Eowyn sat quietly at the fireside, absently stirring lazy figure-of-eights in a cup of tea with a spoon. The height of the day had passed and the room was aglow with the warm rays of the late afternoon sun, but a strong wind had stolen the warmth of the day, and she could hear its steady howl as it gusted across the stone ramparts of the city. Aside from the wind, the room was still and quiet, for most of the wounded men had been moved from the hallway to more suitable housing, and the healers were finally able to take some rest for themselves as well. Eowyn herself had, in the moments not spent at Faramir's sickbed, spent much time with Ioreth, mixing medicines and soothing the wounds of the hurting men.
The snap of a large ember in the fire broke Eowyn's reverie and she set her tea down untasted, and ran her fingers across her dress, which had been given to her with a shy bow by Ioreth's young maid. Eowyn smiled as she admired the deep wine-colored velvet, and she softly touched the embroidered vines that marched across the bodice.
Suddenly, she was startled with the realization that she could no longer hear the slow, deep breaths of Faramir's sleep, which had lulled her with its comforting regularity. She whirled in her chair, hand flying to her now-pounding heart.
Faramir lay quietly, eyes open and fixed upon her, and when Eowyn met their gaze, he graced her with a slow, weary smile. With a speed she would later recall as unladylike, Eowyn leapt from her chair and dashed to Faramir's side. "My lord!" She laid her hand on his forehead, searching for any fever, and she found it quite cool.
Faramir's dry lips formed her name, but he could not speak it. He gingerly tried to lift himself up onto his elbows, and Eowyn slipped an arm behind his back to ease him up until he could lean easily against the carven headboard. He was strangely moved at how strong yet gentle her touch was, and he suppressed a shiver borne not of chill but of the tactile brush of her fingers across the nape of his neck as she helped him to settle back.
Eowyn stepped back from the bed and gave a small smile, her mouth pinching at the corners to stop unwanted words, and she unconsciously smoothed her hands over her dress. "How do you feel, my lord?"
Faramir opened his mouth to reply but his voice was strangled by the arid dryness of his throat and tongue, so he managed only a rasping whisper. "Thirsty." Eowyn hurried to pour a draught of water from a fine porcelain pitcher on the bedside table, and she held the cup to Faramir's chapped lips. He drank deeply and somewhat too greedily, for water spilled from the cup and ran down his chin to soak the collar of his nightshirt. Eowyn smoothed the moisture away with her thumb, Faramir's stubble pricking her skin.
"Slowly, Lord Faramir, slowly." She drew the cup away and Faramir eyed it hungrily for a moment, then his gaze shifted to her face and she felt that she saw, strangely, a different sort of hunger on his face. Flushing in the heat of his look, she turned and dipped two fingers into a small dish of salve on the bed table, which she gently smoothed across Faramir's chapped lips, then she sank to a seat on the mattress next to him. The woven coverlet radiated the warmth of his body, but it was no longer a heat of fever. "Your fever has broken, lord," she began, but he stopped her with an upraised hand.
"I am only Faramir. You needn't name me lord," he said gently, his voice thick and raspy with disuse, and Eowyn colored again at his tone. "After the days of trial we have shared, I would consider it an honor and a grace for you to use my name as a friend."
"Faramir," The name was quiet and sweet on her tongue. "Your fever has broken and the suppuration of infection has passed." Faramir smiled slightly and reached out to grasp Eowyn's hand with both of his own. He ran his fingers across her palm, examining the healing calluses and nicks of battle. Eowyn placed her other hand upon Faramir's cheek. "It gives me such joy to see you well again."
Faramir's wandering fingers crossed her palm again. "How long has it been? How goes the battle?"
"Three days you slept with the fever." Eowyn fixed him with a stern look. "You did not care for your wounds as you should, Faramir, and you pushed yourself far too hard too quickly. Believe that it will not happen again." She feigned a severe look, planting a fist on her hip, but then her face darkened in earnest. "As for the battle, I cannot say. No word has returned."
Faramir shook his head wearily. "I should like to see the sun, Eowyn," he said, and he swung his legs slowly to dangle from the side of the bed. Eowyn slipped her shoulders under his arm and helped ease him to his feet. He tested the strength of his legs and found them sufficient, but he kept Eowyn tucked close against his side, not willing to forfeit the feeling of her arm wrapped around his waist, of her strong frame stretched along the length of his own.
Together they walked slowly through the high stone arch-door, out into the gardens. The sun was making its way down into the west but hung high enough that the red-gold light still painted the garden walls. The sharp scent of lavender was on the wind, wafting from the healers garden just below. Eowyn looked to the North, straining as though by sheer force of will she could espy the armies of men, her people, her brother. Faramir glanced at her, then followed her northward stare. "Even an eagle's eyes could not cross such a distance," he teased, nudging at her shoulder.
"Nor the eyes of a ranger," she gibed in return, then sighed. "Would that we were eagles and could fly north at speed." She reached down and grasped Faramir's hand. "It pains me so, not knowing how they fare," she admitted.
Faramir squeezed her hand. "I think somehow that it shall not be long now." His grey gaze was now set hard in the north. "The time draws near."