Disclaimer: I don't own anything, especially not these characters.

A/N. I'm baaaaaaacccccckkkkk! I started this story in the middle of my other one, but don't worry, I'll finish it.

The letter had lain unopened on Faramir's desk for at least a few days. His time in his office had been busily spent, with Gondor's approaching trade talks with Harad, and the constant flood of papers from Rohan. Apparently Eomer felt that his sister's well-being was in question, so the Steward of Gondor had been in a constant state of sending messengers to Edoras with news of Eowyn's health. Faramir had also fallen into the bad habit of leaving his office a little earlier every day, and racing home to spend extra time with his new family.

Every day, he ran down the stairs, out of the Tower, across the streets, straight to his house. Once there, he greeted the servants as cordially as he could, then raced up the stairs to the nursery. There, his new son and his wife sat by the window, Eowyn's lips lifted into a soft smile, no doubt by the sight of her husband racing through the streets of Minas Tirith. Faramir would step quietly across the nursery to them, brushing his lips across Eowyn's lips and brow. Then, he would fold himself into the chair across from her, and Eowyn would carefully lift Elboron into his father's arms. There they would all sit, and Faramir was quite content to stay in the warm afternoon sunlight, talking softly to Eowyn about her day, answering her questions about his own work, and listening to Elboron stir softly in his arms.

And so the letter stayed virtually unnoticed. Faramir had glanced at it once or twice, mentally brushing it off as another "urgent" letter from Eomer. Faramir swore that the minute the Royal Couple of Rohan announced that they would soon be welcoming a new arrival, he would send an entire cavalry of messengers to the Mark, each of them armed with multiple letters inquiring after Lothiriel.

Even after the second letter arrived, Faramir didn't give it much thought. Gondor was deeply into the trade talks by then, and Faramir hardly had time to spend in his office. His late afternoons with Eowyn and Elboron had turned into early evenings and then to a few stolen moments between dinner and bedtime. Every night he held Eowyn close to him, telling her how much he desired the talks to be over, how he longed for their old routine. After spending the first part of his life in a constant state of fear and loneliness, Faramir very much wanted to be at peace.

By the time the third letter arrived, the talks were nearly over. When the letter came to him, Faramir distantly recognized the very distinct lettering on the front. He quickly rummaged through the mountains of papers on his desk and managed to unearth the first two letters. As he began to open the first one, he felt a chill run down his spine. Quickly looking around and realizing he was alone, Faramir internally scolded himself. It was just a letter. Just a few pieces of paper. He turned it over in his hands. As his fingers ran over the unfamiliar seal, Faramir felt another chill run down his back. This time the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end. He quickly stuffed all three letters into his bag and headed home. It wasn't until he was locked in his own personal study that Faramir began to breathe correctly again.