A/N: Wow, this chapter took a LONG time to put up but it's actually been written for a while. Thanks for waiting! Oh yeah, and please review!

Flashback

Éowyn's P.O.V.:

My time here in the Houses of Healing is over. A part of me wishes to stay but a moment longer, but I know that my brother expects me back home where I am needed.

I turn from the wall to say farewell to Faramir, who has been my life through my death. He sleeps like a babe, drooling onto his pillow with innocence. How I love this man.

Carefully avoiding his saliva, I brush his cheek with my trembling hand. "We shall meet again, Faramir, Son of Denethor," I whisper gently, "We shall meet again." Then slowly, with a pang in my chest, I rise with my belongings to follow a young Rohirrim soldier to his horse.

Though he rides even more poorly than I, it would be cruel to crush his dignity by offering to switch places. After all, he is being paid to lead the sick maiden home, not to be led home by the sick maiden. So he leads me home.

Faramir's P.O.V.:

How beautiful are the Ered Nimrais from the steps of Meduseld! I have not seen their snow capped peaks for what feels like an eternity. They almost make me forget my purpose here in Rohan.

The guard called Háma rushes back to my place outside the hall.

"The king grants you entry, good sir. May you win favor with him and his queen." I nod in thanks and walk slowly through the magnificent hall.

"Gold pillars," I say softly to myself, "Exactly what Father was nagging me to build before Boromir left. How he craved to put but a fraction of the majesty of Edoras into Minas Tirith."

"The Golden Hall," booms a strong voice in front of me, "Is no place to mourn the dead. If you feel the need to, please get out and come back in when you are ready. We are in happy times now, and it would not do to crush the spirits of the people so quickly."

I grin and look up at the three steps leading to the dais. There sits King Éomer, the eighteenth king of Rohan.

"Would I have to go through security again, sir?" I ask. Éomer grins back. "For you, my friend, I would distract Háma as you crawled back in." Now tell me, Faramir; what brings you here to the Land of the Horse-lords?"

Should I tell him the truth? Would he understand? I look up suddenly and notice a white robed lady with a mellow expression on her fair face standing behind the king: Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. Yes, he would understand.

"I wish to wed a lady." There is silence and I wish to hide behind Boromir's cloak as I once did as a boy. Éomer leans in as if to listen for details, but there are none. "Well, I am afraid that it is not my permission you must seek," he says hesitantly, "But the male guardian of the lady you wish to wed." More silence follows and I can feel my cheeks burning up.

"My king," I start slowly and with difficulty, "I am asking the permission of the male guardian of the lady I wish to marry." Éomer frowns, obviously puzzled. "My friend, I know that he is known throughout Rohan for his beautiful auburn locks, but our dear little Elfwine is indeed a boy. You know I would be obligated to accept if it were not the case." As my throat tightens up, I wonder if Éomer is truly as clever as he is known for.

"I wish to wed your sister, sire, the great Lady Éowyn." The lady behind Éomer gasps slightly, and then covers her mouth with a dainty hand. The king's lips purse, but he suddenly feigns a smile. "Well then, Faramir, I am afraid that you must first pass the test given to all of her suitors."

My heart thumps with the energy of a three year old. "And what may that test be, sire?" He curls his lips and sits up straight again.

"Persuade her to accept your proposal," he booms again with confidence, "And your wife she will be for many long, prosperous years."