Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

The wards in the Houses of Healing were still full of wounded from the great battle on the Pelennor. Every day more and more beds became vacant, as the injured became well enough to vacate their cots or those wounded too severely succumbed to their injuries. We were able to return the provisions we had moved into the alleyway, back into the supply rooms where they belonged. Thankfully, we were now able to move all the wounded who still needed care into the main wards. It certainly made treating the injured much easier for the healers. Who would have thought the act of walking from bed to bed would be an arduous task? But it was, when there were so many wounded with their beds scattered in different rooms and down different hallways.

The young soldier who had been brought in the night before the Battle on the Pelennor was progressing nicely. The day after Aragorn's visit, I removed the piece of tubing I had used to open an air passage for him. He was quite stoic during the whole procedure; not only did I have to remove the tube, I had to stitch the incision the tube had been placed in. He was very happy to be able to speak again and I found out quickly that speaking was indeed something he did well and often. He was quite a character, was our Halen. A very sweet boy. I was glad the Valar had been with us when he needed us the most.

He told us the story of how he had become injured. Embellishment is one of his strongest oratory skills, but I am sure some of what he told us was true. The part concerning his broken leg, where he insisted he had fought on and on after receiving a blow from a Dunlander's club, was a bit far fetched. I think it was most likely a very short time between that event and his receiving the wound in his side. You could see by the fear in his eyes, he remembered vividly the sword, and the Uruk-Hai, who had dealt that blow. I had no doubt that that part of the tale was very real. He did not remember being hit in the throat, but that needed no testimony to deem it true. One had only to look at the stitches there for proof of that.

I saw a great deal of Faramir. While he kept his room in the Houses of Healing, he was free to come and go at will, as long as he remained healthy. We became very good friends. I was glad of that. I had not many friends here in the city. I was too busy or otherwise preoccupied to add to my acquaintances. During the evenings, after I had finished work for the day, Faramir and I spoke of many things. After the Host had gone from the city, we spent our time talking about how it would all end. Neither of us had much hope for victory, but neither would we give voice to such a thought. I suppose that meant that we did, indeed, have some shred of hope after all.

It was very difficult to think of our many friends and loved ones who had gone off to Mordor. I have four brothers, all older than I. While they were exasperating as we grew from childhood, they had become fiercely loyal and watchful over me, especially after my husband's death. Even though I had not seen nor heard from them in months, I knew without doubt, that if they still lived, they would be riding with the Eoreds. I kept hoping to see at least one of my brothers come walking up an aisle of the Houses of Healing. It was possible they had arrived with the Rohirrim during the Battle of the Pelennor. However, that never happened. I prayed constantly for their safe return. I refused to believe they were not still alive.

The Houses of Healing had four wings, set up in a square formation. In the center of this square there was a garden. While I greatly enjoyed the time I spent there, it did not compare to the little garden I kept secret. However, it was a wonderful place for Faramir and me to meet and talk. There were stone benches scattered here and there along the paths and among the trees.

The third night after the Host's departure, Faramir and I met as usual. I noticed right away that there was something different about him. He didn't seem as weighed down by the tragedies he had suffered. During our conversation, I noticed that he hadn't been listening to a word I had said.

"Faramir, do you suppose if I wished it very much, that you could arrange for me to grow wings and fly from the walls of the city?" I asked. I wondered what his answer would be, if he did indeed answer me at all.

He suddenly seemed to come back to me somewhat, and he answered vaguely, "Yes, I suppose that could be arranged."

"Well, that's wonderful!" I exclaimed. "Why have you kept this talent for bestowing wings a secret for so long?"

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them, and turned to look at me. "What did I just agree to, Maeren? It seems I have been rude and you have been carrying on a one-sided conversation. Please forgive me."

I laughed and said, "There's nothing to forgive, Faramir. I just wonder what fills your thoughts, that you could be so distracted from my wonderful discourse."

He looked down at his clasped hands in his lap. I could see the wheels turning inside his head, wondering if he should discuss with me what was on his mind. Finally, he turned toward me and smiled. "I have seen a woman, in this very garden, and I wonder at whom she is. She is beyond fair. I do not think I have ever seen a woman of her beauty before." The dreamy look that had passed over his features suddenly changed to one of dismay. "Present company excluded, I mean," he added.

"Faramir, do you mean to say that I am not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen? I am very hurt at this revelation." I laughed at his look of total consternation. It felt good to laugh—maybe even seem light-hearted—during so dark a time. "Faramir, I have known all my life that I am not beautiful. And do you know what? I really do not care. There is so much in this life to be excited about, who would want to waste any time pondering their misfortune of being born plain?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Still, Maeren, that was most indelicate of me. But who says you are not beautiful? I think you are. Does my opinion not matter?" Seeing my grin, he confessed, "I am not used to making such blunders. It embarrasses me."

"Well," I said, "embarrassment is also like that. Why waste your time with it? It changes nothing. You just have to say 'oh well, I am an ass,' and move on."

We both laughed at that—he at my words and I at his joy. It was very good to see him with a heartfelt smile on his face.

I knew the woman of which he spoke and decided to play with him no more. "The lady you've seen here in the garden, is Eowyn of Rohan, niece to Theoden, rest his soul, and sister to Eomer," I said.

"She is the sister of Eomer?" he exclaimed. "I would never have guessed, given his looks." He gave me a sideways glance, out of the corner of his eye.

"You had better watch your tongue, my lord Steward," I said with mock soberness. "You speak of my new King. Were I to tell him of your words at his expense, he may just have to call you out!"

"I am truly shaken now, my lady," he answered sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, Faramir," I said, changing the subject somewhat. "Eowyn has been asking to speak to you. She chafes at being cooped up here in the Houses. I see her point, but Aragorn practically made me swear an oath that I keep her here until she is the picture of health. Since you are the government during Aragorn's absence, it falls to you to overrule my dictate and grant her leave or not. So she is, therefore, seeking your attention, to free her from my evil clutches." On a more sober note, I added, "However, I fear that while her physical health is much better, her emotional health is far from healed. I suppose she mourns the deaths in her family, but I think it is probably more than that."

Faramir was apparently still stunned by my first sentence. "She wishes to speak to me?" he asked, with a look of total amazement on his face.

I laughed at him again. His countenance was as that of a child presented with a new toy. "Yes, she does," I replied. "She seems to think that if she entreats you in just the right fashion, that you will see her out of my care, and thus, out of these horrid Houses of Healing." I could see his face turning red, even in the half-light of the lamps, which lit the garden. I was beginning to feel remorse for my teasing of him, so I decided to disclose some of what Eowyn really wished to speak to him about.

"Eowyn is a shield maiden, and as such, it galls her to be restricted in any fashion. But, being a woman she knows that her lot in life will not be that of a soldier, as she would wish. I suppose you have heard of her battle with the Nazgul King, have you not?" At his nod, I continued. "She rode with the Eoreds from Helm's Deep, disguising herself as one of the Riders. She is as good with a blade as any man I know—I have seen her in action." I took a few minutes, trying to decide if I should tell him what she would speak to him about. I decided that I might hint. I didn't want him to get his hopes up that she would be speaking to him on a casual and personal basis. She was all business, as he would find out soon enough.

I had spoken to Eowyn many times during her recovery. She was most dejected and in a dark mood. Her fondest desire was to join the Riders of Rohan and Soldiers of Gondor as they set upon the Black Gates. I knew—as did she if she was honest—she was decidedly not up to it. She had a broken arm, for pity's sake!

While she was not usually so forthcoming, she let slip once of her admiration for the new King of Gondor. Her face lit up as she spoke his name. It fell into darkness as she lamented the fact that he was gone to fight the Dark Lord and may never return. She didn't have to say it, but I knew. She thought herself in love with Aragorn.

"I believe that she will speak to you of her idleness, Faramir," I said after a lengthy silence. "She fancies herself well enough to take up the blade, I believe."

"Well, that's decidedly out of the question," he replied vigorously. "She has a broken arm, for pity's sake!"

I smiled at his voicing what I had been thinking. "Indeed she does. And she, like you, was stricken with the Black Breath. And while it seems as if you are recovered, I believe that it still may have its claws in you both—giving you thoughts of despair and hopelessness. I do not know if you still feel such things, but I know Eowyn does."

"I have some black thoughts as does everyone, Maeren," Faramir replied. "They come not so often nor as dark as they did before. Now I truly believe that what worries my soul, are thoughts of the uncertainty and peril in which Middle Earth finds itself."

"I am glad to know it, if you are indeed feeling more hopeful," I said. "You are right. It is very hard to see past the uncertainty of our times right now. All we can do is hope and pray. I wish there was more that we may do, but there isn't. Except maybe keep the home fires burning, for when our soldiers return victorious."

"So," Faramir said, changing the subject yet again. "When may I speak to Lady Eowyn?"

"Whenever you would wish to," I replied. I said no more—teasing him again. I am so wicked, am I not?

"Well?" he said. "Will you set it up for me?"

"Oh," I said, feigning ignorance. "You wish for me to set up a meeting between you?"

"As if you didn't know," he replied. I do believe he is getting testy with me.

"Well, ask me sweetly and I may consider it." I was surely pushing my luck.

"Maeren, you are sorely trying my patience," he said sternly.

I truly was uncertain if I was making him angry or not. "I will set up the meeting, my lord Faramir," I said, as if to a petulant child.

"Good." He said sounding relieved. "When do you think it shall be set?"

"Faramir!" I exclaimed. "You are becoming quite a nag, you know!"

"Hush, and answer my question, Lady Warden," he said.

"All right. I will speak to her this evening and seek you out in the morning, to let you know the exact time and place." I was also growing weary of this game. "I expect she will want to meet with you as soon as she may. She has voiced her wish to be freed of me and the Houses for a few days now."

"And to think, I could have met her before now if you were not so contrary," Faramir replied.

"I believe I am going in, now," I replied. "I have enough whining people on my hands. I need not sit here listening to one unnecessarily, when I may be getting some sleep. Good night, Faramir."

I rose, but I did not even get a step before Faramir was up and at my side. "I am sorry, Maeren," he said, apologetically. "You have a good evening and sleep well. I will see you tomorrow." He gave me a kiss on the cheek. He just couldn't help adding, "Now, when may I expect you to call?"

I gave him a gentle cuff on the chin, and said, "To bed with you, Faramir! You are still recuperating. Get some rest. And that is by the Warden's order."

I left the garden and went to see Eowyn. She was, as I had predicted, very anxious for the meeting with the Steward. And for the reason I suspected. She wished to go fight with the soldiers. I decided to let her hash that out with Faramir. I was sure he could make her see reason.

Now that is a humorous thought. I do not think there exists a man who could make her see reason.

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Seven days after the Host of the West left to besiege the Black Gates, Minas Tirith was wreathed in gloom. The shoulders of all who were left in the city were stooped and their faces were haggard and ashen. The soldiers had been gone for a week. No word had been sent or received. In the east, the smoke emanating from Mount Doom was thick and pungent. The skies over Gondor were no longer filled with sunshine and fairness. The wind was cold and spoke of shadows and ghosts. An unearthly hush settled over the land. The only sound was of the unrelenting cold wind as it blew through the streets. Minas Tirith was as a tomb—cold, silent and desolate.

Faramir and Eowyn had become friends, after a fashion. I had indeed set up their meeting and they had met every day since. Sometimes they would meet in the garden, and sometimes they would watch the world go by from the walls of the city.

Faramir no longer told me his heart, concerning her. I could sense his frustration, his longing for something more than friendship from her. Even though he didn't voice it, I could see in his eyes the longing for this lady, who was fairer than any other, to his eyes. But she had eyes to the east. She pined to be part of the Host. She sought the eye of the King. She craved the glory of battle.

Glory. What an empty word. Oh, it looked and sounded grand on the surface. But the price one usually paid was too great. Life was lost. Goodness and innocence was lost. Too much was lost in the name of glory. Glory was fleeting. It was Victory in which I put my faith.

Victory wasn't usually pretty. Victory tended to be harsh and muddy and bloody. Yes, life was lost. Yes, innocence was lost. How anyone could call such a thing glorious was beyond my grasp. But in victory, hearts would sing and faces would shine. The lost lives and forsaken innocence were not glorious, but the ones possessing those things had struggled and died for victory, so that all others may live. Yes, victory was what should be sought. Not glory.

My heart broke for everything and everyone who was good in Middle Earth. It seemed as if the Valar had forgotten the people of the land. The darkness over Mordor was spreading over Middle Earth and seeping into the hearts of the people. What was happening at the Black Gates? Was the battle over? Had it even begun?

There were no answers—only questions.

So on this seventh day, I had stepped out of the Houses of Healing around noon. I just needed to get outside, even though the day was cold and gray. I searched the sky for any break in the clouds, but could find none.

I saw Faramir and Eowyn on the walls of the city. They were holding hands! I was so happy for Faramir—and Eowyn, too. She deserved much happiness. I knew that any woman would be blessed to have a man such as Faramir love her. I knew Faramir would settle for no less than Eowyn. He would marry Eowyn or he would marry no one.

I smiled at myself for my unintentional eavesdropping. I was staring at them, wrapped up in their happiness. It was such a small thing, but it was huge, considering the times we were in at present. Any little bit of happiness was to be grabbed and embraced, no matter to whom it belonged or how tiny it may be.

Suddenly, as if a heavy curtain were being drawn and allowing the sun to shine forth, the clouds parted, and the sun did indeed shine! Had anyone been observing the people outside in the streets at that time, they would have seen us all turn our faces as one, to the east. It was from that direction that the clouds were the first to part. As a shade is raised to greet the day, so was the shade over the hearts of all, drawn from covering our hearts and minds. Joy. The emotion all felt was pure joy. And the only reason there could be for such feeling was triumph. Our soldiers had been victorious. It was felt, even before the tidings were told to us.

People began dancing in the street. Soon others who had closeted themselves inside, joined those outside, and the revelry was reaching fever pitch. No one had heard a word of news concerning the battle taking place in Mordor. A joyous feeling had come over one and all, and we all knew that Sauron was no more.

A great eagle came to the city, after a while, and did tell us the news of the Host of the West's triumph at the Black Gates. I had thought that the whole population was already celebrating outside, but that had been just the beginning. It seemed as if people were popping out from everywhere, and the news of the victory was being carried on the lips of everyone. Up and down the streets they went, some of them stopping to bestow hugs and kisses on people they knew. Joyous was the only word to describe it. Joyous.

As the days went by, the population in the streets of Minas Tirith grew many times more. People from all over Gondor and Rohan were joining here in the White City, to greet the warriors upon their return. Most of all, to greet what was thought to be their new King. Everyone's spirits were soaring as if they had never been grounded at all. Such merriment and celebration could not be remembered, so long had it been since peace had lay upon the land.

A few days after the victory was announced, Faramir and Eowyn came to me in the Houses of Healing. We met in the garden and they told me they had news to impart to me. Faramir announced to me that Eowyn had been healed. She no longer held black thoughts, nor wishes for that which could not be. He had asked the White Lady of Rohan to be his bride and she had accepted. I had never seen such joy on Faramir's face. Nor on Eowyn's, truth be told.

I announced Eowyn free to go from the Houses of Healing, since she was now well and truly healed. And what did the White Lady say? That she did not want to leave. I felt like slapping her, truth be known, for all the whining and grief she gave me in her wish to be rid of the wards and of me. But I was gracious as only a healer can be and I smiled and accepted her as one of my own.

At last, the people of Minas Tirith were seeing the Host return from their triumph. One evening, weeks after the victory, the great lines of Soldiers of the West could be seen approaching the city. The soldiers set up pavilions at the site of where the gates of the city once stood. As it was now, only barricades kept the city gated. The people of Minas Tirith kept an all-night vigil, waiting for the dawn of the new day, which would also herald a New Age—a new age of peace.

The dawn did finally come, and the standard of the Stewards of Gondor was raised upon the White Tower of the citadel for the last time. Faramir, being the Steward of Gondor, at least for the present, along with Hurin, Warden of the Keys, and other captains of Gondor, met and beheld the Host's return. Aragorn stepped forward and Faramir stepped to him.

"Men of Gondor," Faramir said for all to hear, "hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship again at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dunedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Numenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"*

And all the host and all the people cried yea with one voice.

Aragorn accepted the crown from Faramir, but did not place it on his head himself. He returned the crown to Faramir and said, "By the labour and valour of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory."*

It was done according to his wishes, and Aragorn son of Arathorn—Isildur's heir—became King Elessar, the Elfstone, because of the emerald brooch he wore. It had been foretold for him that Elessar would be his royal name. The name of his family was from that time forward known as Telecontar, an Elvish name for Strider, a name by which he was known by most people during his years as a ranger. **

Yes, it was a splendid and joyful time. All were happy and full of anticipation for a life filled with peace at last.

Yet there was one, although she knew it not yet, whose peace would be short lived. She had a tiny seed of uncertainty within her, which was about to make itself known in an unexpected turn of events.

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* Quotes from Return of the King, pp 945-946

**Taken from The Complete Guide to Middle Earth, Robert Foster, p. 24