Faramir felt almost disappointed when he looked east at the dawn. The morning was grey and overcast, shrouded by thick cloud.

Somehow, the first dawn after Sauron’s fall should have been bright, glorious, not this washed-out trickle of light from under an ashen blanket.

Then he turned to look at the Houses of Healing, and he thought of the woman with hair the colour of the Sun who slept there, the mere recollection of her golden hair and the brightness of her smile enough to chase away any regret over the sunrise.

He sighed. He was well and truly smitten.

Originally written for Raksha’s birthday at HASA, 2009

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