A/N: This chapter might seem a little out of place with the rest, but I felt that it was a good situation to put in to show the relationship between Éowyn and Faramir. Also, I don't really know if they were really even together when they found out that Denethor and Théoden were dead (yes, I know that Denethor was not killed in the Battle of Pelennor Fields but I'm assuming that Faramir found out after that battle), so this might bother some people if they know for sure that they weren't. Sorry to those people. Anyhow, please review!
Faramir's P.O.V.:
Flashback
My whole mind is numb, utterly shocked by what I have just heard. There is no room in my heart for resentment toward this Aragorn, this "king" who snatched up my nation while I slept.
It was never meant for me; if not for my father, then for Boromir. It was neither my punishment nor anyone else's, for Gondor's rightful king could have returned during any reign in his entire lifetime. It was simply his fate as well as mine. My father would not have wanted it this way, but he would not have had a choice.
My father: he can not be truly gone; the very thought is so inconceivable. Surely not the Great Steward of Gondor; surely not the booming man who would laugh heartily at the minstrel's tales of my bumbling youth. Surely not the father who comforted me as I witnessed war for the first time as a child. It simply cannot be.
"I am so sorry," speaks Éowyn softly, "I know that he was a great man." Though I know that she has been in my place at one point, I can not help trying to find dishonesty in her words. There is none.
"You should not say so," I whisper, brushing the tears from my own cheek, "Not without expecting equal sympathy. Your uncle was once great as well. He would be proud of you, Éowyn, after all you have done in his honor." We sit silently together, watching the people of Minas Tirith mournfully go about their activities outside in equal silence.
She stifles a sob suddenly and I instinctively grab her hand. Recognizing the awkwardness of the situation, I try to pull it away once she is comforted but she holds onto it tightly and forces a smile. I can not stand it any longer.
"How do you do it," I ask suddenly, "How do you go through so much pain in your life so regularly and then manage to recover in time for the next trial? How do you continuously roll about in this cycle of trauma without saying a word?" She looks down and loosens her grip on my hand. "Practice," she says looking up into my eyes again, "A life full of practice. There came a time when I realized that if you can not pick yourself up from a blow in time, you just get beat down harder by the next one. It is the only thing I can do to survive."
She is such a wonder to me, never failing to amaze with every step that she takes. This woman has more strength than any man could muster in a whole lifetime.
"I will need you," I say quietly, my voice trembling, "I will need you here beside me." Éowyn takes up my other hand and turns to face me. "We will always be here for each other throughout our grief." She is silent but I can still feel her eyes glaring back at me in the evening light. I stare back at her inquiringly.
"Do I have your word sir?" The seriousness in her voice for what would seem like such a trivial question would normally have made me laugh, but I nod solemnly and we are silent once more.
A wind picks up, ruffling her hair and tossing it playfully in front of her face. She ignores it and continues to stare into my eyes, as if looking for something beneath what she says. The position I am in could be seen as quite uncomfortable, but I know that I have nothing to hide from this woman of steel. We are living the same nightmare, and someday we will wake up together and find that everything is exactly how we left it: perfect.