A/N: I still don't own Lord of the Rings...Maybe one day I will, but not today. This story is AU and normally it's not my style, but this had been nagging me for a while and it wouldn't leave me alone. Also it's the first story I've wrote in a while that's more than 800 words! Read, enjoy. No flames, please.

There was a knock at the door. He sighed putting down his quill. He stretched his cramped ink stained fingers and made his way to the door. "My lord!" A breathless boy panted as he opened the door. "My lord you must come with me now! The Warden sends for you with most urgent news, you must come now." His heart jumped in his throat at the boy's hurried words and he wasted little time before he had grabbed his cloak, walked past the boy, and broke into a run as he made his way to the Houses of Healing.

"Lord Faramir!" The Warden cried upon seeing him. "What is wrong?" "The Lady Eowyn, my lord," The Warden struggled to say the words. "She cannot be found." The words echoed in his ears and he felt all the air leave his lungs. His mouth dried and he could not bring himself to speak. At last he tore his tongue from the roof of his mouth and half yelled, "You lost her?" "A maid went into her room to check on her, since the lady has developed the habit of sitting out the window in the evening, but she found the room empty, though the bed had been unmade." He stopped. "We are searching the house-" "And the gardens?" The Warden nodded. "Then I shall join the search."

He walked through the gardens, his pace quick and his eyes straining to catch any sign of Eowyn. Why would she had she run? Had she not accepted to stay in the houses? But that had been almost years ago, in a different age, before the shadow had been over thrown. He had convinced her to remain for a time while their fate still hung before them undecided. Now there was little doubt that the Men of the West had been victorious, her brother had even called for her to go to the celebrations. But she had remained and for a time Faramir had wrestled with the thought of paying her a visit. But duties had plied one over the other; the thought was pushed farther and farther from his mind. Now perhaps it would be too late now... No he would give up hope, not yet. He could not deny his heart the hope that perhaps she was all right and that he might yet save her. He would not have her lost now when hope had just be renewed.

"Eowyn! Eowyn! Eowyn!"

He called out trying to keep the panic out of his voice as he continued to make his way through the gardens. The night was cold and he found his panic rising with each step he took. He turned the corner and made his way towards a more secluded corner of the gardens were a large tree grew.

His muscles tensed and a lump rose in his throat. And suddenly he knew there was no need to scream her name because he would get no response. He had seen enough corpses on the battlefield to know what it was he saw before him. She lay at the base of the tree, unseeing eyes looking up, her breast still, her ivory skin pallid. He made his way to her, and kneeled besides her, frantically searching for some sign of life. There was none. "Eowyn?" He whispered unwilling to believe that she had truly left him. "Please, Eowyn, wake up. Please. Wake up, I have to get you back to your room, I promised Merry I'd take care of you." He touched her shoulder. "Eowyn." His eyes flooded with tears and his throat closed. He blinked wildly, and tried to swallow. He hung his head in grief, then placed a gentle hand over her eyes and closed them. "Help." He croaked. His voice was hoarse and rough in the still silence of the night. "Help." He managed again a bit stronger and finally tearing his eyes away from her blank face, he yelled out at the top of his lungs, "Help! Help! Help!" It was not long before the sound of running feet reached his ears. He heard the gasp from a maiden and a strangled cry from another. "Sweet Eru." He heard a man mumble as he made his way towards Faramir and Eowyn.

"She is-?"

Faramir could only nod.

He carried her back to the houses, unwilling to relinquish her to another. She was surprisingly light in his arms, and he found himself wondering if she had been eating in the past few days. Her head rolled towards him, resting against his shoulder at an odd angle. She looked peaceful, almost as though she was only sleeping, but she wasn't. She was gone and all that was left was the empty shell in his arms. He walked through the houses, with only the sound of his footsteps on the stone floors. He felt anger flow his veins at the sound. It did not seem fitting for the stone to make sound. Not when the White Lady of Rohan was dead. He carried her back to her room, with its large window looking east, facing the slowly rising sun. How long ago was it that he had ordered this room to be made hers'? Surely it could not have been only a matter of days, or weeks, it felt like years, a lifetime. He laid her down gently on the unmade bed, and stepped aside while the healers looked over her. The Warden told Faramir to recount his story as he drew him outside.

He was tired. He could not remember ever being so tired before in his life. He stepped back into the room silently, almost afraid to disturb her. The sky was red outside the window and he squinted at the garish light. He walked over to the window and closed the shudders quietly. He rested his forehead against the smooth wood and sighed. There were letters to write and respects to be paid and so much, too much, to do.

It was unbearable. He took a deep breath, and turned back to her, making his way to the side of her bed. She lay on clean white sheets; her golden hair brushed and fanned out beneath her head on the white pillow. A single white blanket covered her, coming up to her collarbones. Her ivory skin was slowly loosing the little color it had. One hand rested on her stomach, the other, still bound in its' sling. He reach up and undid the knot with unsteady fingers. She had always hated the thing. He pulled away the offending cloth, and gently laid her arm back across her chest. She was so cold. Colder then one should be, living or not. He rose and walked over to a chair where a blue mantle was draped. Carefully he laid it over her, trying to ignore the heavy silence in the room. The dark blue mantle covered her well, but it also made her look impossibly pale. He took her good hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"Do you remember, lady, when we stood on the walls and the world shook about us and the shadow disappeared? Do you remember my words? How I said that I would not have the world end now or loose so soon what I have found?" There was no sound. "I fear that the world did not end and yet I lost that precious treasure I had found." He took a deep breath. "I wonder what would have happened if I had found the courage then to say what I felt. What would have been if I had taken your hand in mine and said I loved you? But it does not matter now does it? No for you have gone now to the halls of you forefathers, beyond the circles of this world, and you, my lady have perhaps found the peace you have so longed for." He placed a kiss on her limp hand.

"Ever must I watch those I love go before me before I get the chance to say farewell." He saw his mother once before she died, and then he had thought little of it, Boromir had told him mother would be all right. His brother had gone away, with only a brief vision to say a last good bye. And his father...he would not think of his father. Yet here before him lay the woman who had been a constant in his mind since he had first seen her in the gardens. "You were a lady high and valiant, and you have won the renown you so longed for, and you were a lady beautiful, beyond the words of the elven tongue to tell, and even death cannot mar that beauty. And I loved you. I shall always love you, until I take my last breath. Oh Eowyn! I would that you could have loved me..." He reached out and stroked her golden hair. "I would have taken you away from this cold city, or your own thatched hall of gold and straw...I would of taken you across the river, to fair Ithilien, and we would have made there a garden. All things would bloom in joy with the White Lady there." His voice hitched and he bit his lip before continuing. "I am no king... and you deserved so much more than the second son of a mad man. I wish-I wish you could have found happiness here. I wished I could have helped you find it."

His fingers wandered to the shell of her ear, then along her jaw, finally coming to rest at her lips. Without truly thinking, he bent and gently pressed his lips to her cheek, then her brow, and finally her lips... but all he felt was the smooth cold skin beneath his lips. In his mind he saw her in days gone by, as she stood before him, face flushed, eyes wide and shining, skin warm beneath his dried lips. Faramir closed his eyes against the hot tears that filled his eyes. She was gone. She was gone and he was alone. The same unreasonable thoughts filled his clouded mind and when at last he could hold it in no longer, he wept, long and bitterly. How long he wept he did not know; he only knew his grief. When at last he stopped, Faramir bent over her one last time, kissing her brow. "Rest in peace daughter of Rohan..."

The coming of the King was clouded by the sorrow of the White Lady's passing. Pippin told him of the grieved silence that had settled on the company since they had received Faramir's letter. Merry had collapsed into a fit of tears, but it seemed Eomer's grief was beyond tears. He had not spoken since. Eomer left the city soon after the coronation, leaving Eowyn to rest with Theoden until Rohan was mended. As steward, Faramir was constantly busy with the happenings of the city, and he was glad for it. He did not let his mind wander to those to rested in the city. Everyday he watched for the Riders of Rohan, and waited. Perhaps once she was laid to rest in her own land, he would no longer feel so cold.

The day finally came when Eomer returned. The king would go with him and pay his respect to the dead. As would the Queen and all her fair kindred, the hobbits and Mithrandir, Faramir himself had little wish to take the journey to the Riddermark and yet in fifteen days he found himself standing before two green mounds. One for Theoden, one for Eowyn. And the people of Rohan wept for their fallen Lord and Lady. And Merry wept aloud, crying for one who had been like a father and another who had been a sister, if only for a short time. Aragorn shed tears also as Eomer, silent ones that were only seen because the sun made them shine like jewels as they rolled down their cheeks. Faramir did not weep, though his throat tightened painfully, and his dry eyes stung. He watched her being carried past him, robed in white, flaxen head resting on the folds of a gifted starry mantle. It seemed fitting, to have the mantle rest with her. He watched in silence as the heavy stone was moved into place before the tomb for he knew at the sound of stone slamming shut that his heart was trapped behind it as well.

Faramir never married. He was often in Emyn Arnen, enjoying the peaceful silence of Ithilien. He spent most his time in the gardens Legolas built for him, which were of great renown. It was later said that Faramir was plagued by dreams of a life differing from his own. While he never spoke of them to his friends, there was indeed a sadness about him that never fully disappeared. The king often noted it but did not speak of it. He knew of the losses in Faramir's life, and how heavily they weighed on him. He lived a long life, his last words being whispered to the King, who sat besides him in those last moments: "At last my winter may end."

The End

For my sister-may she stop reading in time to do her homework; because there is not enough room on the floor should she flunk out of school.

Okay um, for 'its me-can you guess'- I'm sorry that you dislike the angst, I promise the next story will have little to no angst.