Author note: Only the OCs are mine. Thanks Samayo Kaze and the lil witch for fav-ing, and Tibblets and elvenwood for following :)

jshaw0624 - thanks so much for your reviews! Hmm what lies in store for Beregond and Dannor? If you've read the books you'll know that at least one of them makes it out alive... PS I know in my last reply to one of your reviews I used 'they're' instead of 'their'. I am a grammar fiend so kicked myself, haha just had to mention it!

kohl - Eowyn and Legolas are both going to have major parts to play in this story, it's been plotted right up to the end so their fates are sealed! And obviously I'm not going to say what they are!

I'm breaking my 'always one chapter ahead' rule in order to get something out before I go away. I'm going to Italy for three weeks, so there will be a while without any updates, but rest assured I will be having a lovely time on holiday and definitely won't have abandoned the story!

As always I love reading your reviews, and seeing that people are following the story means so much, so please keep them coming! Especially as I've never done anything like this before! It's quite hard to write serious stuff and I hope I'm not taking it too far and there's little touches of humour throughout. Also I literally cringe when I write the romantic/fluff stuff, so if those bits are atrocious please be gentle in your (deserved) criticism!

See you all soon x

Chapter seven – Candlelight

The sun rose the next day with a deep amber light in the east, which crept through Keren and Palen's room. When it fell across her face Keren awoke and looked across at Palen. She was thankfully, finally, asleep. Keren rose quickly and quietly, not wishing to wake her sister and bring back the cruel reality that her husband was gone. She stole from the room and followed the familiar path to Faramir's side.

There was no Beregond there this morning, and she felt a pang of sadness and worry at the thought of him waiting to march to his doom.

She knocked on the door and was surprised to hear Faramir's deep voice call out to her that she could enter. She had thought as it was only minutes past dawn that he would still be asleep.

The sight she saw once she was within the room took her greatly by surprise.

He was stood with his back to her, at the window, fully dressed. A full tub of water was left cooling on the floor, which he had obviously had brought to him and bathed in before sunrise.

Stupid, stubborn man! Keren thought immediately. But now I think I love him even more.

Now he had risen from his bed – and she was in far closer proximity to him now than at any other time she had seen him stood at full height – she was taken aback by just how tall he was, and how much he seemed to fill the room. The blood of Númenor showed itself strongly in him, and Keren, for the smallest second, felt tiny and insignificant next to him. But then she remembered how he had dreamt of falling off a mûmak, and how tenderly he had touched her face in the past, and knew that she had nothing to be afraid of.

His dark hair was damp and lightly curled at the nape of his neck, and she wondered what would happen if she went up behind him and gently threaded it through her fingers.

She was pleased with the friendship that was developing between them, but she was still mightily confused as to how he saw her.

As a servant probably, she thought miserably.

But then the smile he gave her as he turned and took in her appearance behind him was enough to make her hopeful.

"Ready to leave?" he asked her with a slightly cocky smile.

"When you said you wished to prove me wrong I simply thought you meant that you would try to get out of bed," she said.

"I am filled with a strange energy today Keren," he said, walking away from the window and, to her delight, grasping her forearms with his strong hands. "If I cannot march with these men, then I will stand at the walls of my city and watch them go. Will you watch with me?"

She could not help but smile at his enthusiasm, but he was not fooling her. He still looked tired, and despite the fact that he had been eating and was well rested, she was concerned at him taking the walk to the gardens so soon. She could not believe that not even half a week had passed since she had seen him carried in to the Houses.

"I will come," she said, "but the moment you look pale or seem faint we are coming back inside and you are getting straight back into bed."

He chuckled.

"So fierce," he said, lifting a hand and lightly brushing a wisp of hair from her face. "And if I do not do as you command?"

"Then you will be as any other of my patients," she pulled away from him teasingly. "In trouble."

Once they were outside in the gardens a far more sombre mood took them. On the short walk there Faramir had realised he was not yet as recovered as he had hoped - Keren had had to take his arm to support him as he walked down the shallow steps to the path behind the low walls.

They were not alone, as both had hoped they would be. Two small figures were leaning their elbows on the wall, the shorter one only just able to see over the top. Keren recognised Bergil, and could only assume that the second person was the other hobbit, Meriadoc.

Both turned as they became aware of the soft, slow tread of the couple. Bergil looked surprised and a little scared.

"Lord Faramir," he said quickly, and bowed low.

Faramir bid him stand, and asked for no explanation as to his presence there.

Keren looked over at the hobbit – he still looked tired, but other than the dark circles under his eyes she would not have known, had Ioreth and Palen not told her, the trials he had been through. He was fair like Pippin, though chubbier-cheeked. His eyes seemed merry, as if it would not take much to send him into fits of laughter, despite all he had experienced. And then she remembered that the elf had called him Merry, which seemed an apt shortening of his name.

"Bergil," Keren said, "are you going to introduce us?" She looked pointedly from him to the hobbit.

"Oh," said Bergil. "Er, this is Meriadoc Brandybuck, a perian of the Shire. Merry, this is Keren, a friend to me and my father. And the noble lord is Faramir, son of Denethor."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, master Meriadoc," said Faramir with a smile. He made no mention to Merry of the other hobbits he had seen, which Keren wondered at, but then she realised that perhaps he did not want to give the hobbit false hope of his friends.

"My lord." The hobbit bowed low and straight. "My lady," he added to Keren.

"Oh, just Keren," she said quickly. "I'm a healer here. My sister is Palen, I believe she has had the care of you?"

"You're Pal's sister?" he said, and the smile that came to her face made her heart sing. She had not realised how close this hobbit had become to her sister, and she wondered why Palen had not shared this friendship with her. She nodded.

"Do you mind if we stand with you?" Faramir asked them. "I imagine we are all here for similar reasons."

"That we can't go to fight you mean?" The hobbit's face was suddenly serious and his voice sad. "That we must stay behind while our friend's get to face the enemy?"

"I mean exactly that," Faramir replied. "For I am assuming I am not alone in being told I am not strong enough for the battle to come."

The hobbit's eyes widened in surprise.

"By the King's command?" Faramir continued.

"Aye," said Merry. "Just last night I was told I was not fit for the journey. And many other dark words were spoken."

"Then I will say to you what I have said to Lord Faramir," Keren said quietly to him. "You have already shown great bravery, and from all I have heard, earned great honour."

"Yes, that was said last night as well," the hobbit admitted. "And the one who said it was a friend."

"I know I'm too young to fight," said Bergil, "but I want to watch my father go to war."

Keren reached an arm around his shoulders and went to the wall at his side.

"I too would see my friend Beregond go to fight," she said.

"Then let us all watch together," said Faramir, and he took his place at Keren's side.

The sight that met their eyes was worryingly not as impressive as they had hoped. It was surprising how small an army of seven thousand looked on the great plains of the Pelennor.

The vast majority of the men had been amassing over night, but there was a small group still to come from the citadel, Merry explained.

"For that is where my companions, and some great lords, have been staying," he said. "They will pass down through the streets of the city before joining the host on the Pelennor. Then once they are in place at the front of the company, all will begin the march. Pippin said they were to set out just after sunrise, so they should be along soon. We'll be able to see them pass through the fifth circle from here. Should get quite a good view in fact." He tried to sound cheerful, and Keren's heart constricted for him. "We won't see Strider of course; he has said he will not enter the city again until he is crowned. But Gandalf should pass by, with the Lord Eomer and Prince Imrahil. And my friends, Legolas and Gimli. And Pippin, who I will miss the most. I've told him to look up here to me as they pass below."

Keren worked hard to keep her face still as she heard the elf's name. So she would be seeing him again. And a dwarf, by the sounds of it.

They stood silently watching as the troops fell into formation on the plains close to the city walls, but soon a sight closer to hand drew their attention away.

A white rider on a white horse with no saddle came at a steady pace down the sloping street, one hundred feet below the walls where they stood. The wizard. Grim he looked, and tired. He held the reins in his left hand, whilst his right bore his staff, which he wielded as a weapon rather than a prop. Keren wondered what it was capable of. Behind him, and looking far too small on the giant horse, was Pippin, dressed as a soldier of Minas Tirith, except with his large feet bare. Keren had not noticed before just how hairy hobbit feet were.

Behind them came another white stallion, this one saddled, but with another mismatched pair on its back.

Holding the reins was the elf, sat straight and tall. More of flesh and blood he seemed now in the daylight, but his hair was a strange shade of silver blonde, one that Keren had never seen before. He wore it as he had at their meeting, braided back from his face, although now she could see the more intricate braid on the back of his head. The rest lay long over his shoulders. He was dressed as she had thought he was the other night. Next to his skin was a silver shirt, but today he wore brown leather bracers on his forearms. His outer clothes were all in shades of green – moss for his tunic, forest for his hose, a shade so dark it was almost black for his boots, and she could not begin to describe the colour of his cloak. He shifted in the saddle and all suddenly appeared brown, then, at another movement, grey, then back to green again.

Is this Elvish magic, Keren wondered, or just a trick of the light?

She grimaced and decided it was probably the former, adding to her list of all that was strange about him.

On his back was a quiver filled with arrows, two crossed knives and an enormous bow. Keren could not imagine the strength that would be required to draw it back.

Behind him, sat awkwardly on the rear of the saddle, was what had to be Gimli the dwarf. A huge red beard bristled out and down from his face, which was mostly obscured by a large helmet. His feet were not in stirrups as his legs were obviously too short – she put him as smaller even than her, and she was only a little over five feet. An odd and rather funny figure he looked next to the graceful elf, but Keren knew that to have got this far on their journey the dwarf must be a skilled warrior.

Keren wondered to see an elf and a dwarf so close, as she had thought their races did not tolerate each other, but then she remembered that the elf had said they were friends.

Behind their horse came King Eomer atop a grey mount with a braided mane, which seemed dissatisfied with the slow pace the group were taking. Next to him was Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, on his faithful steed that had carried Faramir home, near dead, from Osgiliath.

Finally came two black horses, each carrying a strange person which, out of the small group watching on the walls, only Merry had seen before.

Keren, after that night in the gardens, recognised an elf when she saw one, and now she was seeing two. For a minute she could not help but think that she was seeing double. So alike were they, that it was said most men could not tell the difference unless they knew them well, so Keren had no chance. They were very different from Legolas – with dark brown hair, solemn faces and thin silver circlets resting on their brows. Unlike the Mirkwood elf they wore armour, although they even managed to make that look ethereally beautiful. Keren, using her very basic knowledge, assumed that these had to be a different kind of elf to Legolas. Their faces were as handsome as his, but prouder, sadder, and they were perhaps even slightly taller, seeming more powerfully built.

"Who are they?" she had whispered without realising.

"The Lords Elladan and Elrohir." Merry supplied her quietly with the answer. "The sons of Elrond, the half-elven Lord of Rivendell."

Keren quietly digested the fact that she was looking at two figures that she had only seen in her imagination before, whilst listening to her mother's tales.

"Legends walk among us," said Faramir, and she shared his wonder.

They watched the strange gathering of folk move slowly through the streets, until they reached the spot directly below the walls where the little group stood in the gardens.

Pippin, as he had promised, looked up and met Merry's gaze. The wizard stopped the horse that bore him and the hobbit, in order for him to look upon his friend at their final moment of parting, perhaps forever. The others in the group respectfully drew their horses to a halt behind.

The look that passed between the two friends Keren felt uncomfortable witnessing – it was such a private moment that she looked away out of respect, and found her eyes going straight to the elf.

He was looking right back at her, his fair face showing surprise to see her there.

She quickly looked elsewhere, anywhere, and met the stern gaze of the wizard, who's glance drifted over her and Faramir stood so closely together, a slight frown on his face.

Pippin raised a small hand in farewell to his friend, which Merry returned. Then, to everyone's amazement, but especially to Meriadoc of the Shire, all the company below, even the two elves of Rivendell, followed suit and raised their left hands to him, then bowed their heads.

"I don't understand," muttered Merry.

"I believe I do, master hobbit," said Faramir. "They are saluting you, for your hand in defeating the Witch King."

The four of them watched as the group raised their heads again, all of them looking to Merry, their expressions ranging from detached respect from the elves at the back, to anguish from Pippin. The wizard clicked to his horse to walk on, and those behind followed and began to move on. Pippin's face was turned back to his friend until the last possible moment, until the circle of the path through the city finally took the two hobbits from each other's sight. Only once before had they been parted, and this time there was even less certainty of them meeting again.

Keren watched as the group passed underneath, and try as she might she could not miss the swift look and parting nod in her direction from the elf. She felt Faramir shift beside her as he noticed the same thing. Soon he was gone however, and she subconsciously inched closer to Faramir.

Bergil had been silent for some time, and Keren felt sorry for him that his father had not passed below. Beregond would already be on the field at the head of his company. The final soldiers falling into place on the Pelennor, it would not now be long until the small group from the citadel joined them.

No one amongst the four watching from the gardens spoke to fill the silence, each lost in their own thoughts. No one asked if another was alright, or pretended that all was well.

At last they heard the trumpets ring, and the army way below them began to move. It was near impossible to spot their friends amongst the huge crowd of men, but Bergil saw his father clearly, the hobbit Pippin now on his horse behind him, as he was alone at the front of his company. He sniffed – wordlessly Keren put a hand on his shoulder.

Faramir could not distinguish one man from another – his eyes and mind were tired and his vision, although he would never admit it, he knew would be a little blurry until he fully recovered. But grimly he stood, wishing with all his heart that he was among them riding with his King before him, whatever the outcome may be.

Keren watched the slowly advancing army with strange feelings. Her father had come to the Houses late the night before, telling her and Palen that he was to march. Not much else was said, and not many tears were shed.

He could be anywhere in that crowd, Keren thought. Literally. My father is a stranger to me.

She could not point out the moment in time when he had begun to be distant with her. Perhaps he had always been, but she first noticed it after her mother had died. Palen would go fairly regularly to visit him, but Keren – wrongly, she admitted – only made the time to go about once a month. Her visits never seemed particularly welcome, and they had so little in common that any conversation soon ran dry. When she was younger she had questioned whether this surly, uncommunicative man was really her true father, but as she had matured there was no denying it was his dark eyes that looked out of her face, and his nose that sat, rather prominently from certain angles, below them.

It was not that she did not care if he lived or died – he was her father and she would always, she knew, go to him if he needed her. But he did not seem to need her, or even want her as a daughter. He was an independent man, running a business, and he had no time for young daughters, particularly ones foolish enough to not bother finding a husband, and choosing to cut people open for a living.

He will never understand me, she thought. But standing with me now is one who could.

She looked up at Faramir and, noticing the strange, sad far-away look on his face, moved her little finger an inch to the left so it was gently touching his hand. He looked down at her then, and while neither could bring themselves to smile, an understanding grew between them. Together they looked back across the fields.

The army was moving slowly, and Elessar's company, in the very centre of the formation, came into view as they progressed north-east from the gates of the city. At the front was the wizard, clearly visible in his white cloak upon his white horse, shining in the sun, and either side of him the two elven lords from Rivendell, looking incongruous amongst all the roughly dressed soldiers. Around them were a group of about thirty dark haired men, all on horseback, which was all Keren could distinguish – there was no knowing which one was Elessar himself.

But two riders, both on the same white horse and both wearing their strange shifting-coloured cloaks, stood out amongst them. One, a battle-axe on his back, was at least a foot smaller than any other, but the one in front of him sat tall and graceful in the saddle, his silver-blonde hair flying behind.

Keren bid Faramir goodnight early that evening. They had sat for a little while in the afternoon together, but she could see he was exhausted so encouraged him, a little awkwardly, into bed. His eyes were closing even as he went to take her hand, and she wished him a long and restful sleep.

She went to check on the Lady Eowyn before going to the wards. The Lady usually rose, and subsequently retired, early, but Keren thought she would put her head around the door to see that all was well.

She was surprised therefore that Eowyn was still awake, although not so surprised to see her looking sad.

"My lady?" she asked. "What ails you?"

The lady jumped as Keren's voice invaded her thoughts.

"Nothing you can heal, I fear," Eowyn said quietly. "My heart is uneasy, and sleep and rest does not cure it."

"Why are you uneasy, my lady?" Keren asked carefully. She had not shared many words with the white lady of Rohan, and what ones she had were often terse.

"Your sister tells me you watched the men leave today," she said suddenly. "I would have you tell me all you saw."

"My lady?"

"My window does not face east, and I am told I am not yet strong enough to rise, so I could not see hi – I could not see them leave," she explained.

Keren noticed Eowyn's slip, and wondered why she was so reluctant to admit that she missed bidding a final farewell to her brother.

Unless there is another 'him', Keren realised. Does the cold, white lady harbour a secret love?

It had not occurred to her before that this was likely. She was after all a little old, especially by royal standards, to be unmarried. Keren wondered who she may have given her heart to, and if he returned the sentiment, then chided herself for allowing her thoughts to go on such a tangent when all the lady had done was utter a syllable out of place.

She began to tell Eowyn the events she had witnessed from the walls. She mentioned the lady's friend Merry, telling her he was well but sad to be missing out, and Eowyn grimaced in sympathy. When she reached the part when Merry was honoured, she watched as the lady's grey eyes filled with tears, and Keren judged them to be tears of jealousy, mingled with pride.

"Merry has one of the bravest hearts I have ever encountered," she said quietly. "It is only right that he is honoured. He saved my life, and enabled me to – to…"

The lady went silent. Keren knew where her thoughts had turned. She remembered clearly the terrible scream that had shot through her heart at the moment when Eowyn had killed the Witch King. She knew she could not have even stood before him, let alone have the courage to fight, but then she was far from being a shieldmaiden of Rohan.

"To commit your own brave deed, my lady," she provided.

"As was foreseen," Eowyn said cryptically.

"And you will be honoured in your turn," Keren ignored the strange remark, "when you are returned to health."

Eowyn nodded, but still did not smile.

Keren continued her description of the morning, and the lady listened with rapt attention.

"Did you see the Lord Aragorn ride out?" she asked rather quickly, as Keren reached the end of her tale. Her eyes held a strange look.

"If you mean the man that is now calling himself Elessar then no," Keren replied. "He was amongst a group of men that all looked very similar, and he wore no distinguishing armour or clothing that I could see."

Eowyn looked disappointed.

"I had hoped…" She cut herself off, then decided to proceed. "I had hoped that he would ride with pride, in a place of honour, where all could see him."

"You know him my lady?" Keren asked.

"He came to my uncle's hall with his companions," she explained. "They travelled with us for a time, fought for us at Helm's Deep. He is a great man, one of the Dúnedain, the rangers from the North."

Keren was not sure if the lady knew of Elessar's claim to kingship, but she did know that Eowyn was not telling her all.

And why should she? Keren asked herself. She barely knows me, and I am hardly her equal.

Eowyn asked her no more questions, and suddenly looked tired, as if she had been forcing herself to stay awake to hear some news. Keren left her to sleep.

Eowyn sighed and turned her head to the east, willing her eyes to see through the stone, all the way to the Black Gate, and to Aragorn.

The next morning brought Keren and Palen a day off. They spent most of it together, taking comfort in each other's familiar company, but Keren was concerned to see that Palen's smile never reached her eyes. Not once did she ask her how Faramir was progressing, or begin to broach the topic of Keren's tentative steps towards a friendship with him. Nor did Keren find herself willing to provide this information when it was clearly unlooked for, so they spent the hours in easy familiar territory. They went down into the lower levels of the city, and gloomily looked around at the damage that the siege had caused. They planned to visit their favourite inn on Lampwrights' Street down in the first level, but could not even get close – the damage around the destroyed great gate meant that whole buildings had fallen. They were reassured that The Old Guesthouse was still standing, but was not safe to access. They had dinner instead in a poorer inn, close to Palen and Dannor's house in the fourth level. Palen did not wish to spend the night in their house without Dannor, so she went with Keren back up to the Houses, and quickly retired to bed.

Keren hastily checked her appearance in the mirror – it was so nice to not be in her dull uniform, and she had made the most of it, donning a simple but flattering bodice and skirt over a shift with flowing sleeves. She wore the earrings and necklace Palen and Dannor had bought her as a bridesmaid gift the year before. She and Pal had spent much of the morning styling each other's hair, enjoying the simple pleasure of mild vanity. Keren tried and failed to convince herself that it was to make her feel good, not in any way for Faramir's benefit. With that thought in mind, and with Palen asleep, she went to his room.

Faramir did a double take as Keren came through the door. Her hair, rather than hidden by a white scarf or down her back in tangles, was styled into loose twists which were gathered up at the back of her neck, and she wore dusky pink rather than the faded dark blue he had become accustomed to seeing her in. Simple and small jewellery glittered at her ears and her neck.

"Good evening," she said smiling, with the confidence of one who knows she looked well, and went to join him on the window-seat.

"You look nice," he said simply.

"Do you like my hair?" she asked while she had the nerve. "It took Palen an hour."

"Very nice." He smiled. "What is the occasion?"

"A whole day off! Finally."

"So eager to get away from me?" he teased her.

"So much that I have come to see one of my patients on an evening off," she said sarcastically. "How are you?"

"Better," he said. "Tomorrow I wish to go to the gardens again, perhaps stretch my legs a little more. And I want the warden to get his room back."

She nodded in agreement, and they fell into easy conversation.

The candle grew low as neither noticed the time passing, and it was only when it started to sputter that they realised how late it must be. Faramir, having no desire for her to leave just yet, replaced the candle, and they sat a little closer than before.

Keren stole a glance at their reflection in the window, lit only by candlelight, and rejoiced in it as she watched his hand take hers where it lay in her lap.

"Such little time since we met," he said, "and so little do we know of one another."

Keren was silent, wondering where his words were heading. She held her breath.

"You have told me you love me, and I have not asked you again why or how," he went on. "Nor shall I, as you have told me you do not wish to say. But I believe you, for I saw it in your face that day – I see it every time you look at me."

Keren cringed.

"I cannot tell you what you want to hear," he said softly, and Keren in her mind's eye saw her heart drop to the floor in a congealed splatter. "It has been but days since I met you, I – I cannot love so quickly. But I – "

Keren rose hastily, mortified beyond belief.

This is not the plan, she thought angrily, directing it towards the crystal which was even now in her pocket. You have made me shame myself.

"Please don't go on," she said, turning back to him after she had almost made it to the door. He stood silent in the gentle glow of the candle, the rest of the room now in darkness. "I understand. I will arrange for someone else to come to you tomorrow, so things will not be – "

"Wait, Keren, wait!" he interrupted her, and the sight of him trying not to laugh made her furious.

He closed the distance between them in a few strides.

"I had not finished," he said.

She looked up at him, the closest he had ever been to her, in the near darkness.

He gently took her hand and, to her amazement, placed it on his heart, serious once more.

"It is true I am not a hasty man, and I will not give you false promises or empty words," he said, "but know that I meant what I said the other day – something in your spirit called to mine when I saw you for the first time. It was your face I saw as I rode into battle. And then you were there when I awoke, and have been ever since. I do not understand it, and I'm not sure I wish to, but I feel as if you speak truth, and that you have been brought to me for some purpose. And if that purpose is simply to make you happy by loving you in return, then, given time, I do not think I will find that difficult."

Keren took a long time to absorb exactly what he had just said. Had he really said that he could grow to love her?

"Please say something," he said, and she realised she must have stood staring into the distance for a little too long.

"Something," she said with a little laugh.

The smile that grew between them was magical, and he looked at her with such tenderness that without thinking she brought her hand to his face, immediately regretting it as he blinked in surprise.

But then, after a moment of stillness, his hand slid around her waist and pulled her closer so she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

He is as tall as the elf, her mind conjured up out of nowhere, but she was quickly brought back to the moment as she watched Faramir's face draw ever closer.

When his lips were but an inch away from her mouth she pulled back, surprising herself.

"No," she breathed, although her hand still rested on his chest.

He looked down at her, confused.

"One day you will want to kiss me because you love me, not to see if maybe you could," she said, "and I am happy to wait until then; I will not use whore's tricks to try and… persuade you," she added limply.

"I wanted to kiss you because of all you have said and done for me. I want to try to give you some happiness, and yes, to see if there could be something between us," he said, "And I know you are no whore."

"Still, I will not take from you what you cannot yet give." She removed her hand from his heart, which she had felt beating strongly beneath her palm. "But I can wait," she shrugged. "I've waited nine years, a bit more won't hurt."

"Nine years?" he wondered.

"It is a long and strange tale," she said. "And one day I promise I will tell it to you and explain all. But for now I want you to love me on your own terms, not mine."

Faramir was taken aback by Keren's words. There was something strange at work, and yet she was so ordinary, so simple, wonderfully so. He was already half way to falling in her love with her, purely because of the strangeness surrounding her. If he had not felt it himself by the gate then he would have said she was a little mad, but as it was he knew there was a lot more to her than she was allowing him to see, and that drew him to her inexplicably.

He nodded at her sage words, and they both knew that all would continue as before.

They parted with this agreement and wished each other a good night.

Back in her bed, Keren could not believe what she had just done.

If anytime was your chance, that was it! she chided herself. He was going to kiss you. You've been dreaming of that since you were fourteen!

She could not explain why she had said no. Nor could she remember the words that had fallen from her lips shortly afterwards, when they could have been far more interestingly occupied.

And yet… The timing had seemed off somehow.

She reached for the crystal but then thought better of it. After being so close to actually kissing Faramir the whole thing felt childish and mildly embarrassing.

Perhaps I'm tired of being told what to do by a lump of rock, she thought sleepily.

But as she slept, her hand closed tightly around it, and a warm light shone around her.