Sam watches Frodo volunteer to take the Ring to Mordor.
Faramir's eyes twinkle with pride as we stand before the Queen. So this is the one who stole the new king's heart so many years ago? 'Tis hardly surprising. She is surpassing fair, Elven grace and Numenorean passion embodied.
Yet what does she see in me? Shield-maiden spurned? Nazgul-slayer? Oath-breaker? Last daughter of a cursed house, fit only for dogs and squalling children?
Faramir's hands shelter mine. What else might she see? Beloved of the Steward? Daughter of kings? Lady far from home facing a new world, for love?
"'Tis an honour, your majesty."