Author's Note: On clearing out the files on my old lap top I have come across the ending to Home to Heal. It has concerned me that we never posted the finish to the story and I feel sure that on the grounds of a need for closure I should post them now. Faramir would expect no less, I am sure.

What I am not sure of, however, is that it follows on exactly, please excuse me if it does not. It is all my fault and I take full responsibility; although she has read the remaining chapters Raska has had no input, save to improve Chapter 33 substantially and to write the beautiful Interlude at the end of Chapter 32. The story is complete or as near as it ever shall be. Parts of it may morph and crop up in my later stories but as it is written here basically as I planned it to be when I started writing it.

To any one out there, who still wishes to read it, thank you for your patience and please enjoy…………………………..

Chapter 19

Farewells

"Eru, take your child!" Faramir cursed as he rushed into the bedroom. The imperturbable Steward was obviously perturbed! Very few people could have such an effect on her husband, and Eowyn strongly suspected who was responsible on this occasion. She silently cursed. She had wanted to discuss something important with Faramir but she could see from his disturbed state that he would not but agreeable to her proposal.

Now was not the time to raise it, she could see. So Eowyn sat on the side of the bed and eyed him with affected amusement, as he moved over to the drawers. Muttering to himself, he began angrily sorting through a pile of his clothes, newly laundered since his recent return from Mordor.

"And who has upset you, my Lord?" she asked tactfully. "Surely not Bron?"

He stopped and looked up at her, his cheeks coloured with anger. "No, not Bron," he said. "You know well who I am referring to. I cannot believe the whelp is one of mine. Are you sure you did not dally with one of your horse lords nine months before he was birthed?"

"Who?" Eowyn asked innocently.

"Cirion! Of course," Faramir had moved to another pile of clothes and was sorting through them with uncharacteristic impatience. "He is no son of Gondor, I am sure."

"Aye that would be right, I do remember a certain Rohirrim warrior who tickled my fancy around about that time," Eowyn continued unable to withstand the urge to tease her husband mischief twinkling in her eye, and hating herself for pushing the real issue she wished to discuss further away. Faramir's head went up and he glared at her as she continued. "And Cirion certainly does display a certain Rohirric sense of style often lacking in you reserved Gondorian men. You may have a case indeed, were it not for the fact that he is the miniature image of you from his hair colour to his blue eyes! What has he done to so upset you this time?"

Faramir finished stuffing his clothes into his pack and pulled the strings tight to close it. "I should have left hours ago, you know that! I said farewell to the rest of our children just after dawn, and though it hurt they did not delay me. My men have been waiting to the courtyard in this hot sun, which no commander of worth should allow. The King too, who is allowing me to go early to Emyn Arnen before the rest of the army to assess the situation, is likely waiting too. And yet I am to be found in Cirion's bedroom, helping him to pack! And even then he is arguing with me; 'Oh father it is summer now, I do not need my cloak,' and 'My helmet hurts, I should not have to wear it!' Wherever did you get him Eowyn and can we send him back?"

Eowyn smiled. "He is young, Faramir," she soothed. "And enthusiastic. I bet you were much the same at his age."

Faramir's flushed face hardened. "I do not think so," he muttered.

Eowyn stood up and moved to embrace him then as she saw the long held pain momentarily deaden his eyes. Faramir sighed deeply, thinking of how Cirion's paternal grandfather would have dealt with such indiscipline. He shuddered but pushed the dark thoughts away.

"I am sorry," she breathed but he stopped further talk by kissing her passionately on the lips.

He pulled away. "I have to go."

"Wait," she said. "My Lord, are you not forgetting something rather important?"

He looked at her quizzically and she moved back to the bed to retrieve his new sword. "I was just admiring it." She removed the blade and slowly weighed its balance in her experienced hand. "'Tis a beautiful weapon," she continued.

"Only he can reduce me to this," Faramir cursed but his eyes flashed their humour. "About to ride off to war and forgetting my sword! Sometimes I wonder it is I, and not he, who is the page!"

She laughed then and the remaining indignation that was left in Faramir dissipated. He moved to her, she passed him the sword and then bent to fix his belt and scabbard around his waist. Stepping back her eyes drank in his form.

"Even after all these years you still make an impressive figure, my Lord," she smiled with her approval.

"Even for a reserved Gondorian?" he asked teasingly.

"Aye. I may have suspect taste," she confessed. "But there is not one son of Eorl who can move me like you do."

He took her in his arms again, but something stopped him. He stepped back to stare at her.

"My Lady," his voice was suddenly stern. "Why are you garbed in your travel clothes?"

"I am coming with you," she said softly.

"No, you must stay here. The midwife has said so, you cannot risk our baby!"

Eowyn pouted. "I have thought hard about this, Faramir," she responded. "I must go to Emyn Arnen. I cannot stay abed while the rest of you go to war and you must not ask it of me."

"I must not ask it of you!" His anger had returned but now it was a darker, more intense emotion than his exasperation of earlier. "Just when were you going to tell me of this decision? Or were you simply going to ride out behind me and hope I did not notice?"

"You probably would not!" she snapped back as her own ire grew. "It took you long enough to notice I was not in bed just now!" Once the words were out she instantly regretted them but ever when they argued, which thankfully was rarely, she took an aggressive stance. She had counselled herself all morning about how restrained she would be when she confronted him with her decision. She would argue logically and coolly like he did but now, when it came down to it, she had lost her control at the first opportunity.

He turned away from her, running his hand through his hair. His voice was glacial and he refused to turn around to confront her. "You shall not go, I forbid it!" He pronounced.

"Look at me, Faramir," she said fighting to hide the shock from her voice. She knew this conversation would be difficult but she had not expected such an outright and bullish refusal.

"Lady, I am late," he said, still refusing to turn. "My men await me and I must ride to free our home. I did not expect to come here and debate this with you!"

She moved to him, reached up and turned him around gently to face her. Although he could have easily refused the movement, he did not. She looked at his familiar and still handsome face, drawn tight now with his half concealed anger. They had been together for seventeen years. They had shared much pain but more pleasure in this time. She had ever supported him and he her. She did not wish this argument and yet her Rohirric blood was shrieking in her veins, rushing, delivering the battle lust that she could not ignore. Her home had been attacked, her people slaughtered! She must avenge it! She could not lie in her bed and let others do what she could not.

Slowly Faramir allowed his eyes to come down to rest on her wide and pleading ones. They gazed at each other for a long moment.

Finally she said firmly. "I think this is exactly what you expected my love. You know who I am. You know what passion moves me better than any other. You accepted a long time ago the difference in me from the Gondorian ladies you were raised to think would be a suitable wife for you. And you love me because of that difference; do you not, my Faramir?"

He gulped and gently brushed away the hair that had strayed across her face. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "I do."

"Then let me come home. I do not ask to ride with you to the battle. I give you my two eldest sons for that duty. But I do ask that you allow me to accompany you now. I have to see what damage has been done to our home. I know you understand this."

His hand went gently to her bulging stomach. "But the babe," he said. "I think of the innocent life inside you that our love created, Eowyn. I do not wish to think that something so precious should come to harm."

She placed her hand over his. "Neither do I, my Lord. You must trust me. I promise I will do nothing to endanger our child. It is arranged, I will ride in a wagon, I will not risk horseback. The Queen has agreed that our little ones shall stay in the royal nursery, the little princesses love the company of our brood and Hiril will remain too to care for them."

Faramir rolled his eyes. "The King is preparing an army to ride east when the real danger will be in his own apartments. Does he have any idea of the carnage which will ensue?"

Eowyn pouted. "Our children are very well behaved!" she argued. "Until their father winds them to a state of excitement so they lose all sense of decorum!"

He looked at her unconvinced but nodded his agreement as she continued. "Besides the real destructive influence is riding with us, is he not?"

Faramir's face became serious as he held her glance for a moment more. Finally he said, "I will assign my two best men to be your bodyguards and accompany you everywhere."

"Everywhere?" she said trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere of the room.

"Within reason," he responded, ignoring her attempt at flippancy.

She smiled beautifully and then inclined her head slightly. "Whatever my Lord commands!"

He let out a short laugh at that and lifted her chin gently, so their eyes met once more. "I know of course where Cirion gets it from, all I have to do is look into your eyes and I see the same mischief there! Why ever do I let myself be manipulated so?"

She kissed him cheerily. "Because you are an honourable man and you love us," she said trying not to sound too smug. "Now let us go, I have already sent my bags to the wagon."

They both kissed again more passionately before Faramir managed to pull himself away from her loving embrace.

"And have you found that muscled Rohorrim warrior to carry you to your transport?" Faramir asked tartily.

Eowyn smiled. "No," she admitted. "I must make do with my reserved Gondorian, and since he would carry his own bag, his other arm will suffice for my support."

Faramir and Eowyn entered the courtyard where his troop had waited so patiently all morning. He signalled them to mount up. Aragorn stood with a small group of advisors waiting likewise to send his Steward off. Faramir moved to bow curtly.

Aragorn embraced him. "Good speed, my Steward," he said. He looked past Faramir to where Eowyn was being helped into her carriage and rolled his eyes. In a lower voice he said, "Arwen said Lady Eowyn had made up her mind to return home. Is that wise, Faramir?"

The Steward shrugged. "Wise or not my King, it is what she is resolved to do. And though I would have her safe, I also prefer her by my side to ensure she remains that way."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Look after her," he said.

"Of course, my King," Faramir responded, his eyes shining brightly.

The King's voice rose in volume again. "Once the Army of Gondor and our allies are assembled, we will march to meet you at Erymn Arnen."

"Any news from Rohan?" Faramir asked.

"A galloper arrived this morning. The Rohirrim are gathering they will be on the Pelennor to meet us in days."

Faramir nodded and then looked uncomfortable. He had always hated the emotion of such a departure. He could trace his uneasiness back to the loss of his own mother when he was a small child, so he tended to make farewells as hasty as possible.

Bowing again, he stepped away from the King. After checking that his lady was comfortably seated and making sure that her bodyguards were assigned along with the midwife to accompany her, Faramir made his way to the head of his own men. He took the reins of his own horse from Elboron. Next to his eldest the Captain of his troop, Borglas, son of the much lamented Beregond, rose into his own saddle.

"We are ready?" Faramir asked.

"Almost, Sire," Elboron breathed. "Mother is coming too?" he asked.

Faramir nodded as he mounted his own horse, and noticed that Elboron was still holding the reins to another mount as well as his own…. Arrow!

"Where is he?" Faramir asked with a snort.

"It's a long ride, Father," Elboron whispered. "He did not want to be caught out on the journey."

"How long has he had to make sure of it?" Faramir snapped.

Elboron shrugged. "You know Cirion, he left it to the last minute!"

As his name was spoken the second son of the Steward skidded into view. He lurched to a stop in front of his horse and threw himself into the saddle.

"My apologies, Father," he had the grace to say, but only after being prompted by his elder brother.

Faramir raised an eyebrow and shook his head slowly. "I cannot complain, Cirion, since I have held you up all morning," he said sarcastically.

Cirion missed the irony and smiled wildly. "Yes I know. After all the years you have done this, I would have thought you would be quicker at packing your things, Father!"

Elboron gaped at him and Borglas looked away to stifle a chuckle that threatened to escape him. Faramir simply snorted and gently urged his horse forwards. Behind him the rest of the troop fell into step.

"You test his patience too far, Ciri!" Elboron hissed as they started to descend through the City's levels.

"Me?" said his little brother innocently although his eyes twinkled. "What did I do?"