A/N: Thanks for the kind review. Yes, Belecthor had 75 men at the Black Gate and it was then reduced to 35 men.

Folcwine awoke in a strange room. He looked around and saw no one in the room until a woman appeared at the doorway. "You're awake!" screamed the woman as she rushed to over to him. "Rian!" he gasped, finally recognizing his wife. "How did you get here? Where are-"

Just then Freawine and Deor ran into the room screaming and flailing their arms about. They leapt onto his bed and embraced him tightly. They pulled on his long hair as they had often enjoyed doing back at the farm. Rian spoke once more:

"My husband, I grew worried. From the first day since you rode forth I had looked for your return, but after days and days of waiting I could wait no longer, I grabbed the boys and made for Minas Tirith.

It took me over a week to arrive with the boys constantly begging for a rest. When I arrived at the City I begged them to let me in yet they refused me constantly until a man approached me and asked me who I was. I said: 'I am Rian wife of Folcwine son of Guthlaf.' At the mention of your name he brightened and said 'I know your husband. He aided in the rescue of our city and saved my life on the field of Gondor. He is sorely hurt however. He lies still in the Houses of Healing. Come. I shall vouch for you.'"

"Belecthor aided you?" asked Folcwine

"Yes, husband," replied his wife, "He told me he had been sitting constantly by your bedside in desperation pleading for you to wake up. You have been asleep for well nigh two months, husband. What do you remember?"

"I remember being cut down, then Belecthor rushed over to me, then he fell over, then I was helped up. Rian, the Dark Tower is no more! We no longer have to live in its shadow! I saw it fall! It is no more!"

"Yes it is no more," came a new voice.

"Lord Eomer," gasped Rian, "Why are you here?"

"Is that the kind of question you always ask your rulers?" Eomer asked chuckling.

"No, lord, it's just that I never guessed that you of all people would care about one soldier from the Westfold."

"I would agree, save that Folcwine is no ordinary soldier. He is a hero, good wife. He saved the life of my esquire and myself on the field of Gondor, he saved the life of Belecthor son of Vorondil Captain of Gondor, led one of the battalions in the retaking of Osgiliath, alerted the King Elessar to peril in front of the Black Gate, and has fought valiantly throughout. Therefore, Folcwine, son of Guthlaf, soldier of the Westfold, I bequeath to thee the spear of Grimbold, son of Frealaf commander of the Western Eored. I do also make thee Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Are you able to rise?"

"Lord, I am but wearing a simple gown," Folcwine replied.

"Are you able to rise?" Eomer repeated.

"Yes, lord," said Folcwine.

"Then rise and receive your spear, Third Marshal."

Folcwine was still trying to absorb the news that he would be replacing Grimbold as commander, but when Rian ushered the boys off of the bed and she stepped aside Folcwine with an effort he got out of bed, stood to his full 5'11" inches, and received the spear from his King.

"Now, Marshal, you should be ready: the coronation of the King of Gondor is but three days hence and you are to be in the front of your men."

"Three days?" gasped Folcwine.

"Yes, three days," said Eomer and he went over the positions Folcwine and his men would be stationed in, but Folcwine was not listening, for his eyes strayed to the doorway of his room, where a man stood with his arm propped on the doorpost. He smiled a weary smile and Folcwine smiled back at Belecthor son of Vorondil, Captain of Gondor.

3 days later...

Belecthor was stationed next to Folcwine's eored. He was positioned towards the rear and despite his height was not able to view much and he could barely see the King. His own family and Folcwine's family were positioned behind the 1st Company of the Men of Minas Tirith.

He was elated when Folcwine awoke. He had spent the past three days besides organizing his company for the grand ceremony talking to Folcwine and introducing their families to each other. Fortunately Rian and Hathaldia had connected amazingly well, better than both men could have hoped. Their children had also befriended each other. Belecthor's one remaining son, Calimehtar had treated Freawine and Deor as his own brothers and even Belecthor's teenaged daughters, Nienna and Luthien swiftly embraced the young Rohirrim boys as one of their own, but it was the two deceased sons who concerned him now. How he missed Aratan and Ondoher! Almost every day, he expected them to come striding into the room he was he in and he would know that his sons' heads falling near him had all been a hideous dream.

He also thought of his father, old Vorondil, who had been laid in his barrow five years before. Vorondil always told him tales of the Old Kings and all he could remember at the ceremony were his father's words. Vorondil had said that after Elendil had crowned his two sons, Isildur and Anarion, the first thing he said after crowning them was: "Now come the days of the Kings and may they be blessed." Then the men stood together and each delivered an address to the enthusiastic crowd.

Belecthor watched the ceremony unfold and it took place as his father had said with Mithrandir placing the crown on the King's head and delivering the blessing, Belecthor then heard the King deliver an address, which Belecthor thought little of. He was more concerned with the King's words after the address. Belecthor swore afterwards that he sounded just like Belecthor's own father:

"Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!"

Belecthor was moved to tears, despite his best efforts to hold them back in front of his men. He looked behind them and saw that his men were weeping profusely. The King then walked down the road with his guard and nodded at Belecthor and saluted Folcwine.

Folcwine was happy for Belecthor, though not nearly as moved for in his country Kings had been crowned since the days of his forefathers, however he did feel a certain sense of awe at the man who lead them to victory.

He saw the King stride down the walkway and after greeting his elvish friend each man beheld the most beautiful woman either men had ever seen. They stood in awe at the lady who could only be the Queen of Men and laughed out loud when the King kissed her.

The King now approached the Halflings and they bowed. "Good," Belecthor, "They know how to treat the King of Men with due respect." But he was shocked when the King proclaimed, "My friends, you bow to no one." And he bowed low to the little people.

Belecthor, seeing the King himself bowing low to the Halflings could not help but bow low himself. He looked to the side and saw his friend Folcwine kneel, but he could the hardness of the man's jaw and knew that it was due to great physical effort on his part that he was even able to bow. Belecthor was even more moved by this display of strength on the part of the young Rohirrim than he was even with his valour in battle. He was now weeping again, yet it was not an uncommon sight on that plaza for the occasion was such that tears and cheers flowed like water and grief was mingled with joyfulness.

Two months passed and it was the gladdest of both men's lives. Their families lived together in the same house for that time and Folcwine was restored to full health and strength save for a severe limp, which he would carry for the rest of his life, yet the sad day finally came for them to say farewell for Eomer King and the Riders of Rohan and a great party of the folk of Gondor were leaving for Edoras. Belecthor was not able to travel with the great however for he had received orders from the King Elessar to supervise the rebuilding of Osgiliath. Folcwine and Rian were devastated when they heard the news. They had looked forward to Belecthor and Hathaldia's company along the way. Rian, Hathaldia, and the children said their farewells, Rian, Freawine, and Deor said farewell to Belecthor and rode out of the city to join the other riders.

The two men walked to the gate of Gondor where Fleetfoot awaited them. As Folcwine was about to mount the horse, Belecthor caught him by the arm. "This is the gate you saved," he rasped.

Folcwine smiled. "This is also the gate you held," he replied.

"If you had not come, Folcwine with your people, my strength would have been in vain. Tell me, Folcwine: Does it ever end?"

Folcwine appeared puzzled. "How so? Our friendship?"

"No," Belecthor answered, "This time, this war, are you not going to miss it?"

"I understand what you mean: It was an awful time, but courage and sacrifice shone through as never before in the history of Middle Earth. Yes, I shall miss it."

"As will I. So, will you ever ride here again with your family? You, Rian, and the lads would be most welcome."

"I think so, if you will come to the Westfold, good Captain."

"It is done, then. Farewell, friend."

Folcwine clasped Belecthor's arm, but Belecthor released it and wrapped his arms around the Rohirrim in a tearful embrace. They had endured more together in 2 months than most men would ever have to endure in a lifetime. The two men released each other and Folcwine rode out of the city, to his family and now to Edoras.

5 months after Folcwine had left his tiny Westfold farm for peril and battle on the field of Gondor, he found himself slowly trotting Fleetfoot with faithful Rian by his side down the path to that same Westfold farm. It was the same old faithful farmhouse, yet he was not the same man. He had lost his best friend, gained a new friend, had seen more death and destruction than even the slaughter at the Hornburg would have allowed him to have believed, had endured three painful wounds, and had come away with a promotion. It seemed almost obscene to be riding back to his farm in peace when so many other men who should have also been riding back to their homes had lost their lives on fields far from their homes, yet he had gained something from this conflict. He knew in his heart of hearts that he done the right thing in riding to the aid of Gondor. He no longer thought of them as a nation of braggarts. He saw them for they were as sharing a common humanity that transcended petty rivalries and personality conflicts. "No," he thought, "I am not the same Folcwine who rode away months before." Then he heard Rian's voice calling him to go to the market and inquire as to their livestock she had left at the market. "Yet perhaps in some ways I am the same Folcwine," he thought as he removed the garb of 3rd Marshall of the Riddermark and rode down to the marketplace.

Belecthor was exasperated. He had been tasked with supervising the reconstruction of Osgiliath, but the Dome of the Citadel of the Star has caved in. Belecthor was bellowing and shouting at the top of his lungs, when he heard a voice he had never expected to hear this side of the world again:

"Did I not say, Belecthor: 'We shall meet again in Osgiliath.'"

Belecthor was as shocked as though the Dome itself had collapsed over his head and he was recovering from the blow. He slowly turned around and saw the smiling face of his old friend, Faramir, now clad in the shining armour of a prince and with one of the most beautiful of women at his side.

"Fara- you- I saw-"he sputtered.

"Do you not remember the old rhyme: 'The hands of the King are the hands of a healer.'"

"The King healed you?"

"Truly."

Belecthor threw his arms around the man. "He truly is the renewer. Faramir, forgive me for my bitter words before you rode away."

"Ah, Belecthor, it is I who should ask forgiveness from you. I am truly sorry about Aratan."

"He died defending the White Tower and fighting for his Lord and Steward. I could ask for no better death."

Faramir paused and the two men looked around silently. They both knew that much loss and sacrifice had taken place in this city. It was Belecthor who finally broke the silence.

"I have been rude, my lord. Who is this flower who stands before me?"

"She is my wife, the Lady Eowyn of Ithilien."

"The Lady of the Shield-arm is known in Gondor," Belecthor gasped falling to his knees and kissing the woman's hand. "Thank you," he said thickly.

He got up and saw tears in the Lady's eyes. "Thank you, good Captain," she replied then she smiled. "You are an old flatterer as well as a valiant captain."

"Trust me, Eowyn," said Faramir; "This man could be a merchant if he were not governor of Osgiliath."

"Now you are jesting with me," said Belecthor. "Governor of this ruin?"

"But the King Elessar believes it will once more be a thriving city, a jewel of his realm and he wishes."

"I am a governor?"

"If you will accept it."

"So long as I may return to my home in Emyn Arnen."

"Of course, Belecthor. Emyn Arnen is but a few miles away. You may come and go as you please, governor. I say this as Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. You will be the fourth most powerful man in the Kingdom of Gondor. Only I, the Prince Imrahil, and the King himself will be more powerful than thou. Now, Belecthor, Eowyn and I wished to find to find some summer homes here."

" Then you have a governor, lord and lord, if I may say in the new Osgiliath there will be more summer homes than you can imagine."

And with that the Steward of Gondor, Lady of Ithilien, and Governor of Osgiliath walked into the new city and a new age.

THE END