A/N: A lot of this is straight from The Steward and the King, and Faramir's speech is preserved in its entirety because it's so beautiful.

A/N Five hours after first A/N was written: I have now had someone call me a lovely flower myself, so Faramir's speech moves me even more than it did before.

Kindle My Heart

Lea of Mirkwood

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Merry would not be coming around for another few hours, recalled Éowyn. He had needed to go speak with a friend of his cousin's for a while, and then go attend to some unfinished business. She smiled, and slowly swung her legs over the side of her bed. She called her handmaidens in to attend to her, and was dressed in her best gown of midnight blue and her ladies set her arm in a linen sling. Shooing the women from her side, she walked out into the hall, head held high. The Warden's room was not far off, and she was able to make her way there without falling or becoming unsteady on her feet. The Warden was seated at his desk, writing in a notebook. He rose automatically at her presence, and before he could say anything to her she spoke.

"Sir," she said. "I have become restless, and cannot lie longer in sloth."

The Warden tried to take her right arm gently to lead her back, but she pulled it away. "Lady," he protested, distressed by her sharp movement. "You are not yet healed. I was bidden to not let you rise until seven days hence! I beg of you, let me guide you back to your bed so you may heal."
"I am healed, sir, in body at least. My left arm is yet to be completely healed, it is still broken, but I am able to walk, and thus able to work. But I will be sick again if I cannot do anything here. Have you tidings of war? My women tell me nothing." Or rather, Merry tells me nothing, because he has heard nothing.

"No tidings, my lady, save that our lords have ridden to Morgul Vale. But please, my lady, you must rest. You are but a woman, and the men with their swords shall protect you. You need not worry."

"Those without swords can still die upon them," said Éowyn sharply.* "That point, I think, has been amply demonstrated here and also in Rohan. Given the choice between laying about and letting myself completely heal here, doing nothing and dying in bitter pain, in this dark hour I would still choose the latter."

Éowyn knew she was going to waver on her feet in front of the Warden and her face paled. She leaned forward and gripped the desk, masking her unsteadiness by making her appear as though she was leaning forward to make her point. She turned her head to look out the window facing the East.

"Is there nothing I can do?" she asked softly, then turned to look at the Warden again, her voice becoming strong again. "Who commands this city?"

"Truly, my lady, I do not know. It is not my business to know. There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan, and some others. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."

Hope rose anew in Éowyn's heart. "Where can I find him?"

"In this very house, my lady. He was sorely hurt in battle, and is now healing. But I do not know-"

"Bring me to him," interjected Éowyn. "Then you will know."

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The first time Éowyn saw Faramir he was looking up at the sky, where the bright sun was peeking through the thick clouds like it had not done for a long time. The yellow rays of the sun fell on his face, and Éowyn saw him to be handsome, but it was like she noticed this as if looking at a painting. It never occurred to her to love him.

"Lord Faramir," spoke the Warden, and Faramir turned to look at them, and Éowyn saw his eyes soften when he looked at her. "Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt in slaying the Witch King of Angmar. But she is not content in my keeping, and wished to speak with you."

"Do not misunderstand my discontent for disdain for your city's care, my lord," said Éowyn quickly. "But I am caged here, idle. I looked for death in battle, and was saved and did not die, and battle still goes on and I am caged again."

Faramir waved his hand absently towards the Warden, who departed, but Faramir's gaze did not once leave Éowyn's face. Her beauty seemed to turn him into a fool, and all his training in courtesy and tact flew away from him.

"What would you have me do?" he said slowly, staring in shock at Éowyn. "I am caged too. I am also their prisoner."

Éowyn looked at Faramir's face and saw the face of a warrior, unmatched in battle, though his eyes were soft with tenderness. She saw pity, mercy and battle.

"What do you wish?" he asked her. "If it is in my power I will do it."

"I..." faltered Éowyn, stunned by his offer. She looked up at this taller man and prayed he would not simply think her a wayward child. She began to doubt herself, and her mind swam. She finished her statement in the proudest tone she could muster. "I would have you command this Warden to let me go."

Faramir looked away with a great sigh. "That I cannot do for you, my lady. We must wait and heal."

"But I do not wish to heal!" burst out Éowyn. "I want to ride to war, like my brother, or better my uncle, Théoden King who now lies with the dead."

"You are far too late to ride with the captains, my lady, even if you had the strength. But death may come to us all yet. We must endure the hours of waiting."

Éowyn bit her lip and looked down, and her pride slipped from her. A lone tear fell down her cheek and she did not touch it. The tear lingered there on her cheek, and then ran down her jaw and down her throat.

"But the healers would have me lie abed for seven days yet," she whispered to herself. "And my window does not look eastward."

Faramir managed a smile, though his heart ached with pity. "Your window does not look eastward? That can be easily amended. This I will command the Warden. If you will stay here within the Warden's care, you shall walk in the garden freely and your window will look eastward. And here in the garden you will find me, walking and waiting and looking also east. It would ease my care if you would walk with me at whiles or speak with me, for I do know you will walk and speak with the halfling Meriadoc."

Éowyn looked back up at Faramir evenly and coolly, a color coming into her cheeks again. "How should I ease your care, lord?" she asked, not quite concealing her curiosity.

"Would you have me answer honestly and plainly?" he said.

"I would have it."

"Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the winds of the Shadow and the same hand drew us back."

Éowyn pulled back, taking a staggering step in her shock. Her cheeks blushed a deep red and then paled white as snow. "Not me, my lord," she cried. "Nay, not me. Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! But I do thank you," she continued, backing slowly away. "for at least, that I am not kept to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." She bowed her head and walked back to the house, feeling more steady on her feet than she had before meeting the Steward.

Faramir watched her go, and stayed in the garden for a long time after. But his soft grey eyes strayed more

to the house rather than to the eastern sky.

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* Ha ha ha. Stop laughing, Becky.

Sooo bright. Sooo beautiful. Our review button,