One night, holding his wife, Faramir is struck by realization.
“Éowyn?”

“Faramir?” Her naked body shifts pleasantly against his. For a moment, he regrets disturbing the perfect silence.

“I do not know your birthday.”

“But you do.” She looks up, her eyes showing all she will never quite say. “It is the day you kissed me atop the city, and lifted my shadow.”

If he had lingering doubts, they are gone. What she does say is enough.
“I love you, Éowyn.”
Her smile is like the first ray of spring sun in the depths of winter. The one true thing.