Tilting his gaze to the green expanse above, Faramir found himself wondering aloud at the renewed freshness and vigor that seemed to spring from all the trees of the wood. In answer, the Lord Legolas offered only a fey smile and a distant nod of understanding as he strolled, dreamlike, beside the young prince of Ithilien. At one time Faramir had found the alien grace of the Elven lord disquieting, though not outright unpleasant. Having become accustomed, however, to this impossibly fair countenance and voice, the mingled wisdom and youthfulness he saw reflected there brought profound comfort and lightness to his heart. As they wandered the glades of Emyn Arnen, discussing matters great and small, Faramir perceived an unspoken promise that the peace upon that land, which had been dearly bought with the blood of both his and Éowyn's countrymen and which they now devoted their days to nurturing, would endure.
"As for the remarkable recovery of those afflicted in the latest dispatch to Minas Ithil," Faramir continued their earlier conversation, "better to ask the Lady of Ithilien. She has proven a rare wonder of the healing arts, and in the span of less than a year she has surely forgotten more of that lore than I am ever likely to know." Always he deferred to his wife on medicine, animal husbandry, and many other subjects, and though certain lords of men found this exceedingly queer, the elf gave no indication of surprise.
Returning home with his companion, Faramir was perplexed to not find his lady in any of her usual haunts. She had been away three days on a short errand to the city, which she had graciously taken off his shoulders to allow him to continue forging diplomatic ties with the newly arrived elves uninterrupted. Though she sometimes found Minas Tirith stifling without Faramir to sweeten the experience, she enjoyed short trips such as this, since they afforded her an excuse to ride again under the open sky and cross the river that remained always, to her, full of mystery and wonder.
"I apologize, Legolas; I thought she was to arrive home this morning, but perhaps she was delayed." Spying the captain of the White Company down the corridor, Faramir signaled to him. "Beregond, where is my wife?"
Approaching his lord, the captain hesitated a moment before proceeding with care. "She did return this morning, my lord, but she took ill soon after. She was faint and would not eat. So she has gone to consult with the master of medicine." Seeing the distress plainly on the face of the young prince, the captain added sympathetically, "She did not seem at all worried. She bade me tell you to await her in the study, and to say that she will return to you shortly."
Faramir nodded in thanks and turned, expressionless, back to Legolas, who now clapped him on the back in encouragement. "The Lady of Emyn Arnen is strong; my own folk wonder at the light that seems ever to shine from within her. You have nothing to fear. I will take my leave of you for now."
As Faramir stood at the window, sipping absently on the wine that Legolas had gifted and that he had poured to slow his racing thoughts, he contemplated how infrequently he drank—only when he was deeply troubled, or when there was great cause for celebration. In time the door opened without a knock and he knew that he would find Éowyn standing on the threshold. Turning sharply, he searched her eyes for a silent moment before speaking, more of a declaration than a question as he read the emotion therein.
"All is well?"
She nodded in affirmation, a strange smile breaking upon her pale face. She watched him exhale audibly and then, as if deflated, sink to the floor where he had stood. From there he felt around on the sill above his head for the wine he had been drinking. Pouring a cup for Éowyn and looking back to where she stood in the doorway, he broke the silence again.
"Will you sit with me a while, Éowyn? And then if you can spare some time this afternoon I would have your assistance with some matters; I'm afraid I have accomplished little all morning, driven almost to distraction as I was by concern for your health." Laughing grimly at his own folly, he extended an arm to offer the cup to her. Coming to him slowly, she took the cup and set it on the floor as she sat down beside him. Her memory cast back for a moment to the night of their wedding months prior, when they had held each other upon the ground for a long while before he at last took her to bed. Still she was silent, and still she held Faramir's gaze steadily, her lips parted almost imperceptibly as if she were waiting for some stroke of inspiration. Seeing her thus, he felt his heartbeat quicken and was unable to look away. Her voice fell upon his ears like rain after long days of drought.
"Would my lord still love me if my body were forever changed?"
The question caught him off-guard and for a moment he had no answer. Then, with a soft breath of laughter he took her hand and kissed it with utmost tenderness.
"For my part I cannot imagine any change that would dull your beauty in my eyes."
"That is well. And would my lord still love me if I became cruel and unreasonable?"
Having regained his bearings in the exchange, he now had a retort ready in his usual timing.
"If you became cruel and unreasonable? My dear, these are two of the traits I cherish most in you already."
Surprising herself with a girlish giggle, she wrapped her slender hands teasingly about his throat in punishment for his insolence. Drawing closer to him, she posed a third question.
"And would my lord still love me if I evoked no longer the shieldmaiden he once kissed high upon the walls of the White City? If I would no longer ride, or hunt, or shoot and spar brazenly with the men of the guard?"
Now Faramir again became serious. "Éowyn, what jest is this? Why do you now begin to doubt my devotion?"
His question hung in the air between them as she smiled into his eyes, extending one hand to caress his cheek while, with the other, she brought his upturned palm to her belly.
"Because our lives are about to change. I am to bear you an heir."
He felt his own heart beat thrice before, wordlessly, he threw his arms around her, pulling her against him, then quickly drawing back. When next he set his hands on her it was with an almost trembling cautiousness, as if he feared she might shatter beneath them. Éowyn's eyes widened with incredulity.
"Do not be ridiculous, Faramir! You know well that I am no fragile flower from the valleys of this land. I will require you to handle me as roughly as ever in the coming months, for you must above all keep me in high spirits, and you have proven quite adept at that so far." She clasped both his hands in hers and leaned into him before speaking again. "Are you glad, my love?"
"Yes, yes, of course," his words seemed to overflow with emotion. "Though I shall not rest easily ere these months of waiting are over. Again I feel concern for you and your health utterly taking hold of me."
She extended a white arm to where the wine he had poured her stood untouched. She presented it to him with both hands, a gesture refined in her days as cup-bearer of Rohan. "Drink and forget your concerns. Your strength is needed now more than ever."