She gazed at them, standing amid the festive crowd when all she could do was bring herself to sit at the sidelines at events such as this. The Pride of Númenor, they called the King and his Steward, still in their prime, enjoying a lifespan twice that of normal mortals. As for the Queen, she was of the Firstborn and had not aged at all in the past fifty-three years.
But Éowyn knew herself to be different. Already her joints ached and her silver-threaded hair thinned. No matter how she loved Faramir, she would grow old alone at his side.
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