A drift of nodding bluebells covered the forest floor as they wound their way up through the hills behind the house. Eowyn could not see any track that Faramir was following, but she heard a stream gurgle brightly before them; presumably they were following its winding course. As they drew near it glinted in the morning sun, tumbling with abandon over rocks and caressing the withies by the bank.

A familiar upturned treeroot came into view and suddenly she knew exactly where they are. Faramir had shown her this spot before, here the wild leeks and watercress grew, he knew always where he was, had ranged these woods and slopes for twenty years. She smiled; it seemed slowly a map of their land was settling within her head.

They had stopped before at this stream to drink of its clear and snowfed water, but today they pressed on, climbing higher through the trees, oak and lebrethon giving way quickly to evergreens. As they rode, Faramir pointed out fox holes and nests and birds that at first glance she could not see; his keen eyes were attuned to every feature in the land.

Now and then Eowyn glanced behind, checking the pace and progress of the younger men. Bergil, in particular, seemed amazed by the land that they traversed. She suspected he was thrilled to help the Prince: he had had little chance to venture far from the village in the months since his family had moved from Minas Tirith. She knew he had been homesick, missed the city of his birth, its bustle and noise and his many friends. Now, surrounded by the green and fragrant countryside, worlds away from the dust and stone left behind, he began to look at ease. Once again, she blessed the mercy of Aragorn's judgement. Beregond and his son would, in time, be key to the peace of their new found princedom.

The bracken thinned out as they climbed and Eowyn began to notice the soft green buds upon the spreading pine and tamarack. The scent of dusty, earthy bark and dry old pine was heady, but overlaid with a gentle sweetness. Drifts of white faennan lay underneath the boughs, their tiny stars of bloom just beginning to burst forth. Soon, she knew, Ithilien would be alive with the gorgeous scent of early summer.

The stream led up to one of Emyn Arnen's many waterfalls. At this break in slope the dark rocks suddenly rose up and Faramir led them now along the level. For several candlemarks they rode quietly in single file, as he concentrated on the route. Eowyn was about to ask for the umpteenth time where were they going when, suddenly, Faramir pulled the grey stallion up.

"Here." he said, with quiet certainty. Eowyn, perplexed, saw nothing different about the spot other than perhaps a larger burr on one side of a particularly large tree.

Faramir turned backm smiling. His eyes caught hers, alight with anticipation and something else she could not name. It made her stomach flutter, and for a moment, she felt as if she were drowning, caught in their luminescent, storm-tossed grey.

With an effort she broke the spell. "Here what, my inscrutable Prince?" She found neither her voice and nor her hands were entirely steady. Windfola sidled, his mistress swore and the Prince grinned even wider.

"Here we dismount and walk." He sprang lightly down and Bergil and Will quickly followed. This time Faramir did not offer her his hand, but even more maddeningly ignored her, setting about organizing their kit and unsaddling Mithros. The big grey caught his master's excitement and danced around lightly as he fought to untie the ropes and loosen the girth. "Ion sedryn roch, gerin thala" The gentle Sindarin plea for Mithros to settle was finally successful: saddle and rope at last settled on the ground.

Eowyn, meanwhile, had stubbornly stayed put. "Here? We are in the middle of nowhere. Faramir, where are we going?" Surely now he will tell her what is going on?

Her husband seemed to be aware than an explosion of temper might upset his careful plans. His Lady's frustrated tone required, and received, an answer.

"Down." Down? Faramir's back was to her. He was intent upon the packs and she could not tell if he was jesting.

"Down? Where…?" Reluctantly she dismounted and looked all around. Down the slope led only back to where they came from. All else she can see lead up.

Bergil and Will took Windfola and Mithros and led all four horses to an open glade beside. There they hobbled the mounts and unrolled a blanket across the forest floor; clearly they were settling down for a picnic. Once the young guardsmen settled down they laid their daggers beside; Faramir noted with approval. They were smart lads. The lands were clear of Orcs, but it never hurt to be alert and ready. He passed them one of the packs and bid the young men "Enjoy your lunch."

"You too, my Lord, my Lady." Bergil responded shyly, he flushed slightly at the Lady of Ithilien's fuming gaze. Will, two years younger and less ready to brave his mistress's displeasure, hid his head and investigated the basket as if it held a feast worthy of Merethrond.

The Prince then set about making himself busy, strapping the second blanket onto a shoulder pack, studiously ignoring the sight of his frustrated wife as she stood, hands on hips, clearly not mollified by the crumbs of information he had laid out. She caught him risking a sidelong glance. Her lips were set, proud brow and elegant nose were in the air. The look in his eyes was admiring; he has said before that she was even more lovely when angry. Clearly, her lord was enjoying himself and her flushed and furious beauty a little too much.

Eowyn knew by the muscle quirking in Faramir's cheek that no more information would be forthcoming for the moment. Reluctantly, she walked over to stand beside him, helped to hold the buckles clear, but quickly moved her arm out of his reach when he boldly tried to brush his long elegant fingers across her wrist.

Mindful that the guards were still in earshot she sent out a thought. "You will pay for this, you know." She wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of his face, hold him down and tickle his ribs until he cried for mercy. With relish she imagined torturing him until, gasping helplessly, he told her what was going on.

The quirk broadened into a decided smirk. "Oh I hope so."

Of course, he had caught her thought. Bema preserve her from gifted Dunadan.

Settling the straps of the pack across his shoulders he passed her the coils of rope. "Would you mind carrying these? It is not so far."

Perhaps pleading would work? She tried her most soulful face and extravagant pout. "Faramir?"

His bark of laughter was quickly stilled; she had placed a hand upon his arm once again and brushed softly the corded muscles that held the pack. "That is not playing fair my love."

Faramir turned his back to the two young men. Before she had a chance to answer his spare hand reached up and cupped her cheek. A callused thumb brushed thoughtfully across her lower lip.

Desire and determination warred for space in the light grey depths that met her own flashing, stormed-tossed grey. She held his gaze. She was a Shieldmaiden; she knew how to remain unmoved in the face of an implacable enemy. "It is only what you deserve, you cruel-hearted, stubborn cur."

"For that insult I will take a penalty." Swiftly his dark head dipped and her lips were pressed with a fierce and searing kiss that let her breathless. His voice was low and teasing. "Patience. Patience my furious, fair flower. You are only serving to delay us even more." Again, he shook his head and grabbed her hand.

"Bema's balls." It seemed nothing could entice him to spoil the surprise. Her oath was lost amongst the trees, as he pulled her along behind.

She heaved a sigh and followed his tall form, dodging the sharp boughs and occasional dead tree that littered the forest floor. They gained only a little height until the trees thinned out and they stopped abruptly at the edge of another slope.

The land had fallen away and before them lay a deep, steep-sided ravine. From its edge she could see across a few hundred yards to the farther side: the rock was very dark, its straight layers easily discernible through the few green plants that held purchase on its sheer, forbidding face. All within the ravine itself was green, the tops of the trees lay below its rocky shoulder. Clearly it was very deep.

"Here, my love, the adventure begins." Faramir grinned and gestured for her to pass him the coil of rope.

A slightly queasy feeling settled in her stomach. Oh Bema. Down. He had said down. They had rope and there was a ravine and they were to go down. Suddenly the memory of Amrothos swam into view, only slightly tipsy at their wedding feast, telling one of many stories of her bridgegroom's childhood. "Faramir had climbed to the top of the frieze in Merethrond one Yule and Uncle Denethor thrashed him for it."

"We are going to climb down that?" Her voice was only slightly high and her heartbeat was just slightly fast. She watched him tie both the ends of two coils of rope around a large tree nearby. "The surprise is at the bottom?"

"Uhummmm." He was busy concentrating, using an odd looking array of knots to secure the lines, mind only partly on what his now frankly horrified wife was saying.

"But I don't know what to do!"

He peered over the edge, adjusting the ropes to lie upon some bracken near the lip. "I will show you. It is perfectly safe and not that far." He looked up, face shining with excitement, as he picked up a shorter length of rope. "I good reason to know how strong your arms are, min heorte, you will have no trouble. Here, let me tie you in."

From within the pack he took an iron ring. She stood still and hardly breathed as the rope was passed through and he laid it across her hips, twined the ends around her back and crossed them down through her legs and up the ring again. The loose ends were wrapped around once more and finally knotted across one thigh. It made a sort of cradle and was not uncomfortable, merely awkward. Faramir tugged hard upon the knot to test it's strength: it did not budge. Satisfied with his handiwork he reached for the other short rope and ring and tied a similar kit around himself.

For several heady minutes she listened, heart thumping, as he explained in detail how they were to descend. The loose ends of the longer rope were passed through the iron rings, around their waists and up to coil several times about one forearm. He showed her how to grip the rope on one side and about their arms to stop, but let it slide slowly when they moved. The rope felt rough and unfamiliar. She was thankful suddenly for the thick riding gloves and leather tunic.

When he grabbed the coil and tossed one end over the edge of the precipice, she started, realizing this was in earnest.

"My brave Shieldmaiden. Here we go." He went first, showing her the motion and the hold. Secured by the rope, she followed him down over the lip; mouth dry and heart now hammering in her chest. She tried to imitate his movements and remember what he had said, stepping her feet lightly down on the dark rocky surface, letting the rope run through her fingers bit by bit, resting her weight carefully.

It felt exciting and terrifying and liberating all at once, suspended for a moment right at the edge. With his urging, she took the biggest step, went over the edge and suddenly, she was suspended in the clear air, feet flat against the wall over.

"Follow me love, feel for your footholds and don't forget to breathe." Faramir's smile was encouraging. He had no doubt that she could do this. She was not quite so sure. The soft boots gave her a better feel for the rock and where to step, yet still she found herself wishing to be back up on top and standing once again.

Eowyn watched Faramir move beside. He was so at ease with his body and what it could do, so sure of his footholds and touch and balance that he made it look as if he was dancing on the rock. It would have been maddening if it wasn't so ludicrously attractive, watching a man so centrally present within his body, reveling in what he could make it do.

She tried to follow his instructions, stepping lightly down for each new foothold but after several minutes of steady descent her toe slipped. A loose pebble on a tiny ledge had jostled. Suddenly her body jerked, she gripped hard the coil; the rope stretched and tightened: all worked as it should but the feeling was unexpected and frankly terrifying. Her body shook like a leaf, sweat beaded her brow and her heart was now in her throat. Trying to calm her breathing, Eowyn resettled her feet and waited until her body stopped its trembling.

Looking across to her husband just a few feet away, she found that he was singing. Of course. Of course, he was. She started off again but this time she found that the farther down she moved the more precarious she felt. 'Do not look down!' she told herself. It was not that the idea terrified her just that she didn't want to know how much farther it was; the bottom was out of sight and it seemed a very long way down.

Anxiously she held taught to the rope and tried to steady her feet once again as Faramir had shown. His forearm held the rope beside and it lay just beyond her elbow. It was comforting to have him near, but it could not overweigh the mounting anxiety she felt. Her heart hammered harder with every passing minute and her mouth was dry. Fear was winning over exhilaration for the moment.

Faramir looked over and caught the expression on her face; frowning as he saw her face white and panting, trying to master the feelings that had taken over. "Stay there." he sent, and quickly worked his way down to perch just a foot below. Almost she was cradled by his hips and thighs; she could feel the warmth of his body against her back. His forearm flexed and now he moved up to meet her, his body warm and steady, a shield from the forest floor below. She could feel the muscles of his chest move against her. His lips were soft upon her ear and his breath huffed against her cheek. "I have you my love, lean back into me." His voice, warm and reassuring, brushed her thoughts. "I will hold you."

She took a deep breath and steadied herself against his comforting strength for several minutes. They stayed perched that way while her heartbeat slowed and she breathed more deeply once again. A feeling of determination bubbled up; she was not going to let him carry her all the way down.

"I want to try again. I think I can do it." She felt his proud smile against her cheek. An encouraging, breathy kiss behind her ear was her reward. "As you will, min heorte, but let me know right away this time if you need help."

Slowly and steadily they moved their feet downward together once again. This time she was more sure, and less anxious each time that her feet moved on the warm black rock.

In time it became a rhythm: slip the rope, move her feet and stabilize. Before long she found they had passed the tops of the spreading trees and the forest floor had come into view. This sent a thrill of anticipation through her veins. Just a few feet farther, she thought with relief.

Unlike the dusty pine understory they had left above, the ground she could now see was lush with yew and laurel. Drifts of purple violet, white anemone and blue foamflower surrounded a carpet of glossy, dark green periwinkle leaves. She felt hot from the exercise but also, she realised, the air around. It had become heavier, moist and warmer, with a scent that was heady and intense; the closer they came to the ravine floor the more it filled her senses. There was also a scent she could not place, slightly bitter, acrid but moist.

After what seemed an age, the relief to feel her feet on flat, solid ground again was almost overwhelming. Her knees gave way a little, as her legs shook with tension and the unaccustomed effort. Quickly Faramir reached over to steady her with an arm about her waist.

"Well done!" The quick hug he gave her was reassuring, as was the kiss upon her cheek. She felt proud and thrilled and terribly relieved. He undid the ropes and rings and laid them beside the guide ropes at the bottom.

Finally steady, she looked around at the hidden, lush and fragrant world they had entered. The trees were softly green and the dense carpet of flowers lay all about. It seemed miles away from the drier spring woods up above. She thought she caught faintly the sound of rushing water. There must be another waterfall nearby.

"Faramir, this is beautiful."

"Indeed it is, but we are not there yet. Come see." Her husband was practically bouncing in his excitement.

Still panting a little from the effort and thrill of something new, she followed as he walked towards the sound of the waterfall, pushing aside the bushes as they moved.

The floor of the ravine was covered by the green and grey mosses; they were soft underfoot and she thought she also caught the scent of early thyme.

They walked for several minutes and as they did, the hiss and gurgle of running water became a roar; the bright trills and song of the many birds were quickly drowned by its voice. The air grew heavier yet again; the slightly bitter, sharp scent was now all pervasive as steam drifted through the trees toward them.

As they stepped from the forest cover out into a wide, steam-blurred glade, Eowyn looked up, mouth open, rapt in wonder. A curtain of green and steaming water fell straight from the precipice high above, tumbling and foaming, a thundering cascade that case to rest in a broad, mist-shrouded pool. On the rocks and about the water's edge moss grew thickly, softening the tiers of shining pink and gold and purple rime that coated the pool and rocks behind.

Faramir, eyes shining, turned and swept his arm through the warm, moist air. "This, my Lady of Ithilien, is your very own private hot spring."

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A/N : Emyn Arnen's hot spring is based on a real place..Kerosene Creek, North Island, New Zealand; although I have taken artistic licence with the height of the falls and set them in a ravine.

Grateful and eternal thanks to Mr. Sian for beta-testing the carabiner-less rope harness and patiently explaining top-roping and belaying, mindful of Annafan's expert and discerning eye.

Once again, grateful thanks go out to JuneGloom for beta'ing. Any remaining typos, tense changes and punctuation messes are my own. Happy Birthday Annafan!

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