Faramir really should've known better. Looking back on those days, it was a horrible mistake. He should have seen the incident coming. Life after the war had been too peaceful for too long. It really didn't even cross his mind until two hours after he had left Emyn Arnen. He was halfway to Osgiliath by this time, and even when he realized what he had done, he did not think it a particularly horrible thing. His thoughts mostly consisted of longing for rest and peace, and he was grateful that Ithilien was in capable hands. Now, Faramir eventually regretted not rethinking what he had just thought, turning around, and heading straight back. But the poor Prince was still beautifully naïve at this time, so we forgive him.

Anyhow, he eventually reached the White City and had a nice, long evening. His thoughts consisted mostly of Éowyn, and his soon-to-be-born child. Governing a new colony during a harsh winter without break for four months while simultaneously being a caring and patient husband to a wilful, moody, and pregnant wife had taken some toll on his mind, and yet he found that he could not dwell on anything else.

So worry about the fact that Legolas and Éowyn had been left alone with full authority in Emyn Arnen did not cross his mind until the third day, as he sat down to a late luncheon with the King and Queen.

He studied his liege, with dark circles under his eyes and a slight twitch in the shoulder every time someone said his name. "You know, Aragorn, you really need to come to Ithilien sometime soon. You look just as tired as I felt before I came here."

Aragorn looked up at him dully, his hands still in his lap, and sighed, "It has been draining, especially with Eldarion."

The Queen agreed, "That child takes after Estel in his insatiable curiosity, according to Legolas and the twins. It may be because of my new mortality, but I have never been so tired in my life."

The King looked at her thoughtfully for a second. "You know, I am infinitely grateful that you did not know me as a child."

Arwen's eyes widened as she nodded. "As am I."

Faramir had to agree. The fact that your wife was over two millennia older than you was one thing, but having her raise you as a babe? That would have been very interesting.

"At least Elboron and Eldarion aren't together," he added, sipping his wine.

The King and Queen laughed. Then the King furrowed his eyebrows. "Say, how did you manage to escape? Especially with Éowyn's condition?"

The corner of Arwen's mouth curled, the closes the gracious Queen would ever get to a smirk. "Éowyn probably kicked him out for being too protective," she said with a pointed look towards Aragorn. Faramir choked on his laughter. Thank goodness he didn't have food in his mouth just then.

"No, actually Legolas came up and offered to help. So Ithilien is safe in their hands."

Now it was the King's turn to choke. Arwen's lips parted in exclamation. "Ithilien safe in the hands of Legolas and Éowyn," she whispered, shaking her head. "Now that's something I never expected to say."

"Faramir, my friend, you cannot stay here," the King pleaded, utterly grave. "Do you have any idea what might happen?"

Faramir was confused. He shook his head. What could possibly go wrong? Legolas was a skilled warrior, trained in the court of a great Elvenking, and very, very old. He was wise and stoic, was he not? And Éowyn had managed Rohan on her own plenty of times. She was smart and confident. They were both mature and good-tempered and friends with each other. "Why would anything happen?"

"You left a new colony in the hands of a stubborn, fierce, and trouble-seeking woman and a stubborn, flighty, trouble-attracting elf?" Arwen asked, her eyebrow raised in the likeness of her father. Well, when you put it that way...

"I do not think even Elladan and Elrohir had a better recipe for mischief."

Faramir contemplated it. This was triggering memories of Legolas' and Éowyn's faces as he left. Things he missed in their levelheaded, sensible expressions. The slight upturn on the left side of the elf's lips or the odd gleam in his wife's grey eyes. Maybe...

He shook himself out of it. "No, I am sure they will be fine. It is only a week, after all. And I do not want to miss the delegation from Dol Amroth."

"If you trust it is so..."

And with a last wary glance, the conversation turned to the current biggest thing in their lives: Eldarion.

The week came and went, as did the Prince Imrahil, Lady Lothíriel, and Lord Amrothos, and it was too soon before Faramir found himself once again in the southern woods of Ithilien, riding towards his home. The sun had come up around four hours ago, and the weather was pleasant. The birds sang blithely in the trees, he saw a deer more than once, and the wind blew softly. He was quite lost in the memories of that week, for it had been long since he saw his cousins and uncle. After Lothíriel happened upon the company of Éomer about six months ago, it was hard for her to talk of anyone else, though a grand change had been seen in the way she spoke. It went from "that horrible, arrogant oliphaunt," to "he's not half that bad, you know, even if he still thinks of me as a complete moron and does not understand recession nor efficient transport in the least" to "oh, him? Well...he's alright, I guess...no, I am not blushing," and this time, it had taken a huge swerve to, "that dear man, he's so frustrating, but who else could there be? His kingdom would be in ruins without a proper Queen who actually knows how to run a country". Of course, Faramir had not been completely surprised, but hearing his young-hearted, practical cousin talk of love and marriage had been quite overwhelming.

The first sign of something wrong came when he saw a campsite. It looked as if it had been used in the past few days, in a small clearing, but he should have been the only one taking these paths currently. The smell of wood smoke was still heavy in the air, and the thing that was most disturbing was the footsteps. A group of five men and women had been here not too long ago, and they were much too far to be simply on patrol or picnic. It seemed as if they had stayed here for a while, in fact.

He continued on his path, a little quicker now, and he had not gone far when he came upon yet another area that looked like a camp, and yet another one, not a half-mile further. So many fires meant that it had to be more than one group of people, and they all looked to be coming from the direction of Emyn Arnen. . .

As if the whole colony had migrated out of the settlement.

His blood ran cold, and he all but galloped southwards, chiding himself the whole time, and resigned to his fate. He contemplated what might have happened, but as he should've known, anything was possible with Legolas and Éowyn. Has it all burnt down, perhaps? Maybe Éowyn's mood swings drove them all off. Or maybe Legolas finally inherited his father's hatred of mankind. Maybe two people fought and someone was killed. I always knew Haston was out for Echador's blood. Maybe they were all ill? Perhaps a new plague they had never seen before? Is Éowyn alright?

And so his imagination built wild story after story, each more horrible than the last. The normal three hours of travel only took one in his haste, and sooner than later, he was dismounting his horse and walking into the clearing.

Faramir took one look at the village and frowned. It was all well! Butchers and grocers wheeled their carts, guards marched with their weapons, the smell of bread wafted from the baker's window, everyone was helping carry grain into the barn. People were talking as they made their way down the street, and the occasional elf stopped to smell the flowers. He saw both Haston and Echador, well and alive, Berthadon with his radishes, a bright cart with rolls of silk they had traded with the Haladhrim. Greetings and sounds of haggling rang out from the market stalls. A few young girls carried bundles of weapons to the armory, with miserable, mudstained faces and stumbling feet.

What?

Faramir looked again, and sure enough, it was still there. Then he started to notice subtle changes that he had missed at first. Walking down the alley towards the main hall and elven flet at the other side of town, he noticed that the baker's wife stood at the window, and the baker himself was dejectedly sweeping the floor in a bonnet. Many of the stalls were in confusion. Echador, the hot-headed warrior, was wearing an apron and carrying a basket of apples. Young boys were sitting in the doorways, scowling as they pricked their fingers on needles threaded with bright string. Young ladies were dressed in breeches, struggling with horses in the stands.

Oh, dear. Faramir did not want to deal with this right now. He ran a hand over his face and groaned, and decided to approach someone and figure out exactly what was happening.

"Pardon me, Mistress, but may I enquire as to what you are doing?" he asked a slouching maiden who was returning from the training grounds they had behind the stables. He was not expecting her reaction at all.

The second she saw who it was, she squared her shoulders, snapped her head up, hefted the heavy sword she held a little higher, and set her mouth firmly. "I am sorry, Lord Faramir, I did not mean to slack off. I have been training hard all day, I assure you."

The Steward frowned. "All day? That is not—"

"An excuse, I know," she said, then blanched. "F—forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to interrupt."

"No, no, that is of no issue, but why are you—?" he waved a hand at the sword, but instead of an answer all he got was the girl fixing her grip on it and asking to be forgiven for her bad posture. He let her go absently, his irritation (and respect) for a certain elf and princess now mounting. He was sure, no one else could be behind such a—a—thing! A coup? A trick? A prank? A change? Well, yes, a change for sure. And no doubt both of them would be highly pleased with themselves right now.

He marched past the stables to Legolas' talan where he was sure he would find them and stomped up the spiraling stairs.

What in Arda were they thinking when they did this? And first off, what exactly did they do? Ai, no point in getting riled. One had to have the patience of elves to deal with those two, as Faramir had learned. Although it was in less...drastic...situations than these. He sympathized with so many people as of right now...Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn, King Thranduil, Lord Glorfindel...anyone who had to bring up an elfling. Because that's what they were...grown up children.

He suddenly had a vision of his somber, curious son learning how to sew or cook, and learning patiently. Ever since his birth, his seriousness and love for learning had proven him the perfect victim to Legolas' antics, but as mentioned before, it was never this crazy. Usually something more along the lines of...dancing in the rain...or talking to squirrels...or braiding the king's hair.

This confrontation would not be easy. No doubt both of them would be incredibly satisfied with themselves. Their idea was an honorable one, and he might have agreed if it weren't for the miserable countenances of all the people.

He pushed open the curtain and stepped into the fresh room bathed in sunlight. The elf was sitting in the window, sideways, one leg on either side, looking happily drowsy like a cat in the warmth. His wife was sitting on the desk itself, barefoot, her stomach round, reading some documents. Neither of them seemed the least bit concerned by his out-of-breath arrival. Rather, they both seemed extremely pleased.

"Éowyn, Legolas," he nodded at them.

"Mae g'ovannen, Faramir! How do you fare?" Legolas turned his head, smiling.

Éowyn's response was more energetic. She bounded off the desk with a wide smile to quickly embrace him and then lead him to the chair behind the desk. "Yes, welcome back, husband. Come, sit!"

"I am quite well, thank you. The roads are much safer now than they used to be. I did not even need any women at my protection."

Faramir was fighting with himself on whether to feel shame or victory for that jab, but he decided on the latter. He was with a word-loving edhel and a sharp-witted woman. Indeed, if he hadn't known them so well, he might have thought that they did not even notice. But his sharp eyes picked up how Éowyn's fingers tightened around the quill she was now fingering and how Legolas' drumming fingers missed a beat.

Less subtly now, Legolas met the woman's eyes and inclined his head, as if to say "you go first".

So he fixed an amused gaze on his wife and waited for the response.

"Oh, that is very well indeed. We have lost so many young girls in the war, we would not want to lose anymore. And the menfolk are getting restless staying at home. I am very glad that we have finally driven the evil off our lands."

An adequate response, but not satisfying. Time to press further and up the game.

"Indeed. Forgive me for not asking earlier, but are you hungry? I shall let Nîdh know to prepare a light lunch for us, if that be ok with you? And where is Elboron? I hope he was not too much trouble this week?"

"Yes, a nice meal is just what I need. And the boy was fine. He gave no trouble and is growing into quite a graceful one. How was your week? I trust you had a fine time with your cousins?"

"A marvelous time! Elessar gave me a new crochet pattern that is simply lovely. Oh, and did you know of your brother's engagement to Lothíriel? She was positively glowing with excitement of ruling a nation."

"Yes, he told me in his letter. And such letters they were! It will be so strange to see him with his own family. Though I am happy for them. Lothí will be an excellent queen, and no doubt with Éomer at her side, she will have a delightful life."

A snort from Legolas interrupted their conversation, but they paid him no heed.

"That is true, my lord," here Éowyn's eyes glittered, and Faramir had to continue before a lovesick sigh could escape his lips, "Lothíriel, as intelligent and brave as she is, needs someone like Éomer to keep her at home, or else she would be riding off to every skirmish occurring within her borders."

"I quite agree, sweet wife," smiled Éowyn wickedly, but Faramir's own smile only grew wider, and Legolas could hardly breathe at this point from compressed laughter.

The Steward shook his head and continued. "Oh, forgive me for interrupting, husband. I did not mean to keep you from your work, and Elboron must be seen to. I bid you a good afternoon."

He rose and started towards the door, but stopped when the expected hand came down on his shoulder, and turned to see the White Lady grinning and bouncing eagerly. "So you agree, then?"

"Not completely."

Her face fell, so he quickly went on. "I agree with the sentiment, I suppose, for the idea is new and refreshing, but I must know exactly how you went about doing this."

"Well," she drew it out, sending Legolas a nervous glance. The elf, too, was looking slightly guilty now. "They did not agree to the thought first. They do not trust us completely, and they treat us like amusing children with whims, so we thought that—"

"You thought that if you told them I wanted them to do this, they would," he deadpanned, looking coolly between the two culprits.

Éowyn faltered under his stare and protested, "I do not know how you do it, but they love you so much that they would do anything you but suggest! It is not fair."

"So you told them that I 'suggested' it?"

She winced. "Well, we might have come off more strongly than that."

"And now they are miserable and terrified."

"Certainly not," she said, looking affronted. "We have finally freed them from the oppression of society. The women now fight and the men stay at home."

"Yes, but did you ask them if they wanted to do it? Many people are happy doing the things they do, Éowyn." Ai, Éowyn. Not every maiden wished to wield sword and shield and race into battle. Most were content with embroidery and cooking. But this idea was pleasant. He had grown up with an incredibly intelligent and strong-willed cousin, who bested him at every game, riddle, or trick they played, and now he was married to a woman that accomplished great renown in battle. He, himself, had grown up with more love for poetry than archery, and when a child he had hidden his elder brother's secret love for knitting (which, obviously, went away when Boromir turned into the manly man's manly man). He had despised the clear subduing of women in Gondor, especially in lower classes, and now, with his own principality, seemed like a good place for reform.

"I think you are both missing the point here," came Legolas' voice. "When I first suggested it, I did not mean for the duties to switch completely because then it is the same thing."

The Prince and Princess turned to the elf, confused. The men now did what the women had and the women what the men had. Wasn't it changed and fairer now?

"And that is the problem with you edain," he sighed. Seeing their blank faces, he laughed. "The Eldar do not distinguish between elleth and ellon at all. Other than the ability to carry a child, they are free to choose whichever trade they want. The females who wish to fight, fight, and those who do not, do not."

"Yes, but we brought this change because the people had never learned the roles of the other gender, and so they should before they choose," said Éowyn.

Faramir was now thoroughly converted. Why this idea had not occurred to him before, he had not a clue, but he was enjoying it more by the second. He grinned at them, and voiced the final statement. "Well then, how about we become the first human establishment to let the people choose their trade regardless of gender? As Legolas said, those who prefer to fight will fight, those who prefer to create will create, those who prefer to tend will tend, and those who prefer to build will build. And not forcefully."

Their smiles told him they agreed, and they spent the next few long moments simply beaming at each other, before he remembered something and frowned.

"Did you perhaps come off so fearsome that people tried to escape the colony and set up campsites?"

Needless to say, when the King visited them the next year and was helped off his mount by a young woman in breeches, and led to a talan by an old man in an apron, he looked as though a troll had clubbed him over the head, most especially when his Queen laughed excitedly and demanded that they do the same in Minas Tirith.