Chapter Text
Súlimë 24, Third Age 3019
As darkness fell and the sundown bells rang on the sixth evening after Aragorn and the Host of the West set off on the last march to the Black Gate of Mordor, a healer knocked on the door to Faramir's chamber in the Houses of Healing and, upon recognition, entered.
“Lord Faramir, I am sorry to call on you, but Lady Éowyn asks that you come speak with her. I cautioned her that it was too late an hour to begin one of the long talks you and she often share; nonetheless, she was insistent."
Faramir nodded and set the empty cup he held on its saucer atop the small stand next to his bed. “I will go to her,” he replied.
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Continue reading as a standalone story. (I liked it so much that I couldn't wait an entire month to post it.)
