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

A/N: Not the last chapter... Not yet... Bear with me, please!

Disclaimer: Faramir is not mine. Éowyn is not mine. Minas Tirith is not mine. Angst is mine.

Each day, I rise early to begin the day early. The day is full of preperations for the return of the captains, a day which all people are anticipating. Many people have come near and far. Some are singers, some are musicians... This will be a day Gondor will remember for many generations to come.

And each day, I am filled with the longing for Éowyn. I long to hold her hand, to speak with her, and to see her smile again. Occasionally, I will see her walking quietly amidst the clamor of the City.

I am resting in the shade, and I hear someone calling my name. I open my eyes and I see the Warden comes to me. His face is knitted and he appears distressed. He is wringing his hands, and I nearly laugh aloud at this comical sight. However, I keep my mouth shut and rises when he is near enough.

"My lord!" says the Warden, his voice in a whiny-pitch. "The Lady Éowyn, she is not well."

"Éowyn?" I repeat, thinking of her. "What ails her?"

"I do not know, lord," says the Warden. "A messenger came to her today, from her brother Éomer, asking her to come to Cormallen. But I saw the messenger leave without her, lord. I went to her room and I saw her on her bed, quiet and still. I am worried; I do not know what is wrong with her. Would you not go to her?" His eyes beg for me to do something.

I nod. "Tell the lady to meet me on the walls. I shall be waiting for her."

As I wait for Éowyn, many thoughts come to me. Why has Éowyn not departed?

Could it be...?

Nay, I am only dreaming.

"Faramir." The voice is soft, reluctant.

I turn and the words come out faster than I want them to. "Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?" I search her face, and I see regret.

"Do you not know?"

I do not. I decide to buy time. "Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know."

Her eyes flash with anger, and she cries out in frustration, "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!"

I let the words out. "Then if you will have it so, lady." I take a deep breath before continuing, "You do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look upon the Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because," I force myself not to hesitate, "I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannong chose between them."

Tears gather in her eyes, and I find her beautiful in all her sorrow. I cannot hold it back any longer.

"Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?"

I look into her face, glowing gold in the sunlight. The tears are replaced by anger and she said bitterly, "I wished to be love by another. But I desire no man's pity."

I took another deep breath. "That I know," I say slowly. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth." Suddenly, I am thinking of Boromir, and I say, "And as a great captain may to a young soldier, he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is." I tread carefully. "But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle." Her eyes drop, and I say, "Look at me Éowyn!"

She looks at me, and I want her to see the truth in my eyes. "Do not scorn the pity that is a gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn!" I say gently. "But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the elven-tongue to tell." I surpress an embarressed smile. "And I love you," I say quietly. "Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you." I look into her eyes and I ask, "Éowyn, do you not love me?"

And I wait. I have spoke, and it is up to her now. Her eyes search mine, and I feel them pour into my soul.

And then, I see joy.

"I stand in Minas Arnor, the Tower of the Sun!" Éowyn says, smiling; "and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren." I smile, joy welling in my heart. She looks at me. She smiles back and whispers, "No longer do I desire to be a queen."

I laugh merrily. "That is well," I say; "for I am not a king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

Éowyn's smile fades. "Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?" she asks sadly. "And would you have your proud folk say of you: 'There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman in the race of Numenor to choose?'"

Without hesitation, I say, "I would." She smiles, and my heart swells with love for her.

I take her into my arms and I kiss her under the sunlit sky. I feel many eyes on us, but I do not care. I hold her, and she holds me. Finally, I release her and Éowyn is smiling. I take her hand and we walk down from the walls into the Houses of Healing.

The Warden is pacing back and forth. But when he sees both of us, he lets out a sigh of relief. I say to him, "Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed."

"Then I release her from my charge," says he, "and bid her farewell, and may she suffer never hurt nor sickness again. I commend her to the care of the Steward of the City, until her brother returns."

Éowyn looks at me, as if asking me if she can speak, and I nod. "Yet now that I have leave to depart," she says, "I would remain. For this house has become to me of all that dwellings the most blessed."

I take Éowyn's hand and I smile. The Warden walks away.

"Thank you," I say.

"Thank you?" she says, puzzled. "I should be thanking you? What are you thanking me for, lord?"

"For making me see," I say and I kiss her again.

A/N: One more chapter! I'm working on it! Please R&R!