Éowyn stands among the ladies in the courtyard, clothed in a flowing azure gown, her unbraided golden tresses windswept and blowing in the gentle summer breeze. Out of all the women there, Faramir thinks, she is the fairest, most spirited of them all, and he would not trade her even if the fate of Middle-earth depended upon his decision.

She notices Faramir gazing at her and beams as she traipses across the garden, her pale eyes shining with merriment. She laughs and buries her face in his tunic, and Faramir holds her tight.

"My Éowyn," he whispers. "My only one."