Freedom

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A/N: This is my first ÉowynxFaramir, so I hope you like it :). Also, Lord Grimstow is an OC (and a very evil one at that...) so he does not belong to Mr. Tolkien. All people, dates and places also belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. Thanks! 

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The White Lady of Rohan stands on the battlements. There she stands, halting, waiting for an answer. Should she give herself to him? She knows not. Does she truly love him? To that, she also cannot find an answer.

She finds him physically attractive, for sure, she muses. Éowyn sees the warmth in his dark, grey eyes. She notices the defined muscle under his tunic. His sable, thick hair, and his warm, rich laugh. But does she welcome his comfort?

A wind starts up in the city below, not mourning but cheerful, for those are the festivities tonight. The Evenstar is today wed to Elessar, the man that Éowyn holds in great esteem and still finds wonderfully stable. Arwen is a lucky woman, or should she say elf. But the attraction to him has lessened to her, it has a little every day since she met him. Faramir.

The breeze blows Éowyn's golden locks from her face. She closes her eyes, and memories come rushing to her. Standing at Meduseld, the cold woman watching over her people. She can almost smell it, the rich scent of horse, the sound of the gusts on the plains, a horn welcoming her brother Éomer back from another successful skirmish. Could that have been her, had she been the boy?

Éowyn had once been impulsive, young, foolish, frightened. She had once wished to seek glory in death and battle, hoping that it would fulfill her life's purpose. Her wish was partway granted.

But Béma's mind works in twisted ways. She had been granted great honor on the battle field, but at heavy cost. Éowyn had nearly been lost to the black breath of the Nazgûl, leaving her people to perish. She hadn't thought when she had left her people for glory on the Pellennor. She had abandoned her duty. The one thing that had came out of the horrible darkness was that she had met him: Faramir. Her Faramir.

Éowyn had told the King and now the Steward that she feared a cage. A loss of freedom, a constricting oath that binds her to one way of life. That is why she tells Faramir that she will consider his proposal in the first place: she wishes not to be "The Steward's Wife" for the rest of her life, just the same as she wishes not for Faramir to be known as "The Man who Tamed the White Lady". Éowyn has finally discovered that renown does not come only in battle.

"Faramir..." she whispers the three syllables into the night air. She knows that she loves the sound of his name. She had asked him what it meant two days ago.  

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"Faramir, what does that name mean?" the White Lady asks curiously.

"It means 'jewel of the hunters', if you meant literally, My Lady," he courteously answers. The jewel of the hunters' face softens. "My lady mother thought of that name, for she foresaw that I would be great one day."

"Your mother is a great woman," Éowyn compliments. Faramir's expression takes on terrible sadness.

"Was, My Lady Éowyn, was." 

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"Milady?" The deep tenor brings Éowyn out of her reverie. She gasps and spins around, clutching her heart.

"Milord Grimstow, you certainly gave me a fright! What brings you away from the celebrations below?" the Rohirric woman asks politely.

"Many things, milady, not the least of which being your beauty." Éowyn looks at the court lord, confused. The man continues. "I hear that you have not yet absolutely plighted your troth to Lord Faramir. I was wondering..." Éowyn's eyes widen in understanding. She hurries to speak before he can continue.

"My lord, I have escaped the crowds below in order to reach a decision about the matter," she says, carefully edging away from him. He follows her.

"And have you?" he asks, voice low and husky.

"That is hardly your business, my lord," Éowyn says, flustered. The strong man backs her up against the battlements, and his face is now so close to hers that she can smell the ale on his breath. She attempts to turn away, but his hold on her is so tight that she can barely breath. "My- lord-" she gasps.

"I always get what I want, Lady Éowyn. You shall be quick to learn this when you accept my proposal." Éowyn struggles for a moment more.

"Never," she says hoarsely. Grimstow chuckles darkly and moves in. Éowyn suddenly goes limp like a fish. She slides out from under him while slipping his heavy broadsword out of his sheath. Their positions are now reversed. Éowyn has Lord Grimstow backed up against the battlements, held at swordpoint.

"And you shall be quick to learn that I am loath to stay in a cage," she whispers fiercely. She drops the sword and flees from the tower, only to feel a sharp, cold blade against her throat.

"Lesson number one, *milady*," he says mockingly, "Never let your opponent leave your field of vision." A very welcome voice interrupts from behind the pair.

"Should this not count for Lords as well, son of Grimestor?" Faramir son of Denethor's voice is cold and laced with fury. Éowyn relaxes.

"Faramir," she says, relieved, "far stroke from the Witch King, isn't he? And I killed him." Faramir is greatly reassured by her attempts to be lighthearted. He thanks the Valar that he wasn't too late. He places his straight-edged blade on the other man's neck. The Steward can feel his pulse, and his gulp when he lets his love go. Faramir keeps his icy tone when he speaks again.

"You shall not come near Éowyn again. You shall be evicted from the council. You shall never try this with any woman, common or noble, ever again, unless you wish to be apprehended for your crimes. Am I clear?" Grimstow stutters, and Faramir is forced to repeat himself. "Am. I. Clear," he asks with clenched teeth. The man being held at swordpoint replies once more.

"Y-Yes, M'Lord." Faramir removes him sword and sheaths it.

"Good. Dismissed," he says icily. Grimstow runs from the scene, tripping over the battlements in the process. He tips over face forward. Éowyn winces and rushes to check on the man. She sighs with relief and turns to Faramir.

"He's alright. He has fallen onto on of the large storage sacks of grain on the lesser end of the tower," she explains. Faramir drops his frigid facade and smirks halfheartedly.

"I knew that." Éowyn makes a noise, part of a chuckle and part of a sob. She runs into his arms.

"I-I thought he was going to try to- like with Wormtounge- and- and- I- oh, *Faramir*!" she cries, "I thought he was going to do away with me and my honour and I would never have the chance to tell you that-" she cuts off. Faramir frowns.

"To me what, Éowyn?" he asks. Éowyn looks up to meet his eyes, tears clinging to her lashes and smiles slowly.

"That I," she tilts back and kisses his forehead, "accept," she kisses the tip of his nose, "your proposal," she kisses him sweetly on the lips. Faramir doesn't respond at first and Éowyn fears she is doing something wrong, for she has never kissed a man before. But Faramir reacts so suddenly that he lifts her off of her feet, exhilarated by her promise. The pair stands on the tower on midsummer's eve, kissing. When they finally break apart, Faramir replies.

"No cage shall hold you, for I love thee for as long as I shall live, my Lady Éowyn of Rohan," he says against her lips.

"As I love you, my Lord Steward Faramir of Gondor," she murmurs. They smile in unison and kiss once more, the fireworks bursting in showers of gold and green behind them.

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