For two days, Aragorn and the others rode the path to Minas Tirith, passing the time by watching out for Orcs and trying to figure out how best to explain their unique adventure.

During the first day's ride, Aragorn had kept a close eye on Faramir, who spent the journey in a deep sleep, perched before Eomer on the Rohan King's sturdy mount. He seemed to be gaining strength, and although he was still pale and slightly feverish, there was no longer any fear that he would not survive to fully recover in the Houses of Healing. Still, Aragorn knew he would not fully relax until the Steward opened his eyes once more.

At sunset, they camped near the southern border of Emyn Arnen on the eve before returning home, in a large bare clearing in the foothills of the mountains. Faramir was situated much as before, and as Aragorn knelt beside him to ascertain his health, the King was pleased to see the younger man stir slightly, take a deep breath, and open his eyes.

After blinking blearily for a moment, Faramir focused on Aragorn and gave him a drowsy smile. "Good evening, my King," he murmured. "Did the first part of the journey home pass well? I seem to have missed it."

Aragorn grinned as he carefully opened Faramir's shirt and lifted the bandage. "Very well, even better since you are still with us," he replied. After inspecting the wound, he nodded and replaced the cloth. "The cut is healing well; one more dose of athelas, I believe, and the healers in the City will be able to do the rest. How do you feel?"

Faramir rubbed his eyes, then braced himself on his elbows and slowly drew himself into a half-raised position. His eyes were still circled, and the color had not entirely returned to his face, but there was no sweat on his skin, and the groggy aspect had now completely left his expression.

"Much better, I think," was his answer as he looked around, his voice gaining strength. "I feel as if I've had about enough sleep to last the rest of my life, and I'm famished."

The King's smile grew wider at the return of Faramir's appetite. "I'm afraid you have at least one more night of sleep before we return home tomorrow," he said. "As for food, Legolas and Eomer have caught some game, and are preparing it now."

Faramir turned his gaze back to his sovereign, pleased. "After a week of lembas, a good hearty meal of game sounds wonderful," he confessed, sitting up further and shaking out his long red-blonde hair. "They are excellent food, but I believe the Elves may be better able to live on it for long stretches than we mortals."

He sat silent for a moment apparently lost in thought, studying the Elves as they set up the camp and prepared the meal some distance away. At length, he drew a deep breath, looked back at Aragorn, and said softly, "I know Boromir has gone."

A flicker of sadness glinted across Aragorn's light eyes. "I wondered if he would somehow make that known to you," he said in a solemn tone.

Faramir nodded and crossed his arms over his knees. "He came to me while I was dreaming," he explained, before a bit of a smile crossed his face. "It wasn't the best dream he could have interrupted, but I have no regret that he did so. He has gone back to the Spirit Realm to stay, so it seems we shall see him no more here in the living world."

His King sat on a rock close by and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. "So it would appear," he stated with regret, "but he must know that his assistance will not be unappreciated or forgotten. I shall make a point of it in my report on this matter myself, and present it to the Council." A grin pulled at his lips. "It should be a very interesting meeting, for a change."

Faramir laughed, although not with his normal vigor. "I will be very curious to see their reaction to our adventures," he remarked. "Great mud flats, days of pouring rain, ghosts, the Elves and the Dead Army turning up - all four of them, I mean - I fear we will have some difficulty convincing them we have not simply camped out here the whole time, drinking wine and concocting the entire story."

Aragorn stood, a confident look on his face. "They will believe us when we retrieve those piles of stolen armor and weapons," he said. "As for Boromir and the Dead - that, they will simply have to take our word for."

He gave Faramir a firm pat on the shoulder and rose, walking over to where the fires were going for the meal.

Faramir yawned and slowly pulled himself from the tangling blankets, happy to be able to move, however cautiously. He felt a great desire to walk about a bit, to stretch his stiff limbs and get his blood moving once more. Casting his eyes about, he was relieved to see his pack deposited nearby, very mudstained and somewhat wilted but still intact. He knelt next to it and pulled back the flap, reaching in with the hopes of finding the small sheaf of parchment, ink and pen he liked to carry on such trips. If they had survived, he wanted to write down as much as he could remember, for the record, and for himself.

As his fingers searched the contents, he felt them strike something small and cold, made of metal, an object he knew he had not packed. Frowning, he closed his hand around the item and withdrew it, wondering if it was something left over from a previous journey. But he was sure the pack had been empty when he had started filling it the week before...

His hand was out now, and he opened it. Resting in his palm was a small, beautiful brooch, cast in the graceful shape of a mallorn leaf and edged with silver. Faramir stared at it, bewildered; he had seen such pins before, clasped at the throats of the Elvish cloaks that Pippin, Aragorn and the other members of the Fellowship had received from the Lady Galadriel in Lothlorien.

And he might have thought this brooch belonged to one of them, and had somehow made its way into his pack, but for the faint greenish glow that danced and shimmered along its shining form.

Faramir smiled to himself, amazed and grateful. Had Boromir been wearing his brooch when they parted in his dream? He had not even noticed, but this could have appeared in his pack at any time. It was a proof of what they had seen, and a promise of what was now hidden, but existed still.

He gripped the token in his hand, bringing it up to his lips for a moment and closing his eyes in a silent farewell before carefully placing it back in his pack. As he resumed his search for the parchment, he could not help glancing at the small brooch glowing at the bottom of the bag, his mind flying back over the amazing adventure just past.

//Do you think that will convince them of all you have seen, brother?//

No doubt the voice of his brother in his ear was merely a vestige of his recent dreaming state, but Faramir grinned privately nonetheless, amused at the mischievous tone in Boromir's words.

"It just might, brother," he whispered to the wind, and whatever else may have been hovering there, "it just might."



"I am most pleased you were able to join me, Arwen. Mending these clothes Faramir and I are donating to the Houses would have been a tedious chore all by myself."

Eowyn's voice floated lightly over the warm evening air as she sat among the flowers of the gardens outside the Houses of Healing, her nimble hands busy with the torn shirt in her lap. Across from her, an intricate needlework in her own slender hands, sat an Elf woman with flowing brown hair and bright eyes, stunning in her beauty despite the plain emerald everyday gown she wore.

"I was quite glad to receive the invitation," was Arwen's pleasant reply, delivered in the melodious tones of her kind as she skillfully plied her needle. "Aragorn and I see so little of you and Faramir any more, and as soon as you both arrive, Aragorn whisks your husband off on another mission. It would be wonderful if our visits were more talking and less going off and killing Orcs."

Eowyn sighed as she held up the shirt in her lap, studying her stitches. "They will be, once the Orcs cooperate," she muttered. "And as concerned as I am for Faramir, I think he was rather looking forward to getting away from administrative duties for a while. I am sure there are times when dealing with Orcs is easier than dealing with some of our more stubborn Council members!"

The Queen laughed and nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I know Aragorn feels the same," Arwen said in agreement, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow on her dark hair. "I believe there are still times when he would far prefer his old life as a Ranger to that of a King, despite the fact that he was born to the role. He may feel more at ease now that he's had a chance to revisit his former adventuring ways."

Eowyn dropped the mended shirt into one basket and fished a long skirt out of another. "If this land they've gone to is as muddy and miserable as I've heard, he may never want to leave Minas Tirith for the wilds again," she remarked, straightening and spreading the garment out before her. "I wonder if Legolas found them?"

Arwen shrugged gracefully, her attention focused on the silk thread in her needle that had just knotted up. "He is an excellent tracker, so I'm sure he will find them," she answered, her slim fingers working on the tangle. "On the other hand, he did get lost on the sixth level for an entire afternoon last month, and missed a Council meeting."

The other woman smiled and shook her head. "Yes, and then we found him and Gimli half passed out at the Silver Tankard," she recalled. "Gimli kept saying he found him, but I'm wondering if he ever really got lost in the first place, or if they simply didn't want to-"

Her words were interrupted by a series of melodious notes sounding from the silver horns atop the White Tower. At this, both women sat up and stared at each other with wide eyes.

Eowyn gasped. "They're back!"

Abandoning their sewing, the two women hurried to the edge of the low garden wall. From there they could view all the way down to the great courtyard of the City's first level, and out across the Pelennor Fields to the shining Anduin River and the mighty mountains of the Ephel Duath looming over the horizon.

Across the fields now came a large group of riders, most of them unmistakably Elven. Hurriedly the woman and Elf searched the group, silently praying, their hearts pounding with nameless dread should they not find the ones they sought.

"There is Faramir!" cried Arwen, smiling. "He rides next to your brother, if I am not mistaken, and Aragorn is by your brother's side with Legolas behind. They are safe!"

Eowyn exhaled quickly, relief sweeping across her beautiful features. Below them the Great Gate swung open, and even from their distance they heard the sharp clatter of hooves as the many horses trotted onto the stone floor of the courtyard.

"Shall we go down to meet them?" asked Eowyn as she leaned forward to observe Faramir, Aragorn and Eomer enter the square. "I am sure...they..."

Her voice trailed off, a frown forming on her brow, as she saw Aragorn, her brother, and her husband leave the main group of riders and travel through the courtyard below without even pausing, taking the city's main road to the upper levels.

Arwen witnessed the same event, and was bewildered as well. "Perhaps they are going straight to the palace?"

Eowyn seemed less than persuaded. "Without even pausing to rest their horses?"

Behind them in the Houses, a stir seemed to be brewing, and they became aware of several raised voices and the fall of hurried footsteps. Now truly concerned, they gathered their skirts and made their way swiftly to the doorway. before they could enter, however, they were met by one of the Elven warriors, breathing hard, his brow beaded with sweat.

Arwen stopped, surprised. "Adanoth? What news do you have?"

The Elf bowed low, his long blonde hair falling in windswept waves across his shoulders. "My Queen, and my Lady," he said, once he was able to speak, "I bear a message from the King. He begs you and My Lady to wait here, for he, the Prince Faramir and the King Eomer will be arriving as swiftly as their mounts can carry them."

"Arriving...here?" replied Eowyn, not at all liking the sound of that. But they had all seemed fine, from what she could see from their high perch. "Has there been an injury?"

"Make way for the King!"

This shout came from the main courtyard entrance to the Houses, and only Adanoth's admirable skills in getting out of the way prevented him from being trampled as Eowyn and Arwen rushed through the doorway. Quickly they ran across the large empty columned foyer, through the front door of the Houses, and into the main courtyard.

There they found Eomer, Aragorn, and Faramir, all covered with the dust and wear of heavy travel, and Legolas, who looked as impeccable as if he had just been prepared for a royal function. All questions died on the lips of the two women as they beheld the scene before them: Eomer and Aragorn were on the ground, carefully easing a very pale and sweaty Faramir from his horse.

"Faramir!" gasped Eowyn, drawing closer as she realized at once that something was wrong. The Steward, however, merely gave her a wide smile, and as soon as he was standing, he reached out and wordlessly gathered her into his arms.

"You don't know how good it is to see you," he whispered to her, holding her close.

She took him eagerly into her embrace as well, grateful that she could hold him once again, but her happiness was held in check by the alarm growing in her heart. Faramir was trembling slightly beneath her arms, his skin felt too warm against her cheek, his long hair was dark with sweat, and as strong as his grasp on her was, he was not holding her with his usual vigor.

She tried to look discretely to Aragorn for some answer, but he was occupied greeting his own wife, and Eomer was explaining something very rapidly to three of the House attendants. Their expressions did nothing to alleviate her worry.

Eowyn pursed her lips. "I missed you as well, my love, too much to say," she murmured softly, caressing his damp hair, "but tell me-what is amiss? Have you been wounded?"

They separated, and Eowyn's heart froze at the sight of how pale her husband truly was. He took her hands, still smiling, but all she could feel was how cold his own hands were.

"It is nothing, truly," he said in what would have been a reassuring tone were it not so faint. "Let us go inside and we will reveal all."

Eowyn's blue eyes were huge as she studied him. "How can you call it nothing, when you are as white as winter's snow?" she asked. "And-and what is this?"

Her fingers brushed a curious leaf-shaped pin attached to Faramir's shirt. She had seen others like it, worn by Aragorn for one, but this one had an odd green glow to it that seemed to wink at her beneath her touch.

Faramir sighed, his expression growing soft as he held her hands once more. "Come with me, and you'll know," he repeated quietly. "It is a fairly remarkable tale, one I might not have believed myself did I not live through it."

Still holding her hand, he led her into the Houses. Eomer stepped beside her; she turned to him, embraced him fondly with her one free arm, but her blue eyes were full of questions as well as relief as she studied her brother's face. He gave her a nod, signifying that all would be answered in time, and put his own arm around her shoulder, gently guiding her into the stately building.

She followed in silence, consumed with curiosity and entertaining the notion that her husband and the others had found more in the mud-soaked regions of the south than just Orcs.


The warm summer air crept softly into the Steward's chambers as yet another evening fell over Minas Tirith. The sun had set some time before, the sky now turning from purple-pink to a deeper shade of blue. Here and there, stars were winking into view in the apex of the heavens, promising a beautiful June night for those desiring to venture out into it.

At this time, however, Faramir was perfectly content to soak in his hot bath and quietly converse with his wife.

It had been just that afternoon that he had finally been released from the Houses of Healing, after spending five days under the watchful care of Aragorn and the healers. It had taken some time and skill to discover the best way to counter the lingering effects of the poison; the athelas had lessened the fever and weakness, but the taint of the Orc's blade had remained. At length, the best course of treatment had been determined, and after the ingesting of much medicine and a great deal of sound sleep, it was at last declared that Faramir could return to his chambers and his wife to complete his recovery.

He sighed to himself as he relaxed, sliding down a little into the ornate copper bathtub, the steam rising around him. It felt terribly good to be in their own rooms once more, with Eowyn by his side, no longer merely a wishful dream. He still felt sore and somewhat weak, and he knew he remained a bit pale and that the dark circles under his eyes would take more rest and several hearty meals to fade entirely. Yet none of that mattered now; they had accomplished their task and come back safely, and now he was home, with the woman he loved, and in possession of some truly extraordinary memories.

While he soaked, Eowyn sat behind him on a stool at the head of the tub, clad in a plain dress, her hair loosely done up and now falling in tendrils around her face from the humidity of the bathing chamber. Her face was wreathed in an expression of concentration as she worked to massage some of the tenseness from Faramir's shoulders. Upon a small table at her elbow sat a few vials of oil and a cloth, and she alternated between pouring some of the scented oil into her palms and carefully kneading it into Faramir's skin.

"Try not to slide too far down," she advised with a smile as her skilled hands plied the oil into his skin. "I've barely made any progress at all just yet. It must have been an arduous adventure indeed, to knot you up so much."

He sat up a bit straighter. "My apologies," he offered. "If it means remaining beneath your talented touch, I promise I shall move not another inch." He relaxed against the back of the tub, draping his arms along the sides and closing his eyes. "They've taught you this art well at the Houses, it feels wonderful!"

"Hmm," she murmured, sliding her slickened hands back and forth between his neck and shoulders, gently but firmly pressing her fingers into his flesh. "I had hoped you would find it soothing. When Eomer told me of all you three went through, I decided you deserved at least a nice relaxing bath."

Faramir sighed. "Perhaps it will give me the strength to remember everything that happened so I can arrange it in proper order for the Council. They will find it all somewhat fantastic, I'm sure."

Eowyn was concentrating on the muscles at the base of Faramir's neck, working around his long damp curls. "Well, I did as you asked, and had Eomer write down all he could," she said, before sitting back and pouring some more of the scented oil into her palms. "Between his notes, and Aragorn's report, I'm certain they'll find it satisfactory, if most unusual."

"Yes," Faramir murmured as she resumed massaging his neck. He had leaned forward a little to make her task easier, his eyes open now. As he sat, his eyes fell on his dressing table in the adjoining bedchamber, and on the small leaf-shaped pin that lay there, quietly glowing in the gentle gloom.

"It all still seems like a dream," he said softly, not moving, his eyes fixed on the brooch. "Had I ever imagined I would meet Boromir again, I would have thought myself mad."

Eowyn had slowed her kneading motion as the massage drew to its close. "I do wish he might have come here, just for a time, " she said with a sigh. "I would have liked to have spoken to him, and it would have done his heart such good to see his city at peace and thriving once more."

Her right hand had been sliding along Faramir's shoulder; now Faramir reached up and gently grasped it, holding it as his expression softened, his gaze still on the ghostly pin. "I believe somehow he has seen it," he said in a hushed tone, as Eowyn slid her hand more firmly into his, her other hand caressing his shoulder. "And as dearly as he wanted to come home, and greet you as my wife, he knew it was best that he return to the realm of the Dead."

Faramir fell silent, his expression somber. After a moment, Eowyn leaned forward, wrapping her free arm around her husband's bare chest and holding him close.

"I am sorry, my love," she whispered. "You have had to bear losing him twice."

He said nothing for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"I cannot call it a loss, now, precisely," he said quietly in reply. "We are parted, 'tis true, but if you could have seen him as I did, before he left me..." His voice faded, and he sighed. "Through all of our adult lives, I cannot recall ever seeing my brother truly at peace. There was far too much for him to bear, between the war, and Mordor, and Father. There were happy times, but he always had those dark burdens at the back of his mind."

He nestled his head against the hollow of her neck. "But I have seen that he knows peace now, such that we can scarcely imagine. It will always pain me to be parted from him, but it is a gentle pain, for I know that he dwells in the everlasting light of Illuvatar. And it is not forever."

Faramir thought for a few moments more, then looked up at her and smiled a little, squeezing her hand.

She returned the expression. "That is a comforting thought indeed, my love," said Eowyn. "And I am grateful beyond words that you were both allowed to meet again, however briefly. Among other things, I will be most interested to see if what he told Eomer will soon be true."

Faramir gave her hand one more squeeze before releasing it and sitting up in the tub, at the same moment that his wife straightened and unwrapped her arms from around his chest. "About the baby?" he inquired, shifting his weight in the hot water with a small amount of splashing. "Well, Eomer should be back in Edoras by now, so if there is news, we will hear of it shortly. But Boromir was not specific; the child may not arrive for some time." He yawned. "We shall simply have to be patient and see. There is certainly plenty to do in the meantime."

Eowyn studied his drooping eyelids and smiled, reaching behind her for a white towel that lay nearby. "I believe it is time to end your bath for tonight, or else you will not have the strength to do much of anything, I fear," she observed, turning to him with towel in hand. "Your brother may not have worried about being precise, but the instructions the healers gave us were very detailed indeed."

Her husband groaned slightly, rubbing his face with his wet hands, then relented, allowing her to help him as he slowly climbed out of the hot water.

"This has certainly been a most extraordinary few weeks," mused Faramir as he carefully dried himself, with Eowyn's assistance. "Council meetings and paperwork are going to seem very dull after all this."

Eowyn sighed as she handed him his underclothes and long white linen nightshirt. "Alas, we should cherish it while it lasts," she said. "I'm sure the Orcs have not finished giving us trouble."

"That is too much the truth, my wife," replied Faramir in agreement as she helped drape the long nightshirt over his body. Once the garment had been smoothed into place, Faramir shook out his long damp hair, then put his arm around Eowyn and drew her close as they slowly walked to the bedchamber.

"Rest assured that I do intend to cherish it, every boring, tedious, peaceful moment," he continued as they moved along. "Tonight, I want for nothing. We have all returned safe to our homes; the Orcs are defeated and our goods reclaimed; my health is returning, thanks to you and our King; I am warm and, thank the Valar, dry; and I may anticipate a good restful night in our own bed, with you in my arms."

They had reached the threshold of their bedchamber. Here, Faramir stepped away and took Eowyn's hands in his own, peering earnestly into her blue eyes.

"And," he continued with some firmness, "if any messenger from the King dares knock on our door, I have resolved *not* to answer it!"

Eowyn laughed a little. "I'm sure Aragorn would understand," she said, and kissed him. "Now get to your rest, before one of the healers comes by and scolds me for keeping you awake."

A small huff of a sigh escaped Faramir's lips as he climbed into the large, soft bed. "You'd think from their talk that I did not just spend practically a whole week abed," he muttered, settling himself beneath the feather-stuffed comforter.

"This won't be for long," Eowyn assured him as she kissed his brow. "Tomorrow you will be buried beneath the business of the realm once more, and wondering where the time for rest went. I'm going to help clear away the bath, and then I will be in."

His lip twitched. "I'll probably still be awake," he remarked. "I've slept so much the past few days, I'm not sure how I will fare tonight, even with the bath and your wonderful massage."

She straightened, put out the lamp on the table by the bed, and smiled. "Just close your eyes," she suggested. "It may not be as difficult as you imagine. I'll be back soon."

Faramir watched her silhouette move through the lit doorway, then vanish as she pulled the door closed. With a sigh, he obeyed her and closed his eyes, hoping that he could still rest properly even after so many days when he had done little else.

In the next moment, it seemed, he opened his eyes to a room that was much darker. The night sky outside was speckled with many stars, signifying that some time had passed, and he realized that Eowyn was lying beside him, her head reclining on his shoulder, one arm wrapped loosely across his chest in an almost protective pose.

He blinked and stirred, not wanting to wake her but surprised at how quickly and soundly he had dropped off.

"I'm sorry," he heard his wife whisper, and turning his head he could see her regarding him, her eyes glittering in the gloom. "I tried not to wake you."

He shook his head and eased his arms around her. "It's no matter," he assured her. "I can hardly complain if it means I may see you upon awakening, and may go back to sleep with you in my arms." He gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. "I have missed you, my Lady."

"And I, you," she answered, kissing him back. "But I am sure you have guessed that already."

He smiled at her. "The possibility had crossed my mind."

"Good," she said, returning his smile and resting her head once more upon his chest. Silence fell in the room, and soon Faramir realized that his wife had drifted off.

Faramir held her in his arms as he began to slowly slip back into slumber. Soon he would resume his duties, and there would be more paperwork and Council meetings, and at some point there would likely be another threat to the safety of Gondor, and he would have to pick up the sword once more and leave Eowyn's side to secure their home, not knowing if he would return to her arms at the end.

But tonight...tonight, he was with her, and his heart swelled with gratitude that no matter what else, this had been given to them. He drank in the peace of the moment, willing its memory to his heart, to carry him through whatever lay ahead.

As he was thinking this, Eowyn stirred in his embrace, tossing slightly n her sleep. When she came back to rest, her face was to the sky, her golden hair falling away from her fair throat.

Faramir studied his sleeping wife for several long moments, marveling at her beauty and how he had been blessed with her. Them very carefully bending his head down a little so as not to wake her, he kissed Eowyn very gently, just below her ear on the soft skin of her neck.

As he had hoped, she did not come to awareness, but in the dim moonlight he did see her smile in her sleep.

Smiling himself, and saying a silent word of thanks to his brother in his heart, Faramir held Eowyn closely in his arms, resolving to practice that kiss upon her when she was awake at the next possible opportunity.

With this pleasant thought in mind, Faramir fell into a sound slumber, to dreams full of love, peace, happiness, and not one single speck of mud.

THE END

Thanks to de_lurker for her great idea of Faramir's oil massage!

Thanks for reading! Reviews are most welcome and appreciated!

Sue :)