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By Root 1039 0

the edge of his bed – it worked out to about five and a half feet. Once he was incredibly lucky: she leaned over him, and her silky hair brushed the prince's face. Thus he learned that she was not wearing her hair up (that meant a woman of the North, from Rohan); but most important was that now he would never confuse this smell with any other, an aroma like that of a steppe breeze, mixing the dry heat of the sun-kissed earth with the pungent refreshing smell of sagebrush.

In the meantime Aragorn's medicine was working; the very next day he could speak his first words, which were, unsurprisingly: "What's your name?"

"Éowyn."

Éowyn. Like the sound of a bell – not a regular brass bell, but one of those porcelain bells that are sometimes brought from the Far East. Yes, the voice fit her owner quite well – at least it fit the image he had put together in his mind.

"So what's the matter with your left arm, Éowyn?"

"Oh, you can see already?!"

"Alas, no; this is just a conclusion I've reached in my musings."

"Really? Explain!"

He described her appearance as he had put it together from the scraps of information he had.

"That's amazing!" she exclaimed. "All right, tell me – what kind of eyes do I have?"

"Most certainly large and wide-set."

"No, I mean the color?"

"The color, hmm… Green!"

"I've believed you!" there was genuine disappointment in the girl's voice, "but you must've simply seen me somewhere before."

"I swear by anything, Éowyn, I've simply named my favorite color. So I guessed right? But you still haven't told me about your arm. Have you been wounded?"

"That's only a scratch, believe me, especially compared to yours. It's just that men have a habit of brushing us aside when dividing the spoils."

Éowyn described the Battle of Pelennor Field clearly and crisply, like a professional warrior, all the while taking care of him, now giving him medicine, then changing the dressing on the wound. It seemed to Faramir that she radiated some kind of special warmth; it was this warmth, rather than medicines, that chased away the deathly chill tormenting his body. But when, moved by gratitude, he covered Éowyn's hand with his, she took it away politely but firmly and left her charge, saying: "This is quite unnecessary, Prince," and instructing him to ask for her should a real need arise. Saddened by this strange rebuff, he dozed (this was real sleep now, healing and refreshing), and upon awakening heard the tail end of a conversation, recognizing Éowyn as one of the participants and Aragorn – much to his surprise – as the other.

"…so you'll have to go to Ithilien with him."

"But why, Ari? You know that I can't be without you now."

"It's necessary, dear. It won't be for very long – three weeks, perhaps a month."

"That is very long, but I will do what you need, don't worry. You want me to be by his side?"

"Yes, you will complete his treatment, you're good at it. Plus you will check out how he does in the new place."

"You know, he's very nice."

"Of course! You will have excellent conversation, I think you won't be bored with him."

"Bored? Oh, you're too kind!.."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean it to sound like that…" The voices went away, a door banged, and Faramir thought that although this was none of his business, nevertheless… Suddenly he cried out from an abrupt pain: previously unseen light flooded his eyes and seemed to burn the retina that had grown unaccustomed to seeing. She was already by his side, holding his hand in alarm: "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Éowyn – I think I'm getting my sight back."

"Really?!"

Everything around him swam in rainbow areolas, but the pain subsided quickly. When the prince finally managed to wipe away tears and take his first look at Éowyn, his heart stopped for a moment and then poured a heat wave through his body: he was looking at the girl he had pictured in his imagination. Not a similar girl, but that exact one, from the color of her eyes to the way she brushed her hair aside. I've created her myself, he thought in resignation,