only words he could think to speak.

"No, perhaps not," Éowyn said, "Yet somehow I do not see that as being a problem. Now. Let me do my healing work…. What has my brother done to you? You're near more bruised along your thighs than your chest!"

"Aragorn delivered a few too," Faramir replied, "And I fear he taught Éomer attacks more difficult to parry without taking a blow."

Éowyn shook her head, "When I get to Rohan, I shall tell my brother that every bruise, every one, was under my care. So he should watch where he puts them."

Faramir laughed, and as he did, Éowyn went to work. Her hands so close to his groin had certainly stirred his desire, but the moments passed as ones between those who were familiar rather than the frenzied thrill of first touches. Éowyn's hands were truly ones of a healer, gentle and deliberate. And soon the angriest bruises had been soothed.

"There is one more," Faramir admitted.

"Where?" Éowyn asked, narrowing her eyes.

Faramir stood, then turned to face away from Éowyn. He was not sure how Éomer had landed such a blow there, but there it was. A truly angry bruise just below his left buttock. Éowyn snorted, then composed herself.

"I can tend to that one…" Faramir mumbled, partly hoping Éowyn would let him, partly hoping Éowyn would not, but mostly barely containing laughter attempting to escape his lips.

"I will take care of it. If only to remind my dear brother that I put my hands where his blows land," Éowyn said.

Faramir could feel her presence just behind him, he smelled the soothing salve and listened to her take some into her hand. Then he felt her fingers on his thigh, where his cheek met his leg. This time, there was no escaping the electricity that exploded from their contact. His heart rate spiked, and he held his breath. But he could not keep the moan from escaping his lips, hard as he tried.

"I… No one has ever touched me…" Faramir stuttered, again lost for words.

"I need to lift your smallclothes the slightest bit," Éowyn made a valiant effort to keep her words stern and serious, but they were laden with desire.

"Lift away," Faramir smiled, feeling the gentlest tug on his smallclothes.

His amusement grew as he heard Éowyn inhale. He knew the boundary of Éomer's bruise, and was half relieved, and half disappointed it was contained to his thigh. He felt his smallclothes drop, and knew Éowyn had deemed Faramir's bruise tended. Éowyn retreated to wash the soothing salve from her hands. Faramir returned his pants to their rightful place, then sat back on the bed. Éowyn returned shortly after.

"You really are a marvel min elskede," Éowyn grinned.

When she said things like this, Faramir thought he must have died in his fever sleep and found eternal bliss. Yet, he knew this was not a dream. This woman was going to be his wife, a woman who entered his dreams to rescue him from his nightmares. A woman who understood his sorrow and did not begrudge him his pain. A woman who he relished picturing on their wedding night. Who felt the same about him. Her love was a gift from the Valar. And she felt the same. Faramir grabbed her hand, and pulled her to him.

"We have two memories left to make min elskede," Faramir kissed Éowyn's hands, "So here is one from me… I have but the faintest memories of my mother, and all I can recall of her brings me sorrow. Yet… you came into my life. I gave you her mantle, and something changed. It's as if I know her mind, as if I can feel her smiling down at me, at us. I want you to have everything that was my mother's. To be passed to our daughters. Please say yes…"

Éowyn looked into Faramir's eyes, saw his pleading, and smiled, "Faramir… are you sure?"

There it was. The self-doubt. He hoped so dearly that it would fade away with time. The last mean remnants of Gríma's poison. Éowyn still believed she was unworthy. It saddened him, but every day he would work to make her see herself as he (and frankly, everyone else) saw her.

"As sure as I was when I asked you to become my wife Éowyn," Faramir replied, his voice steady as he could make it. He willed his love into her, his certainty.

Éowyn took the last step to him and hugged him tightly, "I will cherish every pebble of Finduilas's legacy."

"Éowyn, you have given me my mother back," Faramir could not contain his words, "I have the strength to go through her effects and mourn her as I never have been able to. You shine light on that place of sorrow for me."

The look of doubt in Éowyn's eyes had not yet subsided. And Faramir knew she still felt she was an intruder into a life she did not deserve. He pulled her to him and placed a tender kiss on her mouth. It was a kiss that pressed his love into her, it was a kiss that thanked her for loving him back.

"Éowyn, you gave me my life," Faramir whispered, feeling the treacherous tears making their way to his eyes, "I let myself fall into my darkness. Aragorn was nearly too late. I thought all was lost, that I would give in like my father had. And I wanted to go and be with my brother. That was what I was contemplating when you stormed into the garden that day. Whether I had the will to continue. It was you who gave me strength to persist into the next day. Then you gave me the strength to face my demons. Then you gave me the strength to share my dark secrets with others. You even gave me the strength to face my worst memory, of the moment my father nearly burned me alive."

"You did the same for me Faramir," Éowyn's eyes were also filling with tears, "I did not contemplate ending it all, I rode out to do it. I kept on living only to save my brother from his own despair. Did you know that it was Éomer who called to me in my shadow dream? Then there I was, unable to die in glory like I wanted, and my brother on the way to his death. I wanted to end it so badly, and then there you were. You treated me like… like I mattered. And I could feel your love even as I doubted it. You stopped me from thinking that I was worthless. You saved me from believing that I would never find a home that gave me freedom. You saved me from being sold off either to the vilest man I'd ever encountered or to some indifferent lord for being the niece of a King. You gave me my voice Faramir, because you listened to me as much as you loved me."

"I vow that that will never change," Faramir looked into Éowyn's beautiful blue eyes, the glow of twilight starting to show in the window, "I will listen to you as my most trusted advisor, because you are."

"I vow to remind you of the depths of your strength," Éowyn said.

"I vow to tell you every day that none in Arda could be more revered than you, my beloved slayer of the Witch King," Faramir smiled

"I vow to heal you when your despair threatens to overpower you," Éowyn smiled.

"I vow to make love to you under my favorite waterfall," Faramir could feel the grin coming on his face.

"I vow to make sure that for the rest of your life, the light I see shining inside you continues to burn," Éowyn's eyes still contained tears, "And I vow to write you letter after letter for the six weeks we must now be apart."

"I want you also to vow one more thing to me," Faramir's grin had turned serious, "That if you feel your darkness returning, you will tell me."

"Faramir… I…" Éowyn started, Faramir grabbed her hand.

"If you tell me, I will come. But I also promise that I will not do so without thinking. I will ride to you prepared with a guard. And I will do so with the permission of my King," Faramir looked Éowyn in the eye, "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you Éowyn. Never."

"Then you must do the same for me," Éowyn's eyes contained love, but also a sternness to them, "You and I are both just at the edge of healing. I want to hear everything from you. If you do not sleep these six weeks, I want to know. Every fire dream. Every dark thought. Because I will never forgive myself if something happens to you."

"I promise." Faramir squeezed Éowyn's hand.
"I promise." Éowyn replied.

They pulled each other into a tight embrace, grasping onto one another as fate conspired to pull them apart. The nagging twilight meant it was time. Éowyn had to prepare for the long ride back to Edoras.

"Let me stay and help you pack," Faramir kissed both of Éowyn's eyelids, "To soak in every moment we have left."

Éowyn looked up at him and nodded, "Let me change into my riding clothes."

As Éowyn left for her closet, Faramir looked around her bedroom, then around her little apartment. His mind wandered back to the eastward looking room in the House of Healing. With the jug full of dried lavender. He thought about the day he watched Éowyn storm up to him in that garden, carrying defiance, strength, and vulnerability all together. And he thought about the night he paced outside her door, wondering if she loved him as he loved her. All of that seemed a lifetime ago, because they were memories of the times that he witnessed his life changing. Éowyn's bedroom smelled like that lavender, and Faramir could feel love overcome him every time he caught its scent. It was her.

"What are you looking at so intently min elskede?" Éowyn was back, looking near as beautiful in riding breeches as she had dressed in her bed clothes.

"Reliving memories," Faramir replied as Éowyn positioned herself under his arm.

"Lavender," Éowyn smiled.

"Because I knew I loved you," Faramir said.

"Your first token," Éowyn said, "I still have no idea how you managed to get it."

"It took no more than being the Steward," Faramir said, "But it was the first time I used that power, the first time I finally accepted that I was the Steward. That lavender meant as much to me as it did to you."

Éowyn looked into Faramir's eyes, then over at the lavender, and Faramir saw the flicker of an idea come into her eyes.

"Take half," Éowyn said, "It will be reunited when we are reunited."

Faramir placed a kiss on Éowyn's lips. Her intuition was perfect.

"Thank you me'a en' coiamin," Faramir whispered.

Éowyn split the lavender in the vase, and handed Faramir half. With a smile, he pulled the leather tie that Éowyn had bound in his hair and tied Éowyn's bunch with it. Éowyn's eyes lit up, and they shared a smile. Leather and lavender, for Faramir and Éowyn.

"One moment," Éowyn swept from the room, returning only a short while later with a ribbon. A ribbon from her night gown. She tied Faramir's bunch with it, fire in her eyes as she did, "To remind you of your first token of love to me, and so that when you smell this lavender, you will think on the memories we made tonight."

Faramir could feel his heartbeat quicken, and all the sensations Éowyn had gifted him that night flooded into his memory. Lavender tied in that ribbon: so powerful was the memory it invoked that Faramir knew he would make it those six weeks. He took the gift and gently placed it into his satchel. Éowyn went to the small closet in her room, which contained a few white gowns, the mantle, and a few splendid outfits from Faramir.

"I should like to leave the fineries here min elskede," Éowyn said.

"They will be waiting for you in the Steward's house, with everything else that is now yours," Faramir replied.

"And my books and healers' supplies?" Éowyn asked.

"Already packed and sent with the baggage cart," Faramir replied. He knew she would need them, so had sent them ahead.

Éowyn nodded and smiled, then with incredible efficiency placed the gowns on the bed, added her night gown from the dressing room, and rolled them tightly together. She tied the parcel, and was done. Faramir often forgot that Éowyn had ridden to Gondor with little, and so there was little for her to return with. She'd ridden not as the niece of a King, pampered in a litter, but as a soldier. One driven to pity by the plight of a Hobbit who was cursed to be left behind, as she was. Now Éowyn was his fiancée, and she and Merry had slain Gondor's greatest enemy save for Sauron himself. How strange the way fate worked…

An abrupt knock came upon the door, and Éomer walked into the small apartment, directing the slightest of nods toward Faramir in the process. Faramir looked at his eyes and saw the slightest pink rimming them. He knew Éomer had said his goodbyes to Lothíriel.

"You ready sister?" Éomer stood tall.

"Yes," Éowyn picked up the small sack on the bed, "I will be out in one minute. I need my proper goodbye."

Éomer nodded sternly, and Faramir could see a sadness effuse him. He turned and exited the apartment. Éowyn rushed into Faramir's arms, holding him with such ferocity it nearly robbed him of his breath.

"One last week, one last memory," Éowyn whispered, and kissed Faramir's lips with hunger and greed, projecting her desire and her love into him. Then it was over. Éowyn pulled away, "I will write you min elskede."

"I will wait for your letters, and promise to send my own," Faramir said back. His own tears were on the way. "I love you so much. And will count down the moments to us being reunited. Promise me one more time, if you need me, you will tell me."

"I promise," Éowyn did not break her gaze, willing her promise into Faramir.

One more nod, one more kiss, and the woman who changed Faramir's life was gone. Faramir followed her out the door, and shared a thoughtful nod with Éomer, who threw his arms around Éowyn. The golden siblings, who had changed the fate of Gondor, were heading back to Rohan.

Faramir's feet carried him up the final level of the white city, and parked himself at the edge of the Citadel. He would look out to the west as the Rohan host faded into the distance. He was not sure how long he could last in that place, thinking about the next six weeks alone. The next six weeks without Éowyn. Would everything that happened turn out to be a dream? Faramir shuddered at the thought, and felt his own despair creep into his throat. Suddenly, an immense calm came over Faramir. A calm that could mean only one thing.

"I presume this will be how you announce yourself?" Faramir said as he felt Aragorn walk to his left, also watching the progress of the host. Amusement radiated between the Steward and the King.

"Your panic and despair call me as readily as mine do you," Aragorn replied, "Six weeks is no time."

"I worry far less for myself than I do for her," Faramir said, feeling his own mood grow defiant, "She is strong but returns to a place that almost broke her."

"Yet it didn't," Aragorn said, but both could feel his unease, understanding the culpability he still felt, "She has you, and she has hope."

"If she needs me, I must go to her," Faramir did not hesitate to speak those words, even though the man to his left was now his King and liege.

"I would not stop you," Aragorn said, "In fact, we've already prepared for such a sortie of our Steward."

Faramir smiled, "Thank you."

"I know her pain as you do Faramir, and know what you two do for one another. I would not allow either of you to have the knowledge that the other is in pain, and do nothing," Aragorn said, and Faramir felt his despair.

"I don't think she is going to ask," Faramir said, bathing in Aragorn's sadness and adding his own, "I just hope that it is because she does not need me, rather than because she is unwilling to ask."

"Do you trust her?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes," Faramir replied instinctively, and he realized, he did.

"Then you will not have to worry, as she will ask you to come if she needs you," Aragorn replied.

"A little over six weeks. That is what separates me from that fateful day meeting Frodo and Sam," Faramir mused, "Six weeks to become a Steward, to fall in love, to witness the fall of the shadow."

"Six weeks for life to change for everyone in Middle Earth," Aragorn replied, "Because you chose to help two small Halflings rather than hinder them."

Aragorn's arm came around Faramir's shoulder. Faramir felt that familiar warmth that had infused their relationship, and shared it. Six weeks would be endurable. Six weeks apart, then he would see Éowyn... forever. Six weeks, then a lifetime with his King and his wife to remake a waiting Gondor.

"So… what comes next?" Faramir asked.

"That is up to us," Aragorn said.

"Then let us start. But, after the host passes beyond our sight."

Aragorn laughed and pulled Faramir tighter to him. Even with his shieldmaiden six weeks away, Faramir would survive. Six weeks was all it took to change the fate of Middle Earth, after all.