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Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters or settings, even if I love them as if they were my own. The idea and Cyrene are mine, only mine.

Author's Note:
Though I revere Prof. Tolkien's work, I was never very happy with the way he treated Éowyn of Rohan. So I took the liberty of portraying her in this story the way I saw she was more likely to act.

As usual, love an thanks to my dear beta Viv, my "out-of-block-bouncers" and all the readers who read and review. All my deepest and heartfelt thanks!

Chapter XXX: FROM SHIELDMAIDEN TO WOMAN

Back at Minas Tirith, fear and uncertainty filled the air, despite the sunny weather.

Since the Army had left, the cruel reality or war and hopelessness had reached every corner of the White City.

They people of Minas Tirith dreaded each morning for news of doom. Their lord Denethor was dead and burned, and the new king that had come to them in the night was gone again to a war against powers too dark and terrible for any might or valor to conquer. The uncertainty of their future lay heavy upon the population of a city that had survived flames but now had no gates and no warriors to defend it, should the Army West fail in their mission.

And no news came.

After two days of rest, Eowyn bade the women who tended her to bring her clothing, and she rose from her bed. She was restless and sad but determined to stand up to whatever would happen. She set her arm in a sling of linen and went to the Warden of the Houses of Healing. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lay longer in sloth," she told him.

"Lady," he answered, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed. I beg you to go back."

"I am healed," she said. "Healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease. But I will fall sick if I should lie down again. Are there no tidings of the Army ?"

"There are no tidings," said the Warden. He looked at the White Lady. She stood tall, her eyes bright in her pale face, her healthy hand clenched as she turned and gazed out of his window that opened to the East.

"Is there naught to do?" she said, "Who commands in this City?"

"The Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City," said the Warden.

"Where can I find him?"

"In this house, lady. He was wounded, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know …"

"Will you not bring me to him? Then you will know," replied Éowyn impatiently.

*******************

The Lord Faramir was walking alone in the garden of the Houses of Healing. The sunlight warmed him and he felt life run new in his veins, but his heart was heavy as he looked eastward over the walls.

The Warden approached him, followed by Éowyn of Rohan. Though Faramir hadn't met her before, he knew at one who she was, and his heart was filled with sympathy for she was hurt and he had heard how she had come to her wounds. And beyond her wounded arm, he saw her sorrow and unrest.

The Warden introduced her. "Milord, here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt in battle. She dwells now in my keeping, but she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the Steward of the City."

Eowyn looked at the Steward of Gondor and felt shy. Faramir was fair to behold and he bore a stance of bravery and kindness at the same time that immediately touched Éowyn.

"Do not misunderstand him, lord," she said. "It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and the battle still goes on."

Faramir sent the Warden away.

"What would you have me do, lady?" he said, "I am a prisoner of the healers as well."

He looked at the White Lady, and it seemed to him that her loveliness in her grief would break his heart. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and Éowyn knew, for she had been bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.

"What do you wish?" he said again. "If it lies in my power, I will do it."

"I would have you command this Warden to let me go," she said. Though her words were still proud, her heart faltered, and for the first time she doubted herself. She guessed that this tall man, both stern and gentle, might think her merely testy because of her insistence for leaving. He would not understand.

"I also find myself in the Warden's keeping," answered Faramir. "And I have not yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need."

"But I do not desire healing," she said. "'I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died fighting and has now both: honor and peace."

"It is too late to follow the Captains, Lady Eowyn, even if you had the strength," said Faramir. "But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting."

She did not answer, but as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of spring.

A lonely tear fell from her eye and fell down her cheek, and her proud head fell a little. She recognized her defeat. She was trapped.

Quietly, as if speaking to herself, Éowyn said, "The healers would have me lie down for seven days yet. And my window does not look eastward." Her voice was now that of a maiden young and sad.

Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with sympathy and admiration.

"Your window does not look eastward?" he said. "That can be mended. In this I will command the Warden. If you stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your due rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun and look east, where all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care if you would speak to me or walk at whiles with me."

The White Lady raised her head and looked at Faramir's face, and a blush tinted her pale cheeks. "How should I ease your care, my lord?" she said, "I do not desire the speech of living men."

"Would you have my plain answer?" he said. Her grave eyes and a slight nod was all he needed to continue. "Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. I have never before set eyes on any woman in Gondor so lovely and so sorrowful. It would ease my heart if while the Sun yet shines I could see you. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back to life."

"Shadow lies on me still, Steward of Gondor. Look not to me for healing, for I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Lord Faramir."

With a curtsey she turned away and walked back to the house. But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden, and his glance now strayed rather to the house than to the eastward walls.

**********************

The next morning, as Faramir came out to the gardens, he saw Éowyn, as she stood upon the walls; and she was clad all in white, and gleamed in the sun. He called to her, and she came down, and they walked on the grass or sat under a green tree together, now in silence, now in speech. And each day after they did likewise. With time, the Steward understood something of the grief and unrest of Éowyn of Rohan. And he saw beyond her melancholic beauty and courageous heart, admiring and cherishing her free spirit and inner strength, and finding that she was driven to battle and fight by her unrelenting hopelessness.

Éowyn saw herself only as a prisoner of her station and gender. She did not see her own beauty or bravery But Faramir did, and every hour he spent with her he was more drawn to the Lady of Rohan.

The fifth day came since the Lady Éowyn went first to Faramir; and they stood now together once more upon the walls of the City and looked out. No tidings had yet come, and all hearts were darkened. The weather was cold and the lands surrounding looked grey.They were clad in warm clothing and heavy cloaks, and over all the Lady Éowyn wore a great blue mantle of the color of deep summer-night and set with silver stars about the hem and throat. Faramir had sent for this robe and had wrapped it about her; he thought that she looked fair and queenly indeed as she stood there at his side. The mantle had belonged to his mother, and it was to him but a memory of loveliness in far days and of his first grief; and the robe seemed to him a garment fitting for the beauty and sadness of Éowyn.

But she was shivering beneath the starry mantle, and she looked northward, above the gray far lands, into the eye of the cold wind where far away the sky was hard and clear.

"What do you look for, Éowyn?" asked Faramir.

"Does not the Black Gate and the land or Mordor lay there?" she asked. "Those dearest to my heart rode to face the evil. I fret for them and wish I would be at their side. It has been four days since they rode away."

"Four days," said Faramir. "I beg you not to think ill of me, but they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I had never thought to know. Joy to see you, but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time have grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, for fear of losing so soon what I have found."

"Lose what you have found, milord?" she said. Her eyes, grave but kind, were set on him. "I do not know what in these days you could have found that you may lose. But, my friend, let us not speak of it! Let us not speak at all!"

And they said no more; and it seemed to them as they stood upon the wall that time stood still, the wind died, and the light failed, and all sounds in the City or in the lands about were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor their own breath could be heard; even the very beating of their hearts was stilled. Time halted.

In that strange moment, as both felt fear and uncertainty took hold of their hearts, their hands met and clasped, though they where not aware of it. And still they waited for something they did not know.

A tremor ran through the earth, and they felt the walls of the City quiver. A sound like a sigh went up from all the lands about them; finally, their hearts beat suddenly again.

"Darkness inescapable. I often dream of it," said Faramir softly, surprised to hear his own voice after the dreadful silence.

"Then you think that the Darkness is coming?" said Éowyn, drawing closer to him.

"No," he replied, looking into her face. "It was but a picture in the mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says no and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy have come to me that no reason can deny. Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this somber hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!" He dared then to bend his head and kiss her brow.

And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor as a great wind rose and blew. As the Shadow departed, the Sun was unveiled, and light poured over Minas Tirith. The waters of Anduin shone like silver and in all the houses of the City men sang for the joy that welled up in their hearts from what source they could not tell.

Before the Sun had set far from the noon, from the East came a great Eagle flying, and he cried for everyone to hear, "Sing now, people of Middle Earth, for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever, and the Dark Tower has fallen."

The people of Gondor were filled with joy and sang in all the streets of the City.

******************

In the following days the White City prepared for the coming of the King.

Faramir took over his duties as Steward of the City and he saw Eowyn seldom, being busy with many matters. She dwelt still in the Houses of Healing and walked alone in the garden, and her face grew pale again. It seemed that in all the City she only was ailing and sorrowful.

Faramir sought her at last, and once more they stood on the walls together. He said to her, "Éowyn, why do you linger here? Do you not rejoice in the victory over the evil of Mordor? You seem to fade away; you are but a shadow of yourself." His manner towards her showed his concern.

Éowyn said, "Do you not know? Have you not read my heart before, my friend?"
She stood proud and sad, facing the wind, her eyes lost in the distance.

He answered, "Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know."

She looked into his kind eyes and said, "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!"

Faramir took a deep breath and walked closer to her, for he knew he had to be harsh on what he was going to tell her. He hesitated for a second at the thought of hurting his friend, his companion, the woman he had come to love. But there were words that had to be said.

"You are sad because to look on the Lord Aragorn in his triumph brings you no joy. I was told you have set your heart upon Arathorn's son, who does not return your affection," he paused trying to decipher the shadows in her eyes. But her expression remained inescrutable. He risked probing for her feelings towards him. "Or maybe you are stricken because I have left the Houses of Healing and you desire to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?"

Éowyn was suddenly struck by Faramir's words, and she flushed, replying softly, "I wished to be loved by another. But I desire no man's pity."

The Steward of Gondor was stricken. "That I know, milady" he said, "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was a great captain and a leader of men, heir of kings, and a great man, as I have been told, and he seems to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. But even that was taken from you. Now look at me, Éowyn!". Faramir lay his hand gently upon Éowyn's arm, shaken slightly by the emotions overwhelming him.

The White Lady looked at Faramir long and steadily, her broken heart and lost will for life shadowing her clear eyes Finally Faramir told her, "Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten, and you are beautiful beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow, but not anymore. Were you without sorrow, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?"

She looked away from him, searching in her mind and in her heart for the answer to that question. The girl who had fallen in love with Aragorn in Edoras was no longer; in her stead was the reminder of the shieldmaiden she had been, a woman touched by grief, defeat and self-contempt. But that was the woman Faramir's kindness had touched, brightening her dark days and making her feel beautiful, important, and cherished.

Éowyn saw Faramir anew, as if a veil had fallen from her eyes. This brave and kind man had gotten into her heart without her being even aware of it. His presence had been what she had been missing, his warm smile, his wise and patient eyes. Him, and no other.

"I did not know it until today, Faramir. But I do love you, and I never desired to be a queen," she said.

Faramir laughed merrily. "That is good, milady," he said, "for I am not a king. Yet I will wed the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, we shall cross the River and look for happier days dwelling in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

"Then we shall dwell in Ithilien, Faramir, but the one who will wed you is not the White Lady of Rohan, but only Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn. Do you still want to wed me?" she said to him.

Faramir could not help himself anymore: he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them as they came down from the walls and went hand in hand to the Houses of Healing.

****************

On the third day after the fall of the Black Tower, Cyrene and Dumetar arrived in Minas Tirith. They visited Faramir and the Captains in charge of the city to report on the battle of the Morannon, and then they were dismissed to rest in their assigned quarters. But Cyrene went with swift paces, in spite of her wound and her fatigue, to visit Éowyn. She wanted to see her friend immediately and reassure herself that Éowyn was fine.

She found her friend in the Houses of Healing, helping the women tend the wounded who were still there. Cyrene halted at the entrance of the main room and watched her friend working, with her arm in a sling, walking through the wounded and speaking to each of them. Yes, Eowyn was well.

Eowyn did not notice Cyrene's arrival until one of the women told her of the strange woman standing at the door.

Three weeks had passed since Cyrene had left Edoras to fight at Helm's Deep, and Eowyn saw the changes in her dearest friend at her first glance.

Even though Cyrene's face was smiling brightly at seeing her, Eowyn could not ignore the dark shadows beneath the eyes, the gaunt set of her features, the sadness in her companion's look. Cyrene had lost weight and she looked tired and weary. But she was there. Eowyn almost ran to the Amazon, and both women embraced another.

"I have missed you, Cyrene. My heart is filled with joy seeing you well and alive," said Eowyn.

"I am pleased and amazed to see you recovered and up, my sister!" said Cyrene, hugging her friend carefully as to not hurt her wounded arm, but relishing in the feeling of the shieldmaiden's love for her.

"Is my brother well? An eagle brought the tidings of the outcome of the battle but no news of the welfare of any of the warriors, except for the Lord Aragorn. Did the Rohirrim fight well?" asked Eowyn, with concern in her eyes.

"Do you doubt it? Last I spoke to Eomer, after the battle, he was well and though many Rohirrim fell during the fight, we were lucky to have achieved victory. You will be proud. Theoden would have been proud of his people as well," said Cyrene.

"I am proud, Cyrene, and I am pleased to know my brother has survived the battle unharmed, as you have. Theoden King was always proud of the Rohirrim, and he inspired their bravery until his very end. I will miss him," the White Lady said, and both women lowered their heads in respect for the fallen King.

Eowyn lifted her head and gave her friend a little smile. "He would not be pleased at our mourning. You must be exhausted. Will you share my chambers? I will ask for a hot bath for you and then you may rest. The fighting is over, Cyrene," she continued.

The Amazon nodded, "Yes, my friend, I will gladly stay with you while I attend my duties here. A hot bath would be a gift from the Goddess, Eowyn," Cyrene said.

"Then follow me, dear sister. You have earned a gift from the gods!" said Éowyn, turning away and leading Cyrene to their chambers.

Cyrene sighed as she followed her friend. Cyrene had received a gift from the gods and had rejected it. The mere thought of Legolas tore her heart apart. But now she would be able to talk about her feelings and her choices to someone she trusted would understand: Éowyn. And maybe she would find the strength to go on with her life.

**********************

Éowyn sat on her bed, observing her best friend for the last years leaning back in the wooden tub, enjoying the soothing sensation of the warm water upon her bruised body. For the long time she had known Cyrene and in spite of her friend's tendency to guard many mysteries about herself, this was a mood she had never seen in her friend before. Without question, Cyrene was sad.

"Éowyn, you seem to be pleased with your life. I am overjoyed to see you recovering and happy," said Cyrene, pausing before asking, "Have you overcome your infatuation with Aragorn?"

The question caught Éowyn by surprise. But there was no other she would trust with her most intimate feelings than Cyrene.

"I have recognized that I was not in love with him, my friend. I was in love with the idea of him, with leaving Edoras and being able to stand up to the memory of the shieldmaidens of old, not just sit in Meduseld or any other castle waiting for a male to grace me with his affection or attention. Not even Theoden or Eomer. Now, I have reflected on this, I have also found someone that loves me, and I have come to love him as well."

Having said this, Éowyn turned to the bathtub to see Cyrene's reaction. The Amazon was smiling brightly at her.

"You found a man worthy of your love, my sister? I am filled with joy, Éowyn, for you seem to be happy with your choice," said Cyrene. "Is it some warrior I know? Tell me, I beg you, I want to know everything about the one who has brought light to your eyes and love to your heart," continued the dark-haired woman. She rose from the water and fetched a cloth to dry herself and wrap around her body. Then she walked to Éowyn and sat by her side.

As she spoke, the lady of Rohan's face glowed with the light of newfound love and contentment.

"It is Faramir, Steward of Gondor. He lay here in the Houses of Healing recovering from the Black Death as well, and he gave me company and understanding through the bleak hours when I thought I had failed Rohan and myself. He showed me the true meaning of life and achievement, beyond even warfare and glory. We will wed and settle in Ithilien, to forge new dwellings for those who wish to begin a new life after evil has departed. Faramir gives me love and joy, and I found in him someone with whom I can love and share the rest of my days."

Hesitating for a couple of seconds, Cyrene reached out and enfolded her friend in a tight embrace, careful not to press the broken arm.

"By the Goddess, Eowyn! I would give my right hand to ensure your happiness and well being. I have missed you, sister!" she said.

Eowyn returned the embrace with her good arm. "So did I, Cyrene. I missed you, but we did overcome all the trials. We are here, together again. We have fought our share for the defeat of the Dark Lord. But even with the high price we had to pay, we have vanquished evil. "

They looked at each other and shadows filled their eyes as they both thought of Theoden, the warriors who had died on the battlefields, and their own personal losses. Éowyn had lost her childhood dreams, but found her calling and her love. Cyrene had found and lost her first and only love, Legolas.

The Amazon shook her head lightly, to banish memories and regrets. "It was a high price indeed. But it could have been higher still. When we arrived to fight on the fields of the Pelennor, Eomer told us that you had fallen at the same time than Theoden. I felt my heart burst in pain, Éowyn. If you would have died, I would have never forgiven myself."

The White Lady was intrigued. "Forgive yourself? What for, Cyrene?"

"For failing you and our promise. I promised to fight by your side, and you faced the beast and its rider alone. Maybe if I had been there …"

"You could have not prevented my injury, Theoden's death, or my ride into battle with the éored. We agreed to meet on the field, but it wasn't meant to be. You had your duty and I had mine. It was my choice to leave Edoras and join the Army of the Mark," Eowyn took her friend's hand and clasped it. "We trained together: you taught me your skill and honed mine. If I was able to face the Ringwraith it was because of your help and friendship. You gave me the weapons, but it was my choice, Cyrene. My own free will, not your responsibility."

"Forgive me, Éowyn, for doubting your ability for making your choices upon your own life. You are right: I should not diminish your actions by taking the responsibility upon myself. You are a true warrior, shieldmaiden, Amazon at heart, and I salute you as it befits a hero amidst warriors," said Cyrene, ashamed, but also relieved from the burden of guilt she had been bearing. Éowyn was right.

"You are a hero amidst warriors yourself, my sister. I heard of your deeds as well. And I also heard that you had found your mate in the Elf-Lord of Mirkwood. Is this true? Have you, the proud Amazon, fallen under a male's love spell?" asked Éowyn, with a smile on her face.

A shadow fell over Cyrene's heart. "I have indeed yielded to a male, Éowyn. An outstanding warrior, a kind and honorable man. Legolas gave me great joy and sorrow, and though I do not regret a minute of our time together, we have parted for good."

"Why did you part, my sister? Did he not return your feelings? Are you unsure of sharing your life with him?" pursued Éowyn. The sadness that haunted her friend's face hurt her.

"It was my choice, Éowyn. I learned with him the meaning of love and he gave himself to me with heart and soul. But I could not bear what joining with me for life would have meant to him. I was told that if Legolas bound himself to me he would lose his immortality. I could not let him forfeit his life just for some decades with me. So I deserted him, breaking his heart, denying our feelings for another." Cyrene closed her eyes wearily. "I know that elves are immortal, and I was willing to bind myself to him and endure his eternal youth and beauty while I withered due to age. But I cannot allow Legolas to bind himself to me permanently and then lose his life. I cannot and will not, I cannot bear it, Éowyn."

And for the first time in their long friendship, Éowyn felt as if she were the stronger of the two. She took the Amazon's hand in hers. "My sister, the weight of the choice was again not yours to bear. I see the distress this causes you. But you have now, in your effort to protect those you love, taken Legolas's choice from him. And if he loves you, as I imagine he must love you, you have not been fair. You gave your heart freely, you should also yield to fate and trust him to choose wisely."

"I see it now, Éowyn. And I have also learned that without him life has no purpose or meaning. I could just as well die as soon as I have fulfilled my duties," stated Cyrene, her proud head drooping in hopelessness.

A soft hand cradled her cheek and lifted her face. "You will not give in to despair or hopelessness, my sister," said Éowyn. "You will speak to Legolas and let him make his choice, but I think that he already made it. And if he should be foolish enough to part from you, then you will come with me to Ithilien and we shall build a new kingdom for those who seek a new life. Will you, Cyrene?"

"Yes, Éowyn, I shall. As well as I should forever thank the Goddess for the gift of your friendship."