A true knight always finishes a story...

“I have yet to survey the land myself,” said Faramir, “but Beregond says he has found a fair place, near to the main house. A grove of lebethron trees will shade the house from the noon sun, and a stream lies near at hand, from which you may fetch water. There is room for a garden, too, if you wish for another beyond that which will grow in the courtyard of our home.”

“I do not know to what purpose I will put it,” she said at last. “I know so little still of healing.”

Faramir smiled. “Then it is well that I do not seek your purpose, only your consent. Beregond is eager to begin. He wishes greatly to please the Lady of the Shield-arm.”

Éowyn looked sidelong at him, a smile upon her lips. “Does he indeed? Then you may tell him he has.”

Faramir leaned and pressed a kiss to her brow. “He will be glad to hear it.”

— — —

Faramir left with the coming of winter and would not return until spring was in its fullness, and the grasses of the Mark rose to Men’s knees and the winds of spring ran streaming upon their green shoulders, and their wedding would be held in the long hall where Éowyn would dwell no more.

Our house and your wedding gift continue apace, he wrote to her in the months after he had left. Winter here is mild, and the rains have not yet come in full. Already much of the house has been laid down, and already it gleams like a pearl cupped within the palm of the hills. If the weather holds, all shall be ready when we return here from our wedding.

I have one last request of you. Think of what sign you would have placed above the door of your house to be the symbol of the Lady of Ithilien. I do not need your answer now, but the stonemasons will wish to have it when you arrive, for they wish to have you witness them place it in the stone. May the days until then pass swiftly!

In his offices in Minas Tirith, Faramir still displayed the signet and white standard of the Stewards, but for his newly constructed house and seat, he would display the symbols of his princedom. A new age ought to have new symbols, and the House of Mardil is no more, he had told Éowyn during the months of waiting and building in Meduseld, and together they had set the sickle moon above the Tree and sent the sketch to Aragorn, to be set in the annals of Gondor as the signs of the princedom of Ithilien.

Éowyn had not given thought to what she would choose as her symbol, but she thought long upon it now—of horse and grass and sword and shield, and of the moonlit hills of Ithilien, and the trees that clad hollow and hillock, and of the tools and work of the healer. And she thought of the days of darkness and dread, and the shade of the dawnless day, and of the sun shining in the Tower of the Sun.

And when spring came, Faramir came through the rippling grass clad in white and sable, with the sun streaming through the pennants of his house, and set his hand in hers before the throne of Meduseld, and the light of the setting sun shone through the doors of the hall and fell upon their hands.

When they rode at last to their new home, to be wedded again in the manner of Gondor amongst the blooming myrtles, their house already rose white and fair from the hollows of the hills, a pearl set amongst the tamarisk and terebinth. Hammer and chisel rang as the stonemasons set the new symbols of the Prince of Ithilien in the lintel above the door.

Bar-en-Ithil they had named it, House of the Moon, for it lay in the heart of the land where the moon went walking over the climbing woods and falling streams, shining upon bough and pool. It was built of the same white marble as Minas Ithil-that-was, so that it shone above the hills like the cresting moon. But it was not the imprisoned moonlight that welled through the marble walls of Minas Ithil long ago, but the gleam of the moon as caught in a mirror, fair and radiant in the hollow of the hills.

It was neither a garrison nor a keep nor a castle, but a simple house, low and sprawling, for they would have no symbols of war, nor of power over Men. No shields lined its halls; no banners of war fell from its walls; no trophies of valor hung above hearth or seat. Through its tall windows, the moonlight welled upon its white floors, polished and plain, for it was a house of work, not of office or rank. In its center was a courtyard in which grew the gardens of Éowyn: herbs for the healing of hurts, and others for the easing of minds and hearts.

And upon its eastern flank, as Faramir had promised, stood Éowyn’s house, shaded by a grove of lebethron trees and girded by a stream. The morning sun shone upon its eastern walls in a wash of gold, and the glass of the windows caught the light and gleamed.

As Faramir led her to the door, he asked, “Have you chosen a symbol?”

Éowyn turned upon his arm to face the dawn and tilted her face to its light. “I shall have the sun,” she said, “for as I stood in the Tower of the Sun and saw the end of the Shadow and knew at last my own heart and was renewed, so now shall I bring renewal. And this shall be the House of the Sun, Bar-en-Anor, and all who come here shall find themselves renewed.”

"Yeah, well, it took me a while to get here, Ro--but this part of my life has been absolutely worth waiting for." Dunk grabbed his glass to drink, licking the foam from his upper lip as he set it back down.

"Let's drink to that," Raymun proposed, lifting his own glass while tucking his arm around Rowan. "To waiting for the right girl!". The boys had clinked glasses and downed their beers, and the rest of the evening had played out like a marvelous dream, not the first, but like so many that she and her Duncan had lived since their return from the impossible world of Westeros.

A sudden shadow blotted out the sun. "A copper for your thoughts, baby girl," Dunk rumbled, standing above her, and Vicki couldn't help popping up from the bus stop bench to throw her arms around him. Well, almost. His chest was so broad, there were times she couldn't quite close that circle. Not that it mattered. His warmth, his solidity, and how he always went soft for her in all the right places (and so hard in the others that she would get weak-knee'd just thinking about it) was all that mattered. And that he loved her. Her Duncan. The sweetest, kindest man she'd ever known.

He laid a soft, lingering kiss on the crown of her head before wrapping his arms around her. "You ready, babe?"

"Ready and willing," she sighed, her head resting against his chest while she breathed in his good, manly scent. Beneath his clean, fresh aftershave was the pure musk of Dunk--a man who worked hard and when the chance arose, played harder. She'd given up trying to figure out how even the subtle scent of his sweat turned her on; like so much between them, since the moment they'd met, Vicki had learned just trusting her feelings was key to the happiness they shared. "Sooooo...what's the big secret? Why did I have to take this particular afternoon off?

"Picnic," he grinned, taking one arm from embracing her to point to the cooler with a rolled blanket bungee'd on top, sitting on the sidewalk at his feet.

"Oh. In your little park across the street." She nodded her approval. "I should've guessed when you said to meet you in front of your old building."

"Yup." The blue of his eyes in the August sunlight was breathtaking. Distracting. Utterly enchanting. Vicki had told him so a time or two, practically gushing at how gorgeous they were, but Dunk always shook such compliments off, telling her she only thought so because she loved him. And then seeking to change the subject as though thinking himself beautiful in any way was simply ridiculous. "My little park. My elm tree."

Grateful tears prickled her eyes, but Vicki vowed not to give in to them this time. She flattered herself to believe he had already shared nearly all the quiet, desperate details of his life before the wishing stars. She knew what that tree had meant to him, and how without it, he might have missed the shooting stars altogether, which in turn had given them one another. Her heart was too full to speak just yet.

Dunk simply smiled. "I know, baby girl," he assured her, the gentle depth of his voice the most soothing sound in the world. "I know. And I love you, too. More than I could ever describe."

"Right," she nodded up at him, her smile her whole truth. He bent to kiss away the little tear that traced a path down her cheek despite her best intention. "We'll, I'm hungry, Duncan. So, you better have packed something extra scrumptious in that cooler."

"Only your favorites," he chuckled, slipping his arm around her back and taking the handle of the wheeled cooler in hand. Vicki eased her arm around his waist while they waited for traffic to clear, and together they crossed the street into the cool shade of the neighborhood park.

"Is this a new dress," Dunk asked, popping a grape in his mouth before reaching to right the strap that had slipped down from her shoulder. Vicki bit her lip as he let his fingers linger there. She was warm enough from the weather, though his touch was always warmer. And even his slightest touch was apt to make her shiver. Dunk knew it too, which was surely why he missed no opportunity to do so.

"Yes," she smirked, batting her lashes prettily. Vicki knew, of course, that she needn't play the coquette for him--but oh what fun they had when she did. "Last weekend's tips were a wealth I never expected. So, I thought I'd treat myself..."

"And treat me too?"

"Duncan...don't tease me like that," she giggled, "It's really nothing special."

Dunk leaned a bit closer, not wishing the other park visitors in earshot to hear him. "On the prettiest girl in London it is..." From any other guy in her past, such a compliment had only ever been a means to an end. But from her Duncan, a man of so few words? She'd learned he meant every word he ever said. "Besides which," he murmured, "You could be sitting here starkers, and I couldn't find you any more beautiful."

"Don't you just wish!"

Dunk nodded enthusiastically. "Every damn day, V," he growled, moving in for the kill, taking her face in both hands, "And twice on Sundays." Kissing her breathless, bending her to his will, so that she slipped her arms around his neck and softly moaned into his mouth.

When they finally parted--and only for each to catch their breath--she had to whisper against his lips. "You are such a wicked man sometimes, Duncan Dunne. You do realize there are children about, don't you?"

"Only doing what comes naturally, baby girl." He nipped at her lower lip. "Let their mums cover their eyes a while..."

Vicki tapped his chest, a half-hearted attempt to push him away. "I don't fancy getting kicked out of this park for indecent behavior, Dunk. Please...please behave."

"Alright...alright," he sighed heavily, turning to look at the remains of their feast. "Did you get enough to eat?"

"Uh-huh." Vicki had actually finished at least a quarter hour ago, and then had simply sat back and enjoyed watching Dunk feast on. They had laid the blanket in the shade of his elm tree, which seemed to Vicki the most perfect spot in this world--and a beautiful echo of the tree back in Westeros, under which they'd made love the very first time.

For this picnic, he had provided many of her favorites; chocolate croissants, honeyed almonds, sliced apples and red grapes with brie. Dunk had never had brie until she had introduced him to it, and was like to finish off a full wheel himself if left unchecked. He had also included a loaf of fresh French bread with a small pot of herbed butter, elderberry jam, a bacon & apple jam (Vicki had never heard of such, but when the clerk had suggested it, Dunk had asked for a sample and had loved it), and three kinds of gourmet crackers. "I would've got that wine you like best, too," he had told her as he unpacked their bounty, "But not to drink in a public park." Instead, he provided them a bottle of white grape juice. And for dessert? Several Jersey Wonders from a bakery just down the road, reminiscent of the fried bread they'd shared at the tourney on the night they met.

Together, they began to tidy up the remains of their picnic. "Could you hand me the cooler, V?"

"Yeah, sure...hold on." She scooted over and grabbed it, hearing a quiet thunk of something smallish inside. "Sounds like we missed something when we unpacked the cooler, Dunk."

"No, I don't think so. I unpacked every morsel of food." He was trying hard not to smile, but the man did not have anything like a poker face. "You wanna look inside, V?"

Vicki shook the cooler--gently--and then shook her head. " You sneaky, sunuva..." she reached in and pulled out a blue velvet box tied with a white satin ribbon, "What is this, Duncan?"

He'd adopted the most innocent expression on his face, shrugging, "Open it and see."

"Duncan...really?"

"It's okay, baby girl," he prompted her with a growing grin. "It's just a little thing."

Oh my giddy aunt, thank heavens, she was thinking, because even if I've thought about forever, it's way too soon to really go there. Still, Vicki's hands were shaking as she untied the ribbon. "Oh my," she breathed softly, then covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Just this once, she didn't want to cry like a little fool. "Oh, Duncan," she exclaimed at last, "It's perfect...and perfectly lovely! Come and help me put it on?"

A thin gold chain lay inside the box, with a single charm affixed. A golden star with a wee green stone at its center. Like a wishing star...like a shooting star with a bright green tail.

Dunk, whose fingers were usually clumsy and too thick for something so fine, carefully removed the chain from its place and moved behind her to set the clasp. Vicki held her hair up, allowing him to drape it round her neck. When finished, he slid his arms around her from behind. He placed his mouth against her ear. "That's why it had to be this afternoon, you see. Because it's three whole months in our world since we met..."

Was Vicki crying? Of course she was. But he had already proven time and again that this was one of the qualities that had drawn him to her in the first place. That try as she might, she could never really hide her heart. Not from him. Any more than he would ever try to hide his from her. I have to be the luckiest woman alive, she realized--and turned her face in profile to her man.

It was as if he read her mind. "We got so lucky, Vicki. Our dearest wishes really came true." Dunk tightened his embrace, overcoming her with his warmth. "But I'm the luckier one. Because I've found my guiding star, and my whole world is better now. Because of you."