I do not own any of these characters or anything else I mention. I'm just a mediocre writer who wishes she owned this stuff and practically worships Tolkien. All hail Tolkien! Huzzah!
Part Two – Mornië Alantië
"Are you certain of your choice?"
Éowyn nods. "Yes, léofe. I could not leave without you, and if I did, I would regret it for all of eternity."
"And I will wait with you," Faramir says. "I would not mind it if we were to wait here in this dismal hall forever, for being anywhere with you is better than paradise itself."
"That is well, for I do not wish to be parted with you ever again."
A sudden thought strikes Faramir, and he cannot help but ask it. "Did Boromir or my mother ever come here? Have you seen them?"
"They were here once," Éowyn murmurs, her eyes travelling over to the window and gazing out upon the fading sunset in the distance. "They left quite some time ago, perhaps fifty years or more. I cannot remember clearly; it has been too long."
"Oh," he sighs. "I should have liked to see them again, especially Boromir. He would have liked to know of what I did during the War, and of you and our family…"
"Boromir knew," she reassures him.
"What? How could he possibly know?" Faramir asks. No, it could not be possible, he could not be here…
"I met him here decades ago, and I knew that he had to be your brother, for he looked so much like you. I spoke with Boromir. He said that he was proud of you and all you have accomplished. He would have liked to meet his nephew. Boromir was proud of you. He always was."
"And my father?"
Éowyn sighs and is silent for a moment, wondering on what to say. "He is here still… in the eastern halls, I believe. I see him wandering the corridors, his face in his hands, murmuring words I cannot make out. The only thing I have heard among his words is your name."
Surprise and disbelief wash over Faramir like a flood of his own unrecognised emotions, and he stands there, completely still, lost in a bittersweet reverie. Faramir had been the lesser son, often ignored to the point that he sometimes wished to take his own life. But that time in his life had passed. He would have to live with honour, even if he had to be the loveless son with a father who cared not. "My father… he speaks of me? Not Boromir?"
"I would not lie, Faramir," Éowyn murmurs, laying a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder. He tenses, however, and she begins caressing him. And it is then that Faramir turns to her and heaves a long-awaited, dejected sigh. "Your father loves you, whether you believe it or not."
"It is hard to believe," Faramir says, and his eyes flicker with a strange, somewhat resentful emotion as he speaks. "He never showed it, not after my mother passed."
"Perhaps you could visit him. I know not how long he shall remain here, and he would be glad to see you again. You should not tarry."
"I will find my father, but there are more important matters at hand. You, for example."
"And you are forgetting sleep. You have had a long day, as have I, and rest will do you good."
Faramir starts to speak but stops suddenly in realisation. "Éowyn, where are we to sleep?"
"Right here," she says. "There are too many of us here and not enough chambers. It is rather uncomfortable, but it must suffice."
"I suppose we cannot make love. I should like to, you know."
Éowyn laughs. "Nay, Faramir. Besides, I have not done so in seventy-nine years; I believe I am a bit inexperienced!"
"You never were," he laughs as well, helping his beloved wife down onto the floor and into his lap. "You were, if I can recall, quite a seductress."
"I was not a seductress!" Éowyn hisses. Faramir gives her a knowing look, and she huffs and crosses her pale arms over her chest, defeated. "Very well, I nearly had to bribe you on our wedding night, and you always gave in besides. You were far too submissive for your own good."
"I was not!" he protests, but he knows that it is no use to argue with Éowyn. She had won every battle with him, everything from what colour to paint the baby's room to what they would have for supper. "Fine, I am passive."
Éowyn flashes a arrogant smile at him. "Well, my lord, you are also a romantic fool, and that I cannot resist."
They sit for a while in silence, lost in each other until Éowyn speaks at last. "Faramir?"
"Will you tell me something you remember of our life together?" she sighs dreamily. "It has been too long since you told me a tale of the elder days."
Faramir beams and takes Éowyn's hands in his own, his grey eyes shimmering like the stars. "I remember it, the day I met you. Beautiful you seemed, like a cold winter morning on the eve of spring, like the bitter darkness before the glorious red sunrise, and to me you seemed both perilous and fair, if one could be described as so."
"You always were poetic, suffice to say a thief of women's hearts."
"The only heart I stole was yours," Faramir whispers, leaning over to kiss Éowyn. "I am glad it has been returned to me."
"Will you not continue, Faramir?" she says, blushing a little.
"It was an overcast, gloomy day, and I remember walking alone in the gardens of the Houses. And then the Warden brought you to me, and I knew not what to think of you. Tall and pale you were, with your shield-arm in a sling of finest linen, and none could deny that you were injured. But I somehow sensed that your injuries were not only of body. Something weighed your heart down, almost as if an anchor were chained to it, and I could not let it go unseen.
For you reminded me so much of my beloved mother, who died untimely and walks no more in these halls, and long had I gone without memories of her. I do remember her sad, deathly pale face pressing against the glass of the window in her bedroom, looking east to where all our hopes were, and to where her dear kin and the sea waited. My mother died on my fifth birthday, never knowing how much I loved her. I saw Finduilas in you, and I knew then that I did not want you to meet her fate.
And so you and I endured the hours of waiting; five days together, if you would like me to be precise. On the fifth day we stood on the walls overlooking the Pelennor as the very foundations of the White City shook and rain poured from the sky in torrents. I thought then that it would be the end, and though I knew not if I would live to see another day, I was comforted to know you would be with me at the end. But we did not perish that day or see darkness again."
"Mornië alantië! Alassë utúlië!" Éowyn whispers, closing her eyes and settling into Faramir's embrace. "Cenuvalwë laurëa árë mí mistë!"
"Aye, and it was indeed true. Day had come again, and with it came hope."
"Faramir!" she interjects, and he can tell that she is getting impatient with him. He had gotten quite used to it during his lifetime. "Are you forgetting the wall and the kiss and your proposal? You would not forget my favourite part of the tale, would you?"
"I was just about to begin, dear," Faramir pauses for a moment, then begins again. "Time passed and I had to begin my duties as the Steward of Gondor, but you remained in the Houses for reasons I knew not. And the Warden sent for me at the end of Gwirith; he had noticed that you were becoming ill again and that something in you had changed, and he could not recognise what it was. The Warden thought I could 'cure' your sorrow, or however he put it.
I went to you a day later, on the morning of the twenty-eighth of Gwirith, and you and I stood in Minas Anor together, now in silence, now in speech. I asked you why you would not go, but I never received a proper answer. And then, as I had planned for weeks, I asked you to marry me. I did not expect you to accept my offer, but you did and you kissed me right there on the wall in front of nearly everyone in Minas Tirith…" he trails off and starts again after a brief moment of silence, avoiding his beloved's glance. "I oft would go to Minas Anor after the accident whenever I was in the City. It always seemed so… lonely."
"I did not go to Cair Andros for one reason and one reason alone: I could not leave you, for I loved you since I saw you in the gardens of the Houses, and that I could not admit. I loved you then and I love you still."
"That is nice to know after all these years," Faramir says, beaming. "I have wondered about it."
"I am glad you have heard it again, léofe," Éowyn entwines her fingers in Faramir's rough ones and brings them to her lips, kisses them, and gazes at him for an everlasting moment of pure, refreshing bliss. Faramir moves his hands to her slender waist and leans in to kiss her passionately, and she moans softly as his weight shifts on top of her.
"But there is something else I would like to hear," he whispers to Éowyn as he breaks the kiss. "If you would be willing, that is."
She raises and eyebrow as she casts him a furtive glance. "Oh? What would that be?"
"I would like to know what you remember of our life together."
Léofe - sweetheart, dear. (Old English)
Mornië alantië! Alassë utúlië! - Darkness has fallen! Joy has come! (Quenya)
Cenuvalwë laurëa árë mí mistë! - We will see golden sunlight in the rain! (Quenya)
I do my own translations and write my own phrases (though I believe the phrase mornië alantië is in the song "May It Be" by Enya), all based on Tolkien's Elvish. If I have made any mistakes, please let me know. And sorry about the Quenya… I sort of have a thing for dead languages and hot men speaking dead languages.
Kaladelia Undómiel: There's got to be something wrong with the fic. No story is perfect, you know, and all of mine are definitely far from it.
Lariren-Shadow: Reviews are reviews, whether they're late or not. And maybe I should try happier fluff next; this isn't very happy, is it? Well, I've got more Farawyn fluff coming up after I finish Waiting.
Lindahoyland: What happened to them only gets sadder… but really, it is a happy tale too, or at least some parts of it are. Thanks for reviewing.
SpiritofEowyn: Thank you for the criticism, and I hope I've done better here. You did want this to be longer, so here it is!
Erugenel: Thanks for the review! And of course I'll keep writing! Writing is my life!
AmberButterfly: I hope I got around to reviewing that fic of yours; I'm really forgetful and busy (not a good combination) and I usually forget. If I didn't, I'm reading now. Aye, and I nearly made you cry? Sorry!
Dis Thrainsdottor: I thank thee for the review! And Dwarves rock… keep writing fics about them and I'll keep reviewing!
Fluttering Flutterby: Well, it was going to be a one-shot, but I changed my mind. Blame Mum's country music and my evil muse for yet another Farawyn story.
Quillon: You have no idea how honoured I am right now! You are a master of Faramir/Éowyn goodness and I nearly worship your writing! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I'm now on your alert list? I think I'm going to die of honour!
Steelelf: Yes, it's the Halls of Mandos (or the Halls of Awaiting, the Houses of the Dead, or whatever you want to call it) and you will learn of Boromir's fate here. I would have included him, but this is centred on Faramir and Éowyn; poor Boromir doesn't fit. I may do a Boromir and Faramir fic soon, so keep checking back!
Criticism is welcome. However, flames will burn the ents and make me laugh.