Faramir studied the horizon as he stood on the eastward wall, the chill wind blowing from the North. In spite of his warm raiment and thick cloak, it was cold. Mist lingered in the mountains ahead, and he shivered as the darkness approached. The Captains of the West should have reached the Black Gate by then; who knew what horrors awaited them there? Had the last Kings of Gondor and Rohan gone to their doom?

He dismissed those despairing thoughts, and turned to look at Éowyn. Her hair streamed in the wind like a herald's bright banner, but her face was hard as stone. She trembled beneath the heavy mantle he had brought her. Did she feel it too? The sense that they had come to the end of days?

She twisted her neck and peered up at him, her eyes glinting keenly. "What is it? What troubles you, my lord?"

"Great evil is on the move. I can feel it. But think not evil of me, if I say-"

"Lord Faramir!"

He stopped; the Warden was walking towards him, a hooded stranger following but a few footsteps behind.

"My lord, Lord Elrond of Rivendell wishes to speak with you. He has grievous news for the Lord Elfstone, but since the host has departed he has asked to speak with the Steward of the City."

Faramir dismissed him with a sign, and bowed in greeting to the other man. Few had been the fair folk who had graced Minas Tirith with their presence; only desperate business drove them from their enclaves in Lórien and Rivendell, and their harbors near the Sea. He studied the Elf, seeing anguish in his ageless face but nothing more. "What news do you bring from the North, Lord Elrond?"

"A saddening tale. I had hoped to speak with Lord Aragorn, but I see he has quitted the City. Arwen Undómiel, my daughter and the Lord Aragorn's betrothed, has died."

Éowyn let out an audible gasp, then composed herself. "How?"

"Too many troubles were pressing upon the Lady Arwen: worry for the Lord Aragorn's safety, distress for the pain her marriage would cause her kin, despair for the fate of mortal men. But it was this growing darkness that broke her. She could not survive in a world of such evil."

Faramir shook his head. "Words cannot express the sorrow I feel at her parting. I am sorely grieved. I will tell Lord Aragorn of her passing when the Company returns- if it returns."

The Elf bowed obeisance, and disappeared into the gloom like a wraith on wings. Faramir glanced at Éowyn again, and was surprised to note that she seemed hopeful and even.content. She smiled as she leaned out over the wall. "Distressing, my lord. What will become of us if even elven blood can wane under the Shadow's curse?"

"I know not. The Lord Aragorn will be heart-broken to hear of his betrothed's death."

"Yes," she replied, straining as she glanced about the fields where she had fought days ago. "But hope still remains. Hope that Mordor will be defeated, and good will once again prevail."

"Yes, hope. What do you hope for, lady?"

She looked at him steadily, and her eyes were kind and pitying. She spoke slowly. "That these lands will be free, and that all I have dreamed of will come to be true. If you will excuse me, my lord, I must return to my room."

He remained at the walls some time, long after Éowyn had left, and watched as the light returned and Anduin's waters glistened in the sun's triumphant rays. Joy leapt into his heart, for he knew that the Shadow was gone; but disappointment still lurked, and regret. If Lady Arwen was dead, then Isildur's heir must find a new bride. Who better than the White Lady of Rohan? Beautiful and brave, she was a daughter of queens- perhaps even destined to be one herself.

He stood alone, while the City burst into celebration. He loved her; he had been prepared to tell her, before the Warden interrupted with this misfortune.

Could he see her married to another man?



~*~**~*~



Faramir had witnessed many funerals in his lifetime, but the burial of King Elessar was undoubtedly the most distressing. The Lord Elfstone had not yet reached middle age; who decided that his life should be ended? Was it the will of the Valar, or a vestige of Sauron's evil that dictated that the King should be killed?

Elessar had left two children behind: Anardil, his heir, who was barely ten years of age, and the infant Míriel. His son was not old enough to reign; Faramir must serve as the Ruling Steward until the boy ascended the throne at his majority. But that was in at least ten years time. He had no great desire to govern. Need dictated that he comply with his duty, and he would obey. However much he might dislike the power and authority he would wield.

This was his responsibility. If Aragorn had not taken the crown, he would have still sat in the Citadel as Denethor's heir. It was his right, and his doom, as a descendent of Mardil. His feelings could not alter his heritage in any way.

Faramir glanced up at the White Tower, trying to spot Éowyn as she returned to the only home she had left. Nothing. In the mass of black-clad people lining the walls, it was difficult to pick out even one familiar figure. Her misery was especially piercing, for he knew she felt responsible for her husband's death.

Returning from Lake Evendim in Eriador, she had suggested a route that skirted the River Entwash. The King had disagreed, believing a different course should be taken, but Éowyn was persuasive. Elessar had ridden ahead, to protect his Queen, and had been ambushed by a group of fugitive orcs at the Mering Stream. None of that company had survived.

There had been little love in her marriage. She had wedded the King, wishing for renown. She had found only pity, for Elessar's beloved was gone from mortal lands. Éowyn was merely the second-best, and as her eyes were opened to the truth she withdrew into herself. Her beauty muted, it was like the radiance of the sun had become veiled in mist and confusion. She was not meant for the life she had chosen.

She had realized her mistake: glory can never take the place of sincere affection. But too late. She endured her pain, and tried to maintain a semblance of her old fire. Many had never discerned the troubles in her relationship.

But Faramir had. It was not meant to be this way. She had been his comfort in the Houses of Healing, and he owed his recovery partially to her. He could not forget her, for he was haunted by those hopeless grey eyes that still spoke as keenly as they had eighteen years ago. The ancient tales told of the despair the Three Houses felt towards the fate of men, and he recognized that same emotion in Éowyn's restless gaze.

Two strange voices wrenched his attention back to his surroundings. "Faramir! Ha, look Merry, I win!"

"Pip, you're being impolite."

"Oh, I am dreadfully apologetic, Master Merry the Magnificent. I will now use his proper title. But I still spotted him first."

"That's only because you cheated. I was still paying reverent attention to Strider's funeral. This is a sad time, you know."

"Yes, yes. But you never said we had to wait to start finding him. Lord Faramir! Can't he hear us?"

Faramir fought down a smile as he walked towards the impatient hobbits. "The whole City could hear you, Peregrin Took."

Pippin grinned. "I have a title now. Didn't you hear that Strider-"

"King Elessar," Merry corrected."

"Please excuse my fastidious friend, Lord Faramir. I became the Took and Thain. And Strider made me a Counselor of the North-kingdom. Thus, I am more important than the unfortunate Meriadoc Brandybuck."

Merry made a face. "And you tend to forget the fact that I am also a 'Counselor of the North-kingdom.' As is Sam. That makes us equals, you silly hobbit."

"Was there any particular reason why the Periannath wished to speak with me?"

Pippin nodded. "Of course. I wanted to tell you that little Faramir Took is doing very well. I'm trying to convince Diamond that 'Boromir' will be a lovely name for our next child."

"But you know Diamond will never go along with that," Merry stated. "The only reason Di let you pick Faramir's name was so you'd finally stop gabbing about your adventures in Gondor. I know from a highly reliable source that she wants to name the baby after her father."

"What? I'm not having a son named Mungo! 'Tis madness."

Faramir shook his head. "Thank you for the intriguing halfling news. Anything of greater importance that you wanted to speak with me of?"

"Um.yes," Merry said sheepishly. "Pip and I were wondering if we could go visit the Queen Éowyn. We thought we'd cheer her up. And besides, I wanted to see baby Míriel again. Is that acceptable?"

"I believe so. She has returned to the Citadel with Anardil, so you will find her there."

Pippin's expression turned grave. "Thank you. I still can't believe Strider's gone, though. I mean."

Merry elbowed him. "Let's get going. Thank you for your time, Lord Faramir. We will now undertake a valiant mission to make Queen Nimhíril temporarily happy. And hopefully, we shall succeed."

Faramir tried not to laugh as their small figures retreated out of his vision. Halflings were certainly odd creatures. But at least they had lifted his mood, if only for a few minutes.
tbc