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user230507021118079 · 2 months ago

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Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 15 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝🇭🇴🇲🇪 🇮🇸 🇧🇪🇭🇮🇳🇩…🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇴🇷🇱🇩 🇦🇭🇪🇦🇩…🇦🇳🇩 🇹🇭🇪🇷🇪 🇦🇷🇪 🇲🇦🇳🇾 🇵🇦🇹🇭🇸 🇹🇴 🇹🇷🇪🇦🇩…🇹🇭🇷🇴🇺🇬🇭 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇴🇼, 🇹🇴 🇹🇭🇪 🇪🇩🇬🇪 🇴🇫 🇳🇮🇬🇭🇹…🇺🇳🇹🇮🇱 🇹🇭🇪 🇸🇹🇦🇷🇸 🇦🇷🇪 🇦🇱🇱 🇦🇱🇮🇬🇭🇹…🇲🇮🇸🇹 🇦🇳🇩 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇴🇼, 🇨🇱🇴🇺🇩 🇦��🇩 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇪…🇦🇱🇱 🇸🇭🇦🇱🇱 🇫🇦🇩🇪…🇦🇱🇱…🇸🇭🇦🇱🇱…🇫🇦🇩🇪…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

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⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

On the morning of the coronation itself, Deora had been faithfully watching the main gate as hundreds upon hundreds of people from all corners of Middle Earth began to pour into the walls of their fair city. But once the hour of the ceremony approached them, she had been all but forced to retreat back to the palace level in order to fulfill her second duty of the day.

Standing in front of the tall mirror in her humble bedchamber, that lived in a building adjacent to the main palace, Deora tugged at the intricately decorated skirt of the long, dark blue dress that now adorned her body.

If her memory served her right, that was the first time an article of clothing such as that ever so much as touched her skin. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t recognize the person staring back at her in the reflection, for it truly was just her in a dress, with her hair carefully curled so that it framed the edges of her face. But for some reason or another, she felt just the smallest twinges of unease swimming through her veins as she continued to glare softly into the mirror.

A shape suddenly appeared just over her right shoulder, gentle arms slowly wrapping themselves around her waist.

“You alright, my love?” Faramir asked as he placed his chin atop her semi-exposed shoulder.

Deora nodded, her hands winding themselves tighter in the fabric of the dress.

“I just…feel a bit ridiculous.” she admitted in a whisper. “I do not think I was meant to wear clothes such as these.”

“No?” he questioned, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “A shame. Because you look absolutely breathtaking.”

Deora tried extremely hard to hold back the flush that was attempting to crawl up and onto her face.

“Flattery is not going to get you anywhere, my lord.” she muttered with a defensive roll of her eyes.

“I don’t know-” he hummed thoughtfully, bringing one of his hands up to lightly tug at her ear, both of which had already turned a bright red color. “It looks like it got me somewhere.”

Playfully batting his hand away, Deora severed eye contact with his reflection.

“Come on. We’re going to be late.” she said in a quick whisper, making a move towards the distant doorway. But before she had been able to fully slip out of his hold, Faramir added a slight amount of pressure to her waist, gently forcing her to spin around to face him instead.

Seeing that his gaze had hardened into something slightly more serious, Deora instantly fell still.

Faramir reached up, gently brushing a curl away from her face.

“Our kingdom changes today.” he said quietly. “For the better. And in this new world, a world that you sacrifice so much to defend, I would have you realize that everything good that comes your way... you were meant to have it.”

Deora stared back at him, briefly dumbfounded by his proclamation. She had never voiced those kinds of insecurities out loud before, and yet he had managed to pluck them from deep within her mind with seemingly little effort at all. His ability to do that was bordering on supernatural, but just as in every other instance, she always found herself eternally grateful for it.

A small breath escaped her throat as she placed her hand underneath his chin in order to urgently guide his lips to hers.

The two of them remained in that moment for as long as their human lungs allowed them to do so. And when they did eventually separate, Deora braced her forehead up against his.

“You always did know how to talk pretty.” she whispered.

Faramir let out a short sigh.

“I am perfectly serious.”

Deora stepped back slightly so that she was able to look upon his entire expression. With a smile, she nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“I know.” she hummed. “Thank you, Faramir.”

The man slowly smiled back at her before quietly offering her his arm, which she took without hesitation.

Thousands of bodies had packed themselves into the main courtyard of Minas Tirith, while an uncountable amount of others populated the winding streets below.

At the top of the few, pristine white stairs that cascaded down from the entrance to the Great Hall of the palace, Aragorn stood poised in front of Gandalf. The dwarf, Gimli, was holding in his hands the brilliantly crafted crown of the true King of Gondor.

The White Wizard carefully took the crown out of Gimli’s hand, before carefully placing it on top of Aragorn’s head, where it inevitably rested with what seemed to be predestined perfection.

Deora stood in the first cluster of people that were positioned at the base of the staircase, just in front of a line of palace guards; the men that she now commanded. Faramir stood to her left, and a line of rulers of other kingdoms and clans stretched passed him and down towards the White Tree.

“Now come the days of the king.” Gandalf proclaimed with a smile. “May they be blessed.”

Aragorn returned the Wizard's smile before slowly turning out to face the crowd himself. His hands rose slightly out in front of him as he began to address those collected in the majestic courtyard.

“This day does not belong to one man, but to all.” he said, his voice softly booming out across the entire mountainside. “Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace.”

His words were instantly met with rounds of applause. Those who were holding small buckets of petals collected from the trees throughout their kingdom, began to steadily release them up and into the air, only adding to the magic of the moment.

Back on the top of the stairs, Aragorn momentarily closed his eyes, beginning to sing the oath of Elendil, to bless the beginning of his rule:

“Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn’ Ambar-metta.”

The King then descended down the stairs, beginning to walk a small path through his people. Cheers and applause echoed out on either side of him as he shared a smile with close to every single person that he passed by.

Deora had briefly forgotten to bow to their new King, far too caught up in the splendor of the ceremony itself. An action that earned her a gentle, but mocking jab in the ribs from the man standing at her side.

As Aragorn made his way further down the makeshift path through the courtyard, he was suddenly intercepted by a rather large group of Elven royalty. Leading the charge, was Prince Legolas. Deora off-handedly learned over the short time that the king had been in the city, that the two of them were close, having been raised together in their youths.

The man and elf clasped each other’s shoulders for a moment. Due to their distance, those back by the stairs couldn’t hear the words that had been spoken in between them, but then behind Legolas, the crowd of elves suddenly parted, and two more forms began walking towards their new King.

The one to the right was easily recognizable as the King of Rivendell himself, Lord Elrond. The one to the left, they could not see at first, for their face was mostly obscured by the large banner of the White Tree that they were carrying.

A smiling Legolas stepped to the side as the elf holding the banner took another tentative step forward. And when it was ultimately moved aside, a beautiful, fair, brown-haired elleth was revealed to them. She wore a beautiful dress of silver and a matching circlet that rested on the crown of her head. She had immediately fallen into a hesitant curtsy in front of Aragorn.

The crowd grew increasingly silent, watching on as Aragorn reached down, gently encasing the side of the elleth’s face in apparent disbelief. He had then quickly tugged her towards him, and the two fell into a loving embrace in front of the gathered masses. Immediately, their actions had been met with whoops and hollers of elated celebration.

It seemed that Gondor now had a Queen as well.

Deora caught herself smiling widely as the pair continued on through the crowd together.

Approaching the edge-most part of the courtyard, Aragorn once more came to a stop. Again, due to their great distance, they were not made privy to the words that had been spoken, but slowly they began to see the waves of movement that were making their way through the entire crowd, as all the people in the courtyard began to kneel in reverence.

As more and more heads continued to disappear in front of them, Deora was finally able to make out where their King was leading the charge, kneeling directly in front of four overcome-looking Hobbits.

Deora blinked a few times to banish the tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled and joined her kingdom in offering her thanks to those who had truly saved their world.

In the evening of Aragorn’s coronation day, but before any of the rowdier celebrations had begun, Deora was standing inside of the throne room alongside a few other members of the palace guard. They were positioned at the back of the room, carefully watching the scene that was playing out before them.

Sat in the previously vacant throne of their kingdom, was Aragorn, only looking mildly uncomfortable with the spectacle of it all. At his side stood the elleth from the ceremony, who Deora now knew to be Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond. Upon their meeting, the elven princess had greeted her with the kindest of smiles, informing Deora that she relished the sight of a female soldier.

Kneeling at the base of the small staircase, was Faramir, who had just proclaimed to their King, should it please him, that he would forfeit the office of Steward. As it appeared no longer necessary with the true heir now back on the throne.

A rather long pause had followed his words, Aragorn taking a considerable amount of time to collect his thoughts. Ultimately though, the man had risen from his chair, carefully walking down the short flight of stairs in order to stand where Faramir was kneeling at its base.

Deora’s eyes followed him intently as the king placed his hand on Faramir’s shoulder, silently urging him to rise.

“I believe that to be foolish.”

Faramir blinked, his surprise felt by nearly everyone else in the room.

“M-my king?”

Aragorn smiled warmly.

“The office of Stewardship will remain, as someone will need to watch over Gondor in any case of my absence.” he said wisely. “Tales of your service have reached my ears on more than one occasion. And I would entrust no one else with such a task. As long as your line shall last, you and your descendants will always be Stewards of Gondor.”

Deora felt her chest swell at the sound of the King’s words. To see Faramir finally getting the recognition that he deserved was a welcome change to be sure. And it had certainly been a long time coming.

Faramir bowed his head reverently.

“Thank you, my king.”

Aragorn patted him on the shoulder again, much in the way a brother would.

“I would also like to request that you take on the Wardenship of our Eastern outpost. To rehabilitate our lost territories and clear out the remaining outlaws and Orcs that linger there.” Aragorn continued more officially.

Faramir quickly nodded, straightening out his spine a bit more.

“Consider it done, my lord.”

Aragorn slipped his hand off of Faramir’s shoulder, instead folding it behind his back. As he did so, Deora’s head tilted to the side slightly as she took note of a small glint in their King's eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn that it was one of near-mischievousness.

“I have one more thing to ask of you, if you would be receptive to it of course.”

Faramir blinked in confusion.

“Anything, King Elessar. Be it within my power.”

Aragorn smiled again.

“I will issue an official proclamation later, but I would like to appoint you, Faramir, son of Denethor, to be one of my Commanders. I would name you Prince of Ithilien.”

A careful silence fell over the room. And in a moment of forgotten decorum, Faramir’s mouth had fallen open in surprise.

Deora’s eyes widened, having to work hard to force back the gasp that had attempted to crawl up and out of her throat. The hands she had folded behind her back clung onto each other even tighter in that moment.

“I…I do not know what to say, my King. This is an honor most undeserving-”

“Nonsense.” Aragorn was quick to chastise. “You nearly gave your life in service to this city and its people. You are a wise man, Faramir. A wise and honorable man. I will have you accept this title.”

Deora had felt her expression wane ever so slightly upon hearing words that she had spoken repeatedly over the past decade coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Now the war that she fought, and everything that they had gone through during that time, finally felt worth it.

After a beat of silence, Faramir slowly nodded his head.

“I will serve my king and the people of Ithilien to the best of my ability.” he said in a near-whisper.

Aragorn smiled once more. Then, in an action that surprised all of those standing in the throne room, he brought Faramir into a tight and fierce hug.

The festivities after the coronation were unlike any that Deora had ever seen take place within the walls of Minas Tirith.

It hadn’t been until that moment that she truly realized how dark the times she had been raised in actually were. She could not remember a single festival that had taken place inside of the city, let alone something of this caliber. The entire kingdom was lit up with bright and shining lights, jamborees, and even some fireworks (a spectacle courtesy of the White Wizard of course). Meals were devoured, drinks were had, and all around everything was incredibly bright and merry.

Despite being absolutely awestruck by all that she was seeing, Deora grew tired quicker than she had anticipated. And after making sure that she greeted all of those that she considered friends, she retreated back to her chambers after only spending a measly three hours amongst the masses.

It was late into the night, the moon hanging high up in the sky by that point. The sounds of the celebration were now at enough of a distance where they were effectively muffled. But she did take comfort in still being able to hear the edges of the happiness permeating her city.

Emerging from the washroom, now donning her night clothes, Deora blinked in surprise upon finding that Faramir had seemingly followed closely in her footsteps.

He had ditched his official dress wear and now stood in the window in just his plain, white blouse and tan trousers. The moonlight was bathing his entire form as he stared out at the horizon.

She allowed herself to smile at the sight for a moment longer before folding up her clothes and moving across the room to place them down into their respective drawers.

“I’m surprised you left the celebration so early.” she called out, gently announcing her presence.

Faramir looked back over his shoulder with a tired smile.

“I can only have the same conversation with a drunk soldier so many times.” he jested.

Deora let out a light laugh at that.

“Yes, well. I do suppose you should take the time to enjoy your last few moments as a soldier amongst them, no?”

Faramir quirked a single eyebrow as she stood back up, turning to face him with a small grin.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Deora shrugged her shoulders playfully.

“Prince of Ithilien… I don’t imagine you’ll have much more time to drink amongst your men.”

Faramir’s eyes narrowed slightly as he began to dissect the expression on her face. There, he could see, even in the shadows of their dimly lit chambers, the slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. Which easily gave away the fact that she was holding back an even wider smile.

“You’re making fun of me.” he finally said, stepping away from the window.

Deora bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

“Oh no.” she said, shaking her head. “I would be much too frightened to make fun of a Prince.”

Faramir was quick to cross the room after that, his arms immediately materializing around her middle. The laugh that she had been holding back was jostled out of her throat as he spun them around several times in the middle of their chambers.

For a moment, the two of them were children again, running across the courtyard together in the light of the sun. For a moment, they were playing pretend again, slaying dragons and fighting together side by side.

Once the world stopped spinning, Faramir returned her feet to the ground, but continued to sway them lightly from side to side, using the distant sound of the kingdom’s residual celebrations as some sort of soft tune for them to absentmindedly dance to.

“You do know, when we marry, you’ll have to adopt the title of Princess.” Faramir noted casually. “So, you should start getting used to a title as well.”

Deora’s expression immediately blanked, falling still in his arms.

“When?”

Faramir tilted his head to the side.

“What?”

Deora swallowed.

“You said ‘when we marry.’” she replied, her voice softer than she intended it to be.

Faramir immediately let out a small huff of air.

“Well, yes.” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Did you…did you think I wouldn’t ask for your hand, Deora?”

Deora rolled her lips over each other, briefly severing eye contact in order to stare out of a distant window. Not really looking at anything specific.

“I suppose I never really…thought about it.” she ventured carefully. “A lot of things have been changing around here as is, so I didn’t-”

A cold knuckle appeared beneath her chin, as Faramir gently guided her attention back towards his face. Which had since been washed over with a gentle, yet serious expression.

“My flower…” he whispered reverently. “We’ve already sworn never to leave each other’s side, have we not?”

“We have.”

With a flicker of a smile, Faramir’s hand lightly settled around the curves of her chin and jaw, ever so slightly keeping her held in place.

“I would have asked you that day you returned from the Black Gates, had I had my wits about me.” he declared. “But when I ask you to marry me, when I get down properly on one knee…will you accept me?”

At the end of his sentence, she could clearly hear the twinge of anxiety that peppered his words.

“Faramir…” she sighed.

“I know that there have been times…” he began again. “I remember when you had to slam me against the rocks of Henneth-Annûn in order to talk sense into me. I know I gravely disappointed you back then. As I imagine I have a multitude of times over the years, so…so I would understand if you had…reservations-”

Deora quickly interrupted him with a bold kiss. Pressing up on her tiptoes so that she could match his height, she attempted to speak a proclamation into the action itself. To silently explain to him just how much her heartbeat for him, and him alone.

When they separated, Faramir was staring back down at her with confused wonder.

She tempered her smile as best she could, her hands falling down his chest only to wind her fingers into the soft fabric of his flowy, white blouse. And even though she wasn’t pressing her palms flat against his sternum, she could still somehow feel the steady thump of his heart beating against his ribcage. That told her that she got her point across, at least a little bit.

“Faramir, I slammed you into that cave wall because I was terrified. Not disappointed. I was terrified that I had lost you to the horrors of war, to the horrors of your father, or even the power of that damned Ring.” she declared boldly. “You have never disappointed me. Never. And…and I have been yours for far longer than I would ever dare to admit. And I always will be. Title or not.”

A relieved sigh traveled through his body, and Faramir reached up to place a hand on top of the ones that were curled into his shirt, purposefully pressing her hand down against his chest just a little bit more.

“No disappearing then?” he asked in a whisper.

Deora beamed, the corners of her eyes beginning to burn with the happiest of tears.

“No disappearing.” she confirmed. “You have my word.”

Faramir leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers with a purpose.

“As you have mine.”

[THE END]

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#boromir #faramir #faramirxoc #frodobaggins #galadriel #gondor #ithilien #jrrtolkien #lordoftherings #originalcharacter #originalfemalecharacter #thefellowshipofthering #thereturnoftheking #thetwotowers #tolkien #lightundertheshadowofblackwingsfic

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user230507021118079 · 2 months ago

Text

Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 14 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝🇭🇴🇲🇪 🇮🇸 🇧🇪🇭🇮🇳🇩…🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇴🇷🇱🇩 🇦🇭🇪🇦🇩…🇦🇳🇩 🇹🇭🇪🇷🇪 🇦🇷🇪 🇲🇦🇳🇾 🇵🇦🇹🇭🇸 🇹🇴 🇹🇷🇪🇦🇩…🇹🇭🇷🇴🇺🇬🇭 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇴🇼, 🇹🇴 🇹🇭🇪 🇪🇩🇬🇪 🇴🇫 🇳🇮🇬🇭🇹…🇺🇳🇹🇮🇱 🇹🇭🇪 🇸🇹🇦🇷🇸 🇦🇷🇪 🇦🇱🇱 🇦🇱🇮🇬🇭🇹…🇲🇮🇸🇹 🇦🇳🇩 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇴🇼, 🇨🇱🇴🇺🇩 🇦🇳🇩 🇸🇭🇦🇩🇪…🇦🇱🇱 🇸🇭🇦🇱🇱 🇫🇦🇩🇪…🇦🇱🇱…🇸🇭🇦🇱🇱…🇫🇦🇩🇪…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

blog masterlist || previous part || next part

Deora gingerly ushered her horse back through the main gates of the city limits. She was painfully bruised, her skin littered with both shallow and deep stab wounds.

But somehow, she had remained standing.

Back inside of the walls, the city was a flurry of movement. People had immediately met the army at the entrance, many of them crying in a combination of relief and devastation. They helped to usher both injured and uninjured horses alike back into their stables, while healers and wardens descended on the members of the army themselves. Backboards made of wood were shuffled out in order to carry some of the more dire situations up and into the waiting hands of the Healing Houses.

Deora found herself wandering the streets completely alone, in what could be best described as a daze. She had made sure that her horse had been taken care of, and had clapped arms with some of the Rangers that she could find, in some cases even sharing looks and occasional words of comfort. But ultimately, she ended up by herself. Watching on, unfocused, from the sidelines as people reunited with friends and family, or more often than not, delivered news of their fellow soldiers’ deaths.

Like a zombie, and with no particular destination in mind at that moment, she followed the path of the spiraled, cobblestone streets up towards the top layer of the city, slowly but surely closing in on the palace grounds.

Once she broke out onto that level, she had been approached by several different healers. She did her best to wave them off, saying that there were others who needed their skills more than she did, and that her particular injuries would ultimately heal on their own. But they had insisted, and Deora had been on the verge of beginning a verbal altercation, when suddenly, someone had called out her name high above the brewing chaos.

The voice had been soft, yet bold. Like a pleasant breeze in a late springtime afternoon. It cascaded down from the road above, echoing off of the walls to her right before eventually landing in her ear. There, it made a nest, much like a bird would amongst the branches of a tree. A familiar warmth quickly spread throughout her chest as she picked her head up to look over and beyond the shoulders of the group of healers.

Her eyes found the form that was standing at the top of the incline, just a few meters up the road from where she stood. And the moment that they did, her body was immediately rocked with powerful recognition. For she would know him in any light, in any season, in any dark corner of Middle Earth.

It felt as if she hadn’t seen his face for an entire year, rather than just a few hours.

But there he was, standing of his own power, his skin shining with new life. His left arm was resting gently in a temporary sling made of white fabric, but otherwise he looked practically unharmed. His eyes were bright, reflecting the sun that had begun to peek out through the clouds above them, and his mouth was parted in what appeared to be some level of relief.

A short breath tumbled out of Deora’s throat, and before she knew it, she was pushing past the nurses and tearing up the street herself.

Crashing directly into Faramir, Deora immediately wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. Simultaneously taking care not to apply too much pressure against his injured arm, she wound her fingers into the fabric at the top of the light blouse that he had draped over his torso. She felt his body shake with a gasp as he returned her gesture by wrapping his good arm around her waist.

Everything inside of her was screaming not to ever let him go. For she was convinced that this was some sort of hallucination. Certain that her battle-shaken brain had merely conjured up the image of him in some warped attempt to lift her spirits. But as his shoulders rose and fell underneath her chin, that suspicion quickly seeped away, relief filling her body instead.

When she did inevitably pull back from the man, she held his shoulders out in front of her at arms-length, eyes quickly darting across his face.

“How could you leave me like that?” Faramir had practically shouted at her upon seeing her face again.

Deora scoffed in disbelief, shoving his non-injured shoulder back and away from her with only a little bit of force.

“Hypocrite!” she spat. “You- you charged into an unwinnable battle without me at your side! You were dragged back by your horse with two arrows lodged in your chest! I saw you on a funeral pyre, Faramir! Don’t you dare accuse me of leaving! You left me first!”

A tense silence quickly fell over the two of them as her words bounced off of every stone structure in their immediate vicinity.

Both pairs of eyes took a quiet moment to dance across the other's expression, each of them slowly coming to the realization that they had begun sobbing. For matching rivers of tears were cascading down both their cheeks.

Deora felt a tremor pass through her body, as Faramir shook his head a few quick times.

“Do not, ever, leave my side again.” he suddenly demanded in a breathless whisper.

A soft scoff immediately escaped Deora’s nose.

“Is that an order from my Captain?” she asked, once more tracing his complex expression with her eyes.

The man visibly swallowed, his hand falling from around her waist. Instead, he had reached up, resting it against the side of her face. There, it lingered for a moment, his thumb swiping past one of the smaller cuts on the upper part of her cheek. Then slowly, he reached further back, so that his palm gently landed on the back of her head.

“It is a plea.” he corrected, adding only the smallest amounts of pressure to her skull. “A plea from the man who loves you.”

Deora’s eyes immediately widened, unable to stop her breath from catching in her throat. The part of her head that his hand was resting upon suddenly felt as if it were burning. The thought of hallucination came to the front of her mind yet again. For this couldn’t be real. She hadn’t even been certain that she was going to live less than an hour ago. And now her best friend, the man who had stood by her side in a way that no one else ever had, was standing before her. Alive.

Alive and saying that he loved her.

“You…?” she whispered, blinking a thousand times in an attempt to prove to herself that this wasn’t a dream.

Seeing this, the corners of Faramir’s mouth quirked upwards before he eventually began to nod his head a few, frantic times.

“Yes.” he whispered reverently. “Yes. Always.”

Deora immediately dropped the hold that she had on his shoulders. Instead, her palms flattened themselves out along either side of his jaw, tugging his face forward the few final inches that separated them, in order to press a rough and purposeful kiss onto his lips.

She felt him sigh against her, relief seeping out of his very pores as his fingers wound themselves tighter in the tangled strands of hair at the back of her head.

Deora was relentless. It was as if she were starving and had finally been granted a morsel of food. For she attempted to consume him, to memorize the feeling of his lips against hers in case it would be the very last thing that she would ever feel in her time on this earth.

This was it, she realized. The crest that she wore across her chest signified the culmination and achievement of her lofty goals and staunch ambitions. But as her thumbs gently dragged themselves across the tops of Faramir’s cheeks…that signified the true manifestation of her dreams.

For it wasn’t her pride that was satisfied in that moment, but her soul.

Their inevitable parting was slow, as neither of them truly desired to initiate it.

Faramir had immediately braced his forehead up against hers as they took a moment to breathe the same air. Breaking out into a sweet, but true smile, his hand fell from the back of her head only to gently rest once more along the side of her face.

“My flower…” he whispered lovingly.

A tearful laugh escaped Deora’s throat as she immediately surged forward to kiss him again.

The bustling sounds of the city continued to drone on around them, but neither paid it even an ounce of attention. For all that seemed to matter in that moment was each other. All that seemed to exist was each other.

There would eventually come a time where Deora managed to coax him back up and into the Healing Houses. And once inside, she had been much easier to convince in terms of accepting care for herself.

But neither of them left the other’s side.

As they had promptly sworn never to do again.

Gandalf stood inside the throne room of Minas Tirith. Both chairs behind him were still vacant, as they were set to remain until Aragorn was finally crowned at his coronation.

A date that was now fast approaching.

Standing in front of the wizard, was a lightly armored soldier, donning nothing more than a leather chest plate across their torso. Not even a sword was strapped to their side.

“The Eagles were able to rescue Frodo and Sam from the side of the mountain.” he was informing them. “They are recovering in Rivendell, under the diligent eyes of Elrond and his people. Aragorn insists on remaining at their side until they are fully healed.”

Deora let out a heavy breath, briefly resting a hand on top of her chest, just above the intricate depiction of the White Tree that was etched in the center of her breast plate. She hadn’t exactly permitted herself to dwell on the fates of the Hobbits after the battle at the Gates of Mordor. To think about it was to instantly bring immense pain to her heart.

Now, relief was flooding it instead.

“Thank you, Gandalf.” she whispered. “This news is…it sets my mind much more at ease.”

At that, the wizard managed a genuine smile.

“I must say-” he began, leaning slightly against his new staff. “-you wear ‘Head of the Palace Guard’ very well, young Deora.”

The woman did her best to temper whatever wild, near-childish smile had wanted to make an appearance in that moment.

“Yes, well-” she swallowed. “There is still much to do in order to rebuild our city. I am just grateful to help wherever I can.”

Footsteps suddenly sounded from behind her, and she could see Gandalf’s eyes flicker briefly over her shoulder, his irises immediately igniting with a playful twinkle.

“Well then, I should take my leave of you.” he said, leaning on his staff a bit more. “I will send a missive when we are to begin the journey from Rivendell.”

Deora gently bowed her head.

“We eagerly await your return, Master Gandalf.”

The Wizard smiled, humming lightly in response. His eyes flickered over her shoulder one last time before eventually turning towards the main doors and disappearing outside.

When the doors closed behind him, Deora let out a soft breath before tilting her head over her shoulder. Just in time to watch as the intermittent Steward of Gondor crossed the rest of the throne room in order to place himself directly in front of her.

Deora greeted Faramir with a slightly sarcastic bow. Her actions immediately rewarded with a smile. A bright, real, and overtly warm one at that.

She had always loved Faramir’s smile, but it simply meant more in those days. For it was a smile that she knew was only meant for her. A smile that somehow managed to say a thousand words at once.

“Leadership suits you.”

The corners of Deora’s lips twitched slightly as she let out a soft hum.

“I know.”

Faramir tilted his head to the side.

“You always did, didn’t you?”

Finally, the soldier released her smile from its containment.

“As I hope my Captain did as well.” she retorted playfully.

Faramir, smile never faltering, reached out to grab a gentle hold of one of her hands, from where they had been resting at her sides. He swiftly brought it up to his face, pressing a gentle kiss onto the back of her knuckles.

“He did indeed.” he mused in a quiet, but earnest tone. “Walk with me?”

Deora accepted his invitation, as most of her duties for the day were already complete. She allowed the Steward to lead her on a quiet, and pleasant stroll about the palace grounds.

Eventually, the two of them emerged out into the main courtyard, their pace only slowing when they arrived at the base of the White Tree. Which, even though the battle for Middle Earth was a memory of only a few weeks past, was already beginning to rebloom with magnificent white flowers.

The sight immediately made Deora smile in spite of herself. She reached out with her free hand to gently run two fingers across the petals of the bushel closest to her.

Feeling Faramir suddenly tighten his grip on her other hand, she glanced back over her shoulder. With a smile, the man simply nodded his head back towards the tree.

“They still remind me of you.” he said sweetly.

Deora dropped her hold on the flower, turning her entire body back towards the man at her side.

“I think you have adopted that title now, don’t you think?”

Faramir quickly shook his head.

“I would certainly not bear it as beautifully as you do.”

Deora hummed, reaching her hand up to gently cradle the side of his face.

“I disagree.” she mused, as Faramir continued to stare back at her in awestruck wonder. “For you have always been the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes upon. And now, you have finally begun looking back towards the sunlight after years of being trampled over. There is simply no one more deserving, Faramir.”

Faramir’s eyes were shining as she spoke, and when she stopped, only then did she notice the single tear that was beginning to travel down the side of his face.

Immediately, Deora wiped it away.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he asked in a whisper.

Deora immediately let out a soft laugh.

“Perhaps a few times.”

Faramir reached up to place his hand on top of the one she had resting against his cheek, dragging his thumb a few repetitive times along the backs of her knuckles.

“I will spend the rest of my life repeating it.” he said suddenly, his tone a bit more serious this time around.

Deora let out another laugh.

“You do not have to do that, Faramir.” she replied. “Just being here with you is…more than I ever dared to ask for.” Her voice had started to waver a bit inside of her throat as she made it to the end of her declaration, suddenly finding herself overcome by her emotions.

Seeing this, Faramir had instantly pulled her back towards him, and the two fell into a tight embrace beneath the White Tree.

Beyond their position, a beautiful sunset that neither of them had paid a single bit of attention to, warmed their forms as Deora clung onto Faramir’s shoulders a bit tighter. With her face buried into the crook of his neck she felt, first time in her entire life, like she truly belonged somewhere.

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