Author's note: This story goes as follows: the Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn do not fall in love from the beginning, yet still marry, and then come to love one another as time passes. It is probably overdone, mostly so in Éomer-Lothíriel scenarios - yet I was stubborn enough to write it. I tried to keep to the books as much as possible, to maintain the idea and the atmosphere without using Tolkien's words exactly.

About the format - the chapters (which may vary wildly in length, and will get longer towards the end) will each consist of a scene; they either closely follow the previous one (and are therefore separated by a row of xxxxx) or are farther away (and are therefore separated by two rows of xxxxx). And that's all. Enjoy reading!


Éowyn of Rohan woke when the sun was high upon the sky that day; but its rays brought only withered light, and did little to warm her way from the night's dreams. For her hands shook still in fear as the dark image of the Witch-king faded, and her sword arm was as cold as frost on a winter's morning. Cold it had been at her waking in these Houses, at Lord Aragorn's hands, and cold it had become once more with his and her brother's departure; for two days had gone by since the host had passed through the City's broken gates, as bruised and battered as the walls themselves and just as weary; and since then neither cloth nor fire had brought warmth to her limbs.

And she was weary to lie in bed, and felt without a purpose, having nothing but thoughts of guilt at her uncle's death to poison her mind and the blood of the Pelennor to plague her memories.

But, as she once more took hold of herself and hid her fears away, she rose her head in looking to the window and saw the remnants of a tower broken by the Dark One's war; and they glittered in the sunlight, and seemed mighty in their decline as they lay there shattered and untouched; and for a moment she thought to see the body of her brother among paths of stone and rock, bloodied, and broken as the tower, then one after the other all the kinsmen she knew by face, and at the last the Lord Aragorn himself lying beneath his horse, as her uncle had. And then her vision clouded with blood and gore and she fell onto her pillows, her breath a mere whisper, smothered and small.

And as she looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought once more, a grey clothed woman came into the room; in her hands she bore a wooden tray, and upon it were some loaves of bread and cheese and a flagon of water – a breakfast for the lady in her care.

"Good morrow, my lady," she said.

"Good morrow, Narael," Éowyn answered, then turned to rise from upon the bed. "Are there no news of the host yet?"

"There are none that I know of, my lady. But, I pray you, do not rise, for you are not yet well."

"I am well enough to know that one more day in idleness would bring about my end sooner than what ills I still have ever could. And see," she bade the woman, "I can rise and move, and it does not tire me. Would you not help me dress and walk about the Houses?"

"My lady, I would not. Your brother, the Lord Éomer, has asked that you be tended well, and cared for, and to let you wander the hallways now, when only yesterday it was that you first sat up in your bed, would be folly indeed."

"I am no doll that I should break, Narael, nor a child to submit so to my brother's whims, or any man's! I am healed enough to stand, and move, and walk if I so wish it!" And she let herself fall upon the bed, though not from sickness, but unrest. "This room is torment…" she whispered then, her eyes upon the window and the ruined City before her. "Is there no one I can speak with who can grant my wish?" she asked, her eyes lost in the distance.

"Perhaps the Warden of the Houses, my lady," Narael answered, clasping her hands before her upon setting down the tray, "for he has highest authority here. But would you not first break your fast? For yesterevening you ate naught, and your mid day meal before that was a light one."

Then Éowyn looked toward her, although she saw her not, and rising once again she said:

"Nay, Narael, for I care naught for eating. Though I may do so once I see the Warden, and, by his leave, perhaps outside these walls. Now, once again I bid you, bring me some raiment so that I can speak with him and end this."

"As you wish, my lady, I will not linger," Narael said, and she left defeated, dark wisps of her hair fluttering behind her as she ran to fulfil her errand. And she was quick indeed, for she returned within the quarter mark, bearing two dresses. "I found only these two that would suit you, my lady. Which shall you don?" she asked.

And Éowyn chose the one grey in colour and simple in cut, its sleeves falling short about her wrists and its skirts plain; for a robe more delicate would perhaps show the Warden only a maiden frail, and she wished him to see her strength, and not be moved to shield her from the world. And so she left her chambers with her arm bound in a sling and went in search of him. Yet she found no answers there, nor tidings of the war, for none had come. And so she followed him to find the Steward of the City, and hoped to meet a man more understanding of her troubles.