Coirëa
By Voldie on Varsity Track

Dedicated to Lady Voldything for everything she's done for me these past few weeks. I love you, Voldy… and we should worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster sometime soon.

X X X X X

At first he deemed her an apparition, a dismal shadow of the past returning to haunt him. But then he realises that nay, she is not a memory, nor is she lifeless.

"Éowyn is barely living," the Warden said to him previously. But he sends him away with a motion of his hand, and she shudders, tears forming in her eyes. He wishes he could hold her and steal her pain, let her live again like he could not.

He glances at her and the thought of a smile crosses his mind. They have no need for words, only hope.

---

It is a sign, he thinks. She has not wholly rejected or accepted him. It is not like he can expect much, he reminds himself. But still he must show her hope, love, a new life.

And she cannot deny it, either. She stands with him now amid the howling wind, and his presence calms her when the darkness envelops the fields before her. And, without realising it, her hand finds its way to his, and he draws her closer to him as the world nearly collapses around them.

"Haryalyë indonya," he whispers, but she knows not what he says.

---

"I am yours, Faramir," she whispers, gazing at their entwined hands. "Forever. Endlessly."

He touches his forehead to his bride's and squeezes her hand. "For all of eternity."

At length she quietly draws away and looks deep into his fathomless eyes, not a hint of despair or doubt in hers. "I must speak with you of something."

"I… I never had a chance to thank you," she says, her voice faltering slightly. "For you showed me more than I could ever learn. You healed me and brought me to life."

"I was simply returning the favour, my love," he says.

---

They sit on the balcony of their home in Ithilien under the innumerable stars, his arm around her shoulders. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat; after all, she is with child.

"Again, Éowyn?" he says, bringing his hand to her abdomen. He feels movement. Their child, though it is difficult to believe.

"The babe lives, Faramir," she says through tears of joy.

"So do you," he lifts her to her feet, then kisses her brow lightly. He grins at her, his grey eyes shining. "And so do you," he repeats, but this time he has no reason to disbelieve it.

---

She is not but twenty-seven, and he is not but thirty-nine; too young to meet such a fate, it was told in tales years after. But fate could not protect them from the horrors and dread of the war that robbed them of their son.

He holds her as they both lay dying, tears freely flowing from his eyes, glad that he let her live this short time. All of it, he thinks, was worth it. The pain, the calamity, the despair… all of it was worth a life well lived.

And they will live in death together.

Forever. Endlessly.