Summary: Faramir battles with angst and self-denial after he fails to recapture Osgiliath.

A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews. I feel this is the best angst I have ever written. Anyway, I feel this is a rather confusing chapter.

Disclaimer: Faramir says: "She poses me as an angst-ridden soul. Really, I am nothing but an ordinary guy. She does not own me, though, thank the Valar."

The hobbit, Meriadoc, sits across me. The miniature ivory and ebony men are laid out on the chess-board infront of us. Meriadoc picks up his ebony knight and moves it to where my pawn stood. He replaces my pawn with his knight and says, "Your turn, lord." The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he has a secret move he does not want me to see.

I look up at Meriadoc, and he is looking at me. I say, "I did not invite you in here for a game of chess. You know that, do you not?" I search his face. It is solemn; all sign of amusment is gone.

"I know. What would you have me tell you?" He looks on the chess-board again, as if pondering on what to say.

"About Éowyn. I would like to know about her, for she puzzles me greatly," I say, wondering if I have said too much. Meriadoc does not react. I pick up my castle and move three spaces forward. "Check."

Meriadoc nods and says, "Excellent move." Then he says, "You have seen her sorrow, too, haven't you?" He smiles a crooked smile and says, "That was the first thing I noticed about the Lady." He moves his king out of danger. "Do you know why she rode to Minas Tirith?"

"Why?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"Because she looked for death, my lord," says Meriadoc, watching me capture a knight. "She has seen so much that she feels life is empty and hollow. And now, her uncle is dead."

"I thought she has a brother."

Meriadoc nods again. A sandy curl falls into his eyes, and he brushes it away with an impatient sweep of his hand. "She does," Meriadoc admits. "Éomer is a good brother, I have no doubt about that. I feel that she is his only reason for living. But one man's love is not enough. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Meriadoc hesitated. Then he says, "She loves Stri--I mean, the Lord Aragorn. There is a time when she was happy, when she thought that he loved her, too. But he does not."

I imagine Éowyn's grief when she finds out that Lord Aragorn does not return her love. And I know. She felt hope when she met Lord Aragorn, but he offered her only a sisterly love, she felt devastated and felt that she had nothing left in this world. So, she sought death.

Is this why I feel life is so hollow? Because Boromir has died? Boromir, one of the two people that had loved me, suddenly gone... Was it too much for me to bear? Did my father love me? What do I feel now, now that I am all alone?

Without thinking, I capture his queen. Meriadoc gives me a small smile; and he suddenly captures my king. "Check mate," he says, although there is a regretful note in his voice.

"I did not see that."

"Frodo taught me that."

"Frodo? The one who is on his way to--" I stop myself.

Meriadoc drops his voice. He averts his eyes and says, "Yes. The one who is going to Mordor." He turns to my window. He speaks, though he sounds like he is talking more to his friend, so far away, than to me: "All our lives lies in his hands."

I clear the board, sweeping everything into a wooden box. I stand up and I say, "Would you like to come to the gardens, Master Hobbit? We can continue our conversation there, if that is alright with you."

He nods and says, "Yes. I would like to see the gardens."

The next morning, I think about the Captains who have ridden east. I think about Lord Aragorn. It seems so long since I last saw him in the houses, right before me. Why did he reject her love? Did he already have another maiden, waiting for him in some distant place?

Every man should have a woman to share his bed, little brother. The words echo in my head, and I force myself not to think about relationships. I have this churning feeling inside me, yet it is not unpleasent. It feels like a yearning... but a yearning for what?

"Good morning," says a hesitant voice.

I turn and I see Éowyn. She is clutching the hem of her cloak between her hands. There are dark circles under her eyes; her eyes are alert, yet they look distracted. She looks like a ghost. I wonder if she suffered from nightmares last night, or if she has been sleeping for the past few nights.

"Good morning," I reply. She joins me, and we say nothing. I cannot help but find my mind wandering to her. She does not deserve death, I think. She should have a chance to live, a chance to learn to love again. And I found myself asking: Why am I so fearless of death? Am I denying something I do not want to admit? My mind trembles and shakes with questions.

Éowyn asks me, "Do you have any family, Faramir?" Her face is calm and shows no emotions. Her eyes are so...

"No," I reply. "I do not. My father..." I hesitate. "He died not too long ago. He was the last of my immediet family."

"Did he love you, Faramir?" She is slowly stretching out of her dark world.

My face must have shown some hostility to this question, for she quickly recoiled, saying, "I am sorry. It is not my business to pry." I sense her pulling back into her little dark world of sleepless nights. I feel sorry, and so I speak.

"I--" What should I say? I think of Mithrandir's words again, and I look away. Finally, I say, "I don't know."

Éowyn gives me a bitter smile, and she says in an embittered tone, "Isn't it like this life, lord? We don't know what will happen today or what tomorrow will bring." She looks back east, her smile not fading.

Here is a lady like I have never met before! She is bitter and cold, yet she does not desire pity. She wants to fight while all the women in our City were sent away. Is it the way her life is? I am suddenly tongue-tired, and I murmer, "Excuse me."

Without waiting for her to reply, I flee to my apartment. There is a copper basin of water in the corner. I fill it with water, cold from sitting in its jug. I splash water on my face. I look up into the mirror, and I see another ghost. Another ghost with dark circlesunder his eyesfrom nightmares and sleepless nights.

A/N: I am sorry if you did not like this chapter as much. Well anyway, I've gotten to the point when Faramir is sorting out his emotions. Please R&R!