Collection of drabbles and one-shots on Faramir and Éowyn, in no order.
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She kneels before the hole, and peers into the earthly darkness. The warm, insipid air of summer penetrates her thin gown, and she breathes in the scent of earth and light; death and life. She watches him lower the sapling into the opening, and her gaze comes to rest upon his hands.
His love of trees perplexes her; she is a child of the plains.
There is much she does not know about him; much she will never know. But she strains at the windows of her mind; she tries to understand his thoughts and the frown that oft slips from his face. It is hard though, to know a man who does not speak with words.
Resting next to him at night, listening to the wind howling through the trees, she burrows in beside him, finding warmth in his presence. But he does not move to hold her close. He understands her fear, and cleaves not to her. There is a veil between them, and he wills her to tear it down.
He does not touch it.
So she watches him as he closes his eyes over the tender tree; she sees gentleness in his movements.
... Reverence.
She rests her head upon his shoulder, and closes her eyes as well. He grows still, does not move.
And then he lies a hand; darkened with sod, the nails short and uneven, upon her cheek. She breathes in the scent of earth.
His lips find hers beneath the sapling that trembles and strains in the faint summer wind.
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