Reminder:: What do I say? I don't own the last fifty chapters? No. I don't own these fifty-one chapters. Well, at least not their influence, names, and places. I mean… this took a lot of work! I want some credit. xD

This is it! One more! It literally took me to the last day of June to keep my promise, but here it is. Finished.

Chapter Fifty :: Let Go
Part Two

I don't know if I will ever… forget. If I can leave everything behind. If I can keep up the lie.

The days will pass, but somehow I cannot seem to give up hope. There will come a day when I will be happy again. And I'm determined to do that now – on my own. I can find happiness in myself and the world around me. I will be alive again.

Maybe I'll meet someone new. Maybe I should have told Mordred yes. Maybe I'll die alone with but a memory. Maybe I over think things.

I am grateful to be here. I am grateful that I no longer have the nightmares and the feeling of forgetting something. I am grateful to have somebody to go home to. That I have one world and one life.

But the dreams do not end. I'll see his face and awake to nothing or touch the seven-pointed necklace hidden beneath my robes. Either way, I have to start all over again. But I'll always find the light at the end of the tunnel. I'll always go on. And that gives me peace.

One question still haunts me.

Am I a coward for running away? Or am I brave for letting go?

The Steward Faramir was… in short – excited. He was feeling a whole plethora of emotions, but in a time when he was supposed to be making the decisions for himself at long last, it seemed that he was simply following orders again. His path was laid before his feet, unbroken and one way. Yet there was no question. There was nothing for him to worry about anymore and for once, everything seemed to be perfect.

The White Lady of the Riddermark had left for the time, but the summer months would leave faster than Faramir could notice them. It was agreed they would take care of the deceased King Théoden and properly place Eomer on the throne before any wedding plans would ensue and Eowyn could return to Gondor where she would take up residence with him in Ithilien. How fast things were moving! To think – less than a month ago, Faramir had not known Eowyn's face at all. Now he was to have his own princedom and be married before the winter.

Not to mention Finwen – she had really become quite dear to him somehow. And all those long, troublesome hours of brewing and dwelling had finally answered themselves. How could Faramir think of Finwen in such a way? It had been a misunderstanding, of course. Faramir realized he must have cared for Finwen as a brother. He had never had a sister, but the thought made things less confusing and painful when she announced her betrothal to the guard of the Citadel Mordred. That night haunted him, but if Faramir told himself that Finwen was a younger sister, things really were not as difficult anymore. Glad that was cleared up.

Or was it? Damn, it had come up again.

Faramir was on his way to do something he should have done in June when Finwen had told him. July was nearly over and still he had neglected to offer his congratulations. Some 'brother' he was.

There was no clinking chain mail or heavy silver armor breast plates or gauntlets of leather. Ceremony had taken the place of tradition since the return of King Elessar. There was no war to fight. Men had traded their swords for tools to rebuild the White City and their armor for lighter clothes fit for long afternoons in the hot sun. Women returned to the city and the families opened the fields of harvest again. Faramir had never seen such bliss in so short a time.

Still, as Steward, Faramir would not leave all decorum behind. The knobbed rod in his right hand clicked evenly with his footsteps as he made his way down the hall on this personal visit. Unlike his father, Faramir would not wait in the White Hall. He refused to be idle as long as his legs could carry him, so the young Steward walked Minas Tirith as he always had.

The sound of the cane reminded him of Mithrandir's white staff. He had known the wizard better in grey with a gnarled stick for a staff. Faramir would be sad when the wizard would leave with the hobbits. They had not spoken nearly enough.

Finwen had apparently spent some time with Mithrandir. The wizard spoke highly of the girl – a surprise in and of itself. Mithrandir was never one for triviality. His compliments would not be taken lightly. The Lord Faramir was still having a hard time comprehending little, defenseless Finwen swooping through the skies on an eagle. It was almost a joke. She did not belong on daring adventures… She was too fragile.

Faramir could distinctly remember the listlessness in her face when he saw her in the White Hall. Finwen was always like that around his father. Then again, she had spent more time with Denethor than anyone had in the last twenty odd years or so. Even Boromir liked to keep his distance.

So perhaps she wasn't as weak as he thought. No matter. Finwen was still a child. Barely into her twenties… not more than three years junior to Eowyn…? But Eowyn was strong and… she had a certain majesty that… Why was he thinking of Finwen again? Why debate this? Such thoughts were absurd. Eowyn and Finwen were two completely separate people. They had… nothing in common.

Following the winding stair of the high Citadel, Faramir was greeted by half a dozen comrades who knew him as their Captain. He was pointed in the right direction and found himself quicker than he imagined in a guard tower overlooking the City.

Faramir did not see him at first. The young man was sitting in the corner, angling the sunlight falling on his sword so it shone against the wall. The metal glinted and lit up a small window across the streets. Faramir recognized it as one from the Houses of Healing.

"Are you signaling someone?"

Mordred practically dropped the sword in surprise. Straightening up from his slouch, the soldier stood erect and bowed. "Nay, my lord. Was just… What service may I offer the Steward of the White Hall?"

"No service with you." Faramir shook his head. "I come to offer my personal congratulations and my blessing."

Mordred relaxed his shoulders as fast as he had lifted them. "Congratulations, my lord?"

Faramir furrowed his eyebrows, leaning casually on the Steward's rod. "Congratulations on your upcoming marriage! I have not made it a popular fact, but the Lady Finwen means very much to me. I am glad that she is in safe hands."

The young man's face dramatically changed and was replaced with a forlorn glower. Lord Faramir watched him in confusion. "If you know her so well, she would have told you she refused my proposal. In Ithilien… my lord. She's left Minas Tirith."

Now the rod was used for support as Faramir nearly gaped in shock. He could quickly compose himself though, so the soldier was not alarmed. An overwhelming embarrassment and shame crept up his spine – he had to quiz a man he had never formally spoken to about someone he apparently cared 'very much' for.

"Left. Finwen told you this?" Faramir asked.

"No, my lord, the Warden in the Houses. I went to…" Mordred debated telling his lord of the more than rude scenario in which he had left the Lady Finwen and how he went to reconcile and found himself too late. Finally, he ignored it and said: "He claims she left with the maid Ioreth. They didn't have a destination in mind."

She left? Just… gone? What reason did Finwen have to leave?

Unfortunately, the truth crashed upon the young Steward in a great wave before the more than suspicious Mordred who was currently reading him like a book. Faramir placed the pieces together, solving the riddle of Finwen and subsequently – himself. The stories, the laughter, before she left for the eagles, that night he had to leave to the night she coldly congratulated him and lied to his face – all those ridiculous letters!

So…

She had loved him after all.

And Faramir had opened the gate and slapped her horse.

The Fellowship left King Eomer on August 14th. Sometime in the days after, Faramir found himself riding with Eowyn at his side bound for Ithilien. Travelling east upon the road in a caravan, the royals and their party passed through a small village at sunset. They prepared to camp for the night.

Though the village was barely a town with only a few houses, smithies, and a stone well, the townsfolk were more than welcoming and aided in the set up of tents and cots and hot meals. They were honored to house the Lady of Rohan and her intended.

Eowyn was fatigued. The stress of her beloved uncle's death was upon her and for the first time since the Houses, she showed a deep physical pain at his loss. She was quickly set up in bed with a wet cloth over her forehead.

Faramir nervously paced the floor. A woman with an unnaturally large hooked nose wrung out the cloth and replaced it fresh. She sniffed and spoke up to him: "Worry won't do any good, my lord. She's quite alright. Worn out from travel, I suspect. Right as rain by morning."

Her short sentences did little to comfort him. "Isn't there something that can be done? Something to ease her mind?"

The woman left Eowyn's side and made for the door. "Well, if it's a remedy of some sort you're looking for, I'd direct you to the village midwife. Delivered two babes since she arrived and an esteemed medicine woman from the Houses of Healing."

"A medicine woman? Where may I find her?"

"Down the hill away from the village. She lives on a small ranch with a cousin of some sort, I reckon. They're by the river."

Horse hooves softly stamped the tall grass. A dirt path was slowly being worn down to the famed doctor's home by the river from panicked people in need. The Lord Faramir could see a smoke stack rising from a small shack with a single lit window. Chickens clucked lazily in the evening haze next to their coop and a dark horse stood under a shaded enclosure. The river was quiet.

A silhouette framed the open door as Faramir approached on his horse. Servants and riders offered to find the woman themselves, but Faramir felt it best he go instead of fussing over Eowyn. He never liked feeling useless.

The woman's face was unreadable with the absence of light. She was holding a dish rag of sorts. She had stood motionless when the light touched him.

"Is this where I may find the medicine woman I have heard of? I am in need of a remedy which some have told me she is capable of." He stated.

The woman cleared her throat. "I am she. Might I ask what the Steward Faramir is doing in a small village of Rohan?"

Faramir suddenly recognized her lop-sided, tight bun on her grey head and the prim posture. The smock she wore was one from the Houses. "Ioreth?"

The woman nodded again, stepping out and shutting the door behind her. Light from the window still illuminated the two and now Faramir could see the old woman's face. It was not pleased. "I said I am she. What may I do for you?"

He was having one of those rare moments when he was at a loss for words. Faramir stumbled and said: "Eowyn – she's fatigued… I was in search of a remedy that could ease her mind."

"No such thing." Ioreth shrugged blatantly. "You can have her smell some herbs though to relax. Actually, I think I still have some lavender in the cupboard. A moment."

Spinning on her heel, Ioreth opened the door and closed it behind her. Faramir waited on his saddle, unsure if he was welcome to dismount. Cupboards opened and shut within.

Finally, Ioreth reappeared on the stoop with the violet flower in hand. She handed it up to Faramir and gave him directions. "Find a dish, put this in it, and set it aflame. Keep it in the lady's room for the night. It will help her sleep sounder. Make sure the fragrance reaches her. It won't burn long."

Faramir nodded lamely and secured the stems in the saddlebag. He held the reins and looked at the shack awkwardly. "I was told you left Minas Tirith. It was difficult to believe."

Ioreth wasn't a fan of small talk. "Yes, I left. It's just something one does… for someone they love."

If it wasn't more obvious she was trying to shame him, it was just made all the more clear. Faramir said: "Is she well? I never wished her to leave."

"What did you expect her to do?" Ioreth asked, enjoying the absence of formality. This was not his country and she did not owe him any respect. "Linger? See your heirs born? I don't take Sarah's affections lightly, Steward."

They were silent for a time. Finally, Ioreth looked to the house anxiously and shooed him with her hands. "It'd be best if you leave."

Faramir nodded sadly, disappointed that he had found Finwen (or now, Sarah) but wasn't even allowed to see her.

A rustling noise within told the pair Finwen was inside. Ioreth shooed him further and wrung her hands in a frantic whisper. "Please! Go! She was just starting to smile again…"

"I understand." Faramir agreed and turned his steed about. He quickly spurred the horse on and left as quickly as he had come.