DISCLAIMER: All things LOTR belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm just attempting to wax lyrical with them.

Wow. What a response to the last chapter! You guys are fabulous; thank you for sticking with this, it means a lot.

Morithil.

VIII

"The surest thing there is we are riders,

And though none too successful at it, guiders,

Through everything presented, land and tide

And now the very air, of what we ride.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth

But being mounted bareback on the earth?

We can just see the infant up astride,

His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

There is our wildest mount--a headless horse.

But though it runs unbridled off its course,

And all our blandishments would seem defied,

We have ideas yet that we haven't tried."

Robert Frost, Riders

The sun was warmer this morning when we set off again, crossing the plains in the yellow panes of light. I was a little saddened, and frustrated, but something in the comfortable, if a little tense silence that we shared for much of the morning's ride gave me hope.

When I looked out of the corner of my eye at him, something which I did continuously for the first few hours of riding, I could not help but smile, because to see this man riding, his hair caressed by the breeze, his eyes glittering in the light, the kindness in his face, is truly something beautiful.

Faramir is my husband. My husband. I say the words to myself often, and have done ever since we were brought together, but still they ring in my ears with the clear joy that they first did after we were married. Whatever conflict came between us this morning, it will be resolved today, of that I made sure, swearing a silent pact with myself that did I not try my utmost to heal this wound once and for all, then -

Then I was not the person I thought I was, and I think myself a determined woman. Some would say stubborn, not least among them my own brother, who grew amusingly agitated when I tried to straighten his robes before his formal coronation.

"Helm's Deep, Eowyn; you are my sister, not my wife. If you are to fuss over any man's clothing, let it be your betrothed's, not mine!"

My brother is easily annoyed by what he calls, "the fussing of women, like so many hens in a coop", but I think he may meet his match in the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Her name is Lothiriel, and for all his silence on the matter, I think the calm grey-eyed lady he but heard of a few times during the celebrations in Gondor would face off easily against his quick temper.

He falls quiet and snaps at me when I mention her name. A sign of things to come, perhaps? Perhaps he knows, somewhere in his heart of hearts, that one day the king of Rohan will be in want, as well as need, of a wife.

But as I said, I am determined now to aid Faramir, whether he appears to want my assistance or not. This is the Eowyn I feared I had lost before the battle of the Pelennor Fields, the adamant, decisive lady who would fight for everything she holds dear to her. My bout of sword fighting this morning was not out of desperation, on the contrary, it was an exorcism of all the pent-up emotion inside me. The Rohirrim may not be known for expressing themselves with words, but a half hour with a blade and all such stresses are relieved from our systems.

My mind is calmed now. I know what, and how I am to do.

When we stopped to rest and eat, I took the opportunity of Faramir's occupation with his horse's reins to slip up behind him and embrace him as I have wanted to since his dreams became more vivid and disturbing. He was a little startled by the embrace, but when my arms wound under his and around his waist he stopped attending to his horse and held my hands, clasped round his firm stomach with his. We stood thus for some time, with nothing but the occasional flick of a horse's tail interrupting the formation of our joined silhouette in the grass. I bent my head to his shoulder and bestowed a kiss through his tunic as an afterthought, to which he raised an arm, and reaching behind himself, cradled my head gently against his neck, stroking the tendrils of hair that escaped my hasty knot. His other index finger drew soothing circles on the hands linked around him.

Sometimes words are not necessary. I feel we say more when we stand thus, in loving quiet, but words are what I will use later, for all my fears of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

When we had eaten and rested, and were mounted again, refreshed by the break in riding, we set off again, and this time the silence between us held none of the previous tension it had earlier in the day. Such sights we saw on our journey, the rolling hills, and vast plains, the ice capped mountains in the distance, all so breathtaking I wondered where I had been living before I met Faramir; Middle-Earth seemed to have taken on a dazzling beauty after he walked into my life, or rather, after I walked into his.

I cannot help but laugh at myself when I think back on our first meeting. How I must have appeared to him! Like a sulking child eager to leave a sickbed, aching to see the outdoors, completely adamant on getting my way, verging on a most unladylike tantrum. Perturbed when he told me that he was as much of prisoner to the Warden as I was. How the Houses of Healing had closed around me before that day, until I came into contact with another patient, someone other than the healers, though grateful I was for their care. A living man, not the memory of my uncle and the always disappearing figure of the Ranger leaving my room, unceasingly departing on the thresholds of my mind.

The Ranger. The King. A great and wise man, but to whom my heart is no longer a thwarted servant.

The Queen's kindness to me has been a wonderful surprise that is relived every time we meet. There is no pity in her smile, and she is the most sincere woman I shall ever be honoured to call my friend. Whenever I stop to visit Faramir while he works, sometimes bring him some lunch, a book that I feel will interest him, she is swift to leave her chambers and greet me after hearing the heralds announce my presence, her soft, cool hand on my arm, her sisterly kiss brushing my face. Sometimes we walk the cool stone hallways together, her arm linked through mine, gently leading us on. She always enquires after me, and on the morning Faramir and I left Minas Tirith, she took me aside to suggest, that when we returned, if I was not too fatigued, we might take our horses over the grassy land lying before the White City, as it had been many days since she had last set foot in a stirrup. Of course she is a great rider, another facet of her serene personality that intrigued me. She is too modest to speak of the flight she made to bring the Ringbearer to her father's house, of that marathon I heard from the King, in praising and awed words from his own lips. How could I refuse such an invitation, from the Queen herself, especially when her eyes looked into mine, and I saw the wisdom of many ages of Men in them?

I let Faramir assemble our campfire this evening. I have wandered into the trees, with the premise of looking for extra firewood, when that is the last thing I have come here to look for. Such forests are still so strange and thrilling to me, I feel like a child again, playing hide and seek and trying desperately not to be seen sneaking from one hiding place to another. In Edoras I had the mountains for a backdrop, with the plains and hills before me. Though Fangorn lay on the borders, no-one dared to enter its leafy depths, and from what Merry, the Halfling of whom I have become very fond of, not least for his bravery, has told me of it, I can see why. Mythic shepherds of the forest, water with extraordinary powers, trees that cast out roots to ensnare and devour; these tales at once surprise and delight me. But it is not Fangorn I have come into searching for a particular – there, I see it.

I cut the young wayward stem from the trunk of the tree, careful not to maim the new bud underneath, and sat comfortably down among the leaves, paring the offshoots away with my small knife until I had a perfectly smooth baton of greenwood that swayed when I tested its flexibility, lithe as a fencing blade.

I feel another wager forming in my mind. I seek out another such stem, and cut a second baton.

I stroll back to the campfire as Faramir straightens in front of the fire and sits down on a dried log, absorbed in the flames. I hold back a shudder, as well I know the terror he almost unknowingly passed through, his father's pyre that nearly became his own. I am overcome with the need to write to Pippin and thank him again for saving the life of the man who became my husband. For a fleeting second I entertain the thought of riding to the Shire itself, that merry land the hobbits spoke in lively and fond voices of. Perhaps another day. Faramir glances up at me and manages a brief smile that swells my heart. His eyes lower to the slim wands in my hand, evidently not the armful of firewood he was anticipating. I smiled back at the inquisitive look in his eyes. I tossed one of the stems into his lap. His hand flew up and caught it before it landed, the reflexes of a seasoned warrior.

"Spar with me, Faramir"

His smile grows a little tired and he looks away. I refuse to give up. I assume a prepared stance, the greenwood held out before me, pointing straight at him. Faramir releases a soft laugh before turning back to me.

"My lady, you far exceed me in your skill. I dare not risk my life challenging such a fair and assured opponent"

I listen to his courteous words in blushing silence before mustering my resolve. I lightly prod his shoulder with the tip of the wand, daring him to retaliate. He smiles wanly, and remains immobile.

"Remain seated if you wish, lord, but allow me another wager; if I win this match, you are bound to answer any question I desire you to"

His eyes flicker with the seemingly innocent challenge, or perhaps it is only the fire reflected in them. Still he refuses to rise.

"Well, my lord, I am loath to attack you thus, but you leave me no choice"

I lunged in with the wand, and before the tip reached his neck, his hand, grasping my weapon's twin, flicks it away with a barely visibly movement. I try again, and again, and each time he swipes away the greenwood with little more than the twist of an expert wrist. Finally his concentration lapses, and it is in taking advantage of this that I managed to make contact with his tunic three times in quick succession. Victory, but at no easy stride.

He drops the wand in admission of defeat.

"I am yours to command, lady. What would you have me confess?"

His voice carries a trace of weariness in it in the aftermath of his resigned defeat. He knows not what I am about to ask.

I cast my own baton away, sending it spinning into the undergrowth, and walking around the fire, sit beside him, but not on the log, on the springy grass before it, and looking at the glowing fire, place a hand on his left knee. I can tell his gaze flickers to the gesture before alighting on me. 'Tis not the warmth of the fire that heats my skin.

"I wonder if you know, Faramir", I begin, still looking at the fire while he looks on me, "that I know when you have dreams because I have them myself. I wonder if you know that while you think of the reasons why you should refrain from telling me of them, I think of all the reasons why you should not. I wonder if you could tell me of them now, speak of them to one who has wandered in despair and stood before darkness terrible, and who does not fear to walk in the dark dreams of others as well as her own"

His knee grows tense under my calm hand. I look up at him from where I sit. Faramir's face is a mask of fear and doubt, his eyes widen slightly with concealed terror.

"Lady, you have given me more than one question to answer"

His voice trembles.

"Treat me not always as your wife, Faramir. Speak to me as the confidant you have never had, please"

He looks into my face, unseeing, searching for something unknown. I place another hand on top of the other. Beseech him.

"You need not fear my judgement or my scorn. I cast those things away from me the moment you took my hand. Do not hold back from me, Faramir"

He shifts his search to the flaming branches crackling in the night. He takes a long, shallow breath, barely audible above the fire; clasps his hands together, leans forward over his knees and begins haltingly.

"If you remember, lady, I gave you the cloak of my mother's, Finduilas of Amroth, who I scarcely remember, and who died before I could forge lasting memories of her, died too soon after my life began"

I nod in assent.

"My own mother died before more such memories could be made"

Faramir clears his throat, opens and clasps his hands again. His voice grows strained, but I can tell he is encouraged by our connection in grief.

"I know not if this is why I first pained my father so, why my every breath offended him, but I know only this for certain, that for all these hurts, my brother placed mine above our father's, until the end of his days I am certain Boromir held me in even higher regard than I held him, unworthy as I was of his love -"

I kiss his shoulder lightly, quietly allow him to continue. Yea, I have found the beginning of his pain, and before long, I shall find a way to end it.