The rushing sound of the bursting river and the wind whipping through the trees filled her ears, and she delighted in it. She felt her hair flying back in the wind, and beneath her, she felt Asfaloth stretch out—Arwen felt as though she were soaring on the back of an eagle.

"That is right, Asfaloth," her voice sang out against the breeze blowing back into her face, "we shall have the victory this time!" The big grey tossed his head and hurtled forward. Between his ears, Arwen could see the goal of her race—a large, rather ominous-looking sycamore that held no fear for her. She smiled widely and thought that she rather enjoyed the exhilaration of winning. It had been far too long since she had been on the back of a horse; Asfaloth clearly thought so, too.

But the winning part was not to be. Behind her on the right she suddenly heard the rhythmic pounding of hooves, now out of beat with Asfaloth's. She did not even need to urge the grey as he ran flat out; he was tearing along as fast as he could, the desire to win pushing him forward. Still, it was not enough; the bay drew alongside, grass and dirt flying out from beneath him. The small crooked smile on Aragorn's face was unforgettable as he passed.

When finally the sycamore was behind them, the bay had reached it first at least three lengths ahead. Arwen was breathless; she had forgotten as usual the craftiness of the horse and rider she rode against. He never failed to take her by surprise! How many times since they were first married had she been beaten in this way, and still she could not figure out how he was doing it! She shook her head at her loss, but she could not help the smile that formed on her lips; she tried to tame her hair with her hand, but it blew back to madness a moment later. This time, she let it go.

Huffing and puffing and prancing, Asfaloth drew up next to the bay, and Brego bobbed his head up and down again and again. The Elven woman laughed as Asfaloth walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Aragorn watched her, the sunlight of this gorgeous spring morning on her face, delight and laughter where he had not seen it in some time.

"We have not ridden together in so long that I forgot about Brego's great cleverness!" she teased as Brego tossed his head. "What an exhilarating ride, and the perfect day for it!" The smile upon her face entranced him a moment so that he did not speak at first; then he gave her a sweet smile.

"I worked hard to teach him so much in the way of craftiness." Brego bumped the grey with his shoulder as they walked along, and so the two riders were very close to each other. Aragorn reached out and brushed the hair gently from her face, leaving his fingers to linger there. The sun's first, actual rays of light were beginning to appear, and he could think of nothing but her. It was as the first morning he had ever seen her; the light shining on her form and he was once again completely captivated "What beauty is this Ilúvatar has granted me?" he said, speaking softly. "Such light is in your face, Arwen, my love?"

Her genuine smile filled his heart. "The reflection of the love-light on your own, Aragorn," she said, and she reached up to cover his hand that lay on her face. "What a beautiful morning it is," she whispered and he nodded.

"It is the perfect morn for such a ride," he agreed. The two horses, still arguing, turned back around to return towards the sycamore tree. Aragorn closed his eyes against the wind and smiled. "It has been a long winter; it is good to see life in everything once more." He glanced to her and gently squeezed her hand. "Within you as well…and you have been feeling much better." He noticed her take her lower lip between her teeth, and she was silent in return. Inwardly, he cursed himself. "Forgive me, I should not have—"

"Do not," she said softly, looking away from his eyes and leaning forward to wrap her hand in Asfaloth's mane. "Is it not…better to talk about this in the light of day? Rather than the darkness of night…when the walls seem to close in around us?" Her voice was hushed, sad, full of the honest pain of remembrance. He raised her hand to his lips.

"Come; dismount, and we will talk."

They did. Upon reaching the sycamore, they untacked their boys in silence and then released them to run wherever they chose; after nosing both of them, the two of them disappeared, chasing each other far away. Aragorn settled down beneath the tree, his back against it, Arwen resting against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as she lowered her head back to his shoulder, turning her face towards his neck. They sat in silence, watching the River for many minutes.

"I should be asking your forgiveness," she whispered, and he frowned. "I am sorry for my dreams that wake you late in the night and force you to get no rest; I am sorry for my strange state of…emotion that seems to change as the course of the wind; I am sorry for my sadness…there are moments when it simply takes hold…and I cannot control it."

"Why…why are you apologizing for any of this?" he told her gently. "You are my better half. The part of me I know, I understand, better than myself. Nothing will change the knowledge that he is gone, Arwen. Nothing can take that pain away." He stroked her cheek, her face, her hair. "We will carry it the rest of our lives."

"I thought," she replied, her voice still a whisper as she tried to speak around the lump in her throat, "that it might become easier."

"It will…it has. You have only had two nightmares in the past week…that is better. I only thought of him twice yesterday." He winced. "We are…doing better. Though, perhaps that makes it sound as though I am trying to forget."

"Not forget…live." He nodded. She thought about the day they went to his grave, how she had wept, clutched Aragorn as he had held her, how she had not slept three days after the visit, how he had given her a sleeping draught without her knowledge, how angry she had been…and then how grateful. She sighed. "I feel as though I have not been trying very hard."

"Do not judge yourself. We all heal in our own way, and you were physically hurt." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "And with the planning for the upcoming wedding and keeping things in order, the rebuilding of the fourth level…"

"We have been busy," she agreed. She turned her head to look up into his face. "I feel like I…have not seen your face in a month."

He smiled. "You saw it just last evening." He was teasing her, but she was serious, and she could see behind his eyes that he knew what she meant.

Eyes open now, she studied the curve of his chin, the line of his jaw, and the bristles of his beard that were flecked with grey. How long has it been? She wondered in that this moment, this time, was the first in over a month when she had truly studied him…really looked at him. It scared her that it had been that long since she had lain in his arms and been awake simply to be with him. Tears formed in her eyes as she felt the guilt of being a stranger to her own husband—or was he the stranger? Both of them were at fault. There were the times Aragorn would fall asleep over parchment, would not come home until so late she did not hear him and rose so early he did not wake her, and then sometimes he did not return and his bed was cold. She was gone all day; visiting friends within the city, giving care to the people. She worried for him constantly, and she prayed for him so often that she believed Eru to be tired of his name on her lips.

And it was in the studying of his face, the two new lines about his eyes, that she grew sad with grief, for she had missed their appearing and development. She had not seen a more wise face, nor a more handsome one and the surprise that he continued to change with the seasons made her realize that she should not blink; for in blinking she would miss that change that only made her love for him increase and grow. His brow so noble; his chin so proud; and his eyes…O! his eyes so fair and honest and full of affection!

She reached up and touched those lines by his eyes, one on his forehead, her mouth open as she stared at him. "How…how did I miss these? When did they come to be?"

"Worry," he murmured. "I will admit they came as worry for you. I discovered them one morning in February…and I have never looked at them since."

"I am sorry."

"Do not be. I love you," he said honestly. "I would lay my life at your feet. What are three lines in my face compared to losing you?"

Several moments of tears followed where she simply could not speak, could not reply to such words. He stroked her hair and whispered words of love to her, tightening his arms around her and holding her even closer. She ran her fingers down his face, from temple to chin, and then followed down his neck, beneath his collar where her nails met his collarbone. She rested her fingers there, hesitated, and then leaned forward, slowly pressing her lips to the juncture of his throat, her eyes closing.

She could not look at him. "I…have wanted to love you…but…I have been afraid."

He knew immediately she meant to physically love him; it was the rest of her words that stunned him. "A…afraid?"

His tone was surprise, of course. What could she mean? "I have been afraid of the desire I have for you…afraid that it was…that my motive was…something else…"

He suddenly knew what she meant as he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I did not bring you here to try to have a baby," he whispered, and he felt her breath catch in pain as he said the words—but they needed to be said. "Were you…afraid I would suggest it?"

She tried to let out the breath that had caught in her lungs. It was difficult. "I…I did not know what to expect, Aragorn; and I did not…want…" she hesitated, tears filling her eyes as the rest of the words came out in a rush, "to waste our time trying because we do not even know if—"

"Hush," he said firmly, but with a gentler tone. "You are speaking of things you do not know. Everything is fine…nothing is wrong with you, or me, for that matter. You cannot keep reliving the past. One man's words—"

"It was not only one man's words," she said softly, but she continued before he could interrupt her as she knew he would. "It is a known fact that a woman who…if a woman…well, she is more—"

"That is not always true," he insisted, "and you miscarried because you were poisoned. You did not miscarry because of something you said or did…you know that, yes?" Rubbing his thumb on the back of her neck, he continued. "You should not still be thinking of Gildion's words. He was a fool. He does not know you; he never did. You were pure, Arwen, you always have been; anyone who knows you knows the truth." He studied her for a moment; she was silent, taking in his words.

"I know he is wrong about that," she told him softly. "I know what I have done in my life. But…I cannot help feeling that this is a punishment, that Ilúvatar is punishing me for something I have done. And what if…what if…" she hesitated again, but he waited her out. "Sometimes I feel so empty." He watched her other hand stray towards her stomach and then pull back. "We have been waiting for seven years…and now…"

"We still have so much time, beloved," he murmured, beginning to kiss her forehead. "We have all the time in the world. Everything is going to be all right." He brought his thumb up against her earlobe and whispered, "What say you to these thoughts: I intend to love you the entire rest of the morning…and possibly most of the afternoon with absolutely no hurry, no matter who is waiting for us."

"With no motive?" she asked so softly he nearly did not hear her.

"There is a motive," he said, taking her face in his hands. "Arwen, look at me." She could not refuse him. "I want to make love with you. Why? Because I love you, adore you. Because I want to give myself to you in that way over and over and over again. Because I want to feel that oneness, that closeness with you as we have not shared in far too long. I belong to you; I want to hold you in my arms and feel your skin upon my skin, your breath on my neck, your heartbeat against my chest. I want you. That is my motive." He chuckled suddenly. "In fact, I might rebel so much that we miss supper."

"Miss supper?" she said, stumbling over the words.

"I am going to take the whole day and spend time here with you and lie in this grass and rejoice because Ilúvatar has forever blessed me with you and your love. And…loving you, physically, is a form of worship to him…a spiritual experience."

"That…" she whispered, "is so…"

He gave her a little smile, clearly enjoying himself too much. "Beautiful?"

"Blasphemous." But he could tell she was embarrassed at his words.

He laughed. "No it is not! It is true. When I caress your skin, I feel as though I am touching His finest creation and I bless His name for that. Physically loving you is worship. Let go of your fear; forget the world for a little while, forget everything except us. Let me…let me love you. We have…all day…we can go as slow as we like."

She blinked, feeling his fingertips on her ears; she knew what was coming, and she knew what he meant. "It will have to be slow." She trembled; she could not help it as he stroked her ears, her eyes closing involuntarily as well. "Ah…that is not taking it slow, beloved."

He moved, quickly but smoothly, and she found her back being laid against the fresh grass near the river. Opening her eyes, she met his as he leaned over her, bending low to kiss her as her hands wrapped around him to hold him closer to her.

"I promise that everything will be slow," he said, kissing away from her mouth and back along her jaw line, "and torturous."

There was no way that she could deny she was looking forward to that. "I…have missed you so much," she whispered, dragging her hands along his sides.

"I have missed you, too, beloved," he said in the same tone of voice. She felt his lips reach the base of her ear and she suddenly realized that forgetting about everything else in Middle-Earth at the moment was nowhere near as difficult as she had thought it was going to be.

After returning to his home to change and collect himself after Enguina's teasing, Legolas headed back out to collect her for breakfast. How was he to handle himself around her? He shook his head in frustration. Enguina was a lovely mystery, and he found it very difficult that he was supposed to be all reasonable and controlled when the truth was…well, the truth was… His hands curled into fists. The truth was that he was beginning to have difficulty keeping his hands off of her! The last thing he would ever do would be to threaten her honor, her innocence. He was not the kind! But when he looked at her, he could barely stop imagining what it would be like to run his hand along her arm all the way to her throat…with no clothing to hinder him.

He swallowed. Yes, that was just the thing to be thinking as he made his way back to her door. He would cut his hands off before he would ever touch her in such a way. They were to be married in a little less than two months; how in heaven's name had Aragorn waited nearly forty years to marry Arwen? Dear Ilúvatar…he was ready to share every bit of himself with Enguina in every way humanly possible. But, he was an elf; how in the world had he lived so long and never felt this way before?

"Legolas?" He heard that little laugh of his name and he looked up onto her porch. How long had he been standing right here in front of the guesthouse, staring at the stairs? How long had she known he was there? How long had she been standing at the top of the steps before him as she waited for him to acknowledge her? She smiled at him. "My…you are so lost in thought you do not even know where you are this morning. To think that I allowed you to walk home alone in such a state!"

"Better that you had," he murmured as she joined him on the stones, "I promise." She slipped an arm through his and laughed again.

"You love to tease," she told him. "What captivated you so?"

"Never you mind," he insisted, covering her hand with his own and staring down at the ring he had given her.

"Please."

He sighed. "If you must know, I was thinking of how beautiful you are…and how much I love you and cannot wait until we are married. But this I have already told you this morning, and we are nearly to the King's House." He raised her hand and kissed the back of it.

"Are we to find a suitable employment today," she giggled, raising her eyebrows at him, "or are we to sit about in each other's arms all day on Arwen's front porch?"

"I suppose it would not be good for us to grace their porch in that way," he said with a little smile, but he was captivated by her little giggle. "I thought we could help Gimli this morning, and then this afternoon perhaps head to the stable for a—"

"We cannot!" she cried suddenly, her eyes wide. "I completely forgot that I have a dress fitting this afternoon at the tailor's!"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "How could you forget that?"

"I just thought of it," she said, rather guilty. "Forgive me."

"I will…if I can come along," he said slyly.

She smacked his arm. "Absolutely not! What sort of surprise would that be on the day of the wedding if you were to see me in the dress now?"

"It would not be," he replied, tugging her to a halt as they reached the steps of the King's House. "That is the plan…why bother being surprised when I can enjoy the dress now?" Looking down into her eyes, he leaned very close to her. "You shall be so beautiful—"

"Legolas," she chided, "no. It is bad luck."

He groaned. "Please. I am sure there are hundreds of men who have seen their brides in their dress before their wedding, and they have lived long happy—"

"But you will not be one of them." She lifted herself onto her toes, tugged her hands out of his, wrapped them around his neck, and kissed him. Leaning back and grinning at the expression on his face, she added, "And Arwen would kill me." He shook his head as she released him, taking his hand and tugging him up the steps with her, reaching for the door. "Come on. We should have breakfast before—" She stopped, looked confused, and Legolas took notice of it.

"What is it?"

"The door is…locked?" she hesitated, tugging on the door again. "It is locked."

Legolas leaned forward and peered in the window. "Hmm…odd."

"Stop that!" she cried, pushing his arm, and blushing profusely. "You should not be looking in their—"

"Dear Ilúvatar, Enguina," he said, rolling his eyes, "they are not at home."

She stared at him as he turned. "They are not?"

"No, the King's House is empty, moina. They seem to be out." He smiled to himself. "And I can imagine several places where they might be."

"The stable?"

"Perhaps Aragorn has decided that today is a good day to withdraw from the Council," Legolas hypothesized. "We were just speaking this morning that we would like them to spend more time together. Perhaps they did just that."

Enguina blushed again, just a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I certainly hope so." He reached out and took her hand, raising his eyebrows. "Well, since we shall find no breakfast here, care for some muffins this morning?"

"Oh!" she suddenly smiled. "Yes, please!"

Arwen lay on her back in the soft grass, her arms above her head; she remained still, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and soaking as much of it into her skin as she possibly could. Aragorn lay beside her, worn out and fast asleep, his arm over her stomach, his hand resting comfortably against her ribs. His body was curled tightly against her right side, her every curve pressed in some way to his flesh—it felt right.

They had made love, several times, and it was slow and beautiful but every bit as physically difficult as she had expected it to be. No amount of taking their time, of preparation, had soothed those few moments of agony she had known were coming. She lowered her right arm and laid her hand against Aragorn's shoulder, dragging her fingers across the very recent nail marks she had left tattooed in his skin. She could not smile at them; she had made him bleed with how tightly she had held him.

Arwen turned her head and looked into his peaceful face. She had woken before him; today that was no surprise, but for him to be sleeping in the afternoon when the sun was so high…that was. She thought of the way his hands had touched her, the way he had stroked her hair, held her close, felt her skin; she knew the way his heart had beat against her chest, its steady rhythm flooding her with the warmth and constancy of his love. Oh, to be blessed to love this man and to be loved by him, this man who she loved more than life!

She could not say what woke him. Was it the tightening of her nails in his skin? Was it the way her breath caught beneath his arm? His grey eyes met hers; he blinked several times as she gently moved her fingers to his face where she could stroke the hair back from his brow.

"It is late, my love," he whispered. "Yet, you are awake…and I was asleep."

"Awake now," she replied with a little smile. "It is far after noon. If we were to leave even this moment, we would not arrive in time to prepare dinner."

"Dinner…a thought long past."

"Do you think everyone knows where we are, beloved?" she whispered, and her breath caught as he lifted his arm and traced his fingers along her skin from her ribs all the way to her fingertips, entwining his hand with hers.

"They would have to be fools if they have not guessed by now," he muttered, trying to hold a conversation while being thoroughly distracted by her beauty, her skin, the way her hair had fallen down around her naked shoulders. He leaned further over her, and her eyes stared into his as he pressed his lips to hers and his other hand continued tracing other parts of her skin. "Your skin is so warm…" he murmured and just the way his breath caressed her face, the tone of his voice, made her tremble.

"Mmm," she replied, kissing him, massaging the fingers of her right hand against his scalp as his body molded around hers. Her fingers found his ear and continued their ministrations, rubbing the edge gently between her fingertips, and she watched his eyes close in utter bliss. She loved to move him in passion.

"Arwen, please…" His head lowered so that his brow was on her chin, his lips pressed against her throat as she continued the stroking of his ear. He felt her smile against his temple, felt one of her ankles cross over his.

"What, exactly, are you begging me for, beloved?" Her gasp caught him off guard as his other wandering hand found a very sensitive spot near her hip.

He struggled to form a coherent thought. "I thought you woke me…I thought…dinner…"

"Dinner was a thought long past," she groaned, quoting him as she pressed her hips against him, as she tried to move away from the hand that was making her squirm. But she did not release his ear. "So…" she continued breathlessly, "you are begging for freedom?"

"I can barely think," he said, forcing himself to lift his head. The pleasure of her hand was clear on his face as their eyes met. He watched her take her lower lip between her teeth as she tried to escape him.

"Aragorn…Aragorn…" she whispered, "why think? Forget thinking…please…please…once more, before we return to the madness of our lives…let me feel sweet exhaustion with you."

He chuckled at her words as she lifted her head to kiss him, none too gently. "You have not ridden in months," he reminded her, but she refused to be swayed from her desire for him. "You will be exhausted before we even return home."

"Do not be rational…you cannot be reasonable when I feel like this."

She felt him swallow, and she knew where he was about to go. "Were you not in enough pain today, my love?" His hand settled on her hip, his thumb on her thigh, his other fingers tightening in their joined hands. "I can feel your hurt. That is difficult for me."

"Nothing could stop that…nothing will stop it," she replied truthfully. "I will be sore," she continued and then winced, "I may call out again…and I may not be able to sit down the rest of the evening without some discomfort." As he opened his mouth, she kissed him…and then kissed him again, before sighing softly, blissfully, "And that is my choice. But, beloved, I am determined to make love with you one last time before we are forced to return."

"I…will be as gentle as I can," he murmured, "though I am reminded that it will not make any difference."

"It does," she whispered, rubbing his ear harder even as her own breathing was becoming difficult, "because you care for me." She was not even worried about it; in fact, she was so ready to love him that she welcomed it…and she would again and again. She desired to be one with him; he could see the passion in her eyes, feel it through their bond. His hand drifted along her skin.

"My love," he chuckled, "you may, someday, be the death of me."

He watched her eyes slowly close in pleasure and felt her fingers tighten on his ear. "You will be the death of me," she whimpered, and she pressed herself to him even more closely. He tilted his head to kiss her soundly, and she made a sound low in her throat. "Ilúvatar…Aragorn…" he felt her struggle a bit underneath him, "either stop doing that or…or…please…"

He could not help but smile. "Or?"

"Stop teasing me…" she begged, and her fingers tightened around his as her eyes rolled back into her head. He lowered his head to the soft skin of her throat and her fingers released his ear to curl into his hair, keeping his face close to her neck as he pressed his lips to her skin over and over. She gasped and he chuckled.

"Have you decided if I should stop?" he murmured, kissing across her collarbone and down the center of her chest.

"Uh…" she groaned, "more please. Do not…do not make me beg."

"And to think…moments ago you had me begging for mercy." She tried to tug her hand free from his, but all she was successful in doing was pressing her skin more firmly to his wandering lips.

"Please, let me touch you…let me touch you the way—"

"No," he told her, rubbing his nose against her chest, before moving his lips towards her breast. "Perhaps later; I am not removing my hands from you just now…or my mouth." He chuckled as she moaned again, softly, the muscles in her arm tensing beneath his. "Tell me what you want."

"You really are going to make me beg," she nearly whined.

"You started this fire…you want this as much as I want to please you." She lifted her head and he stared into her eyes, "Tell me." His hand moved against her skin.

"Oh god…" Her head fell back, her nails digging into his flesh and he smiled. He knew verywell what he was doing to her; she was so sensitive, and her lower abdomen was well within his reach.

"Tell me…" he whispered into her skin.

"Please…"

He wanted to laugh, but he could not; he knew how far gone she was. "I love when you are like this…so lost for words, so lost in love with me." He kissed along her breast and let his hand wander again, and her back arched off the grass as she pressed herself into his body. "Tell me, beloved."

"Make love with me," she gasped, her voice nearly lost in her throat, "please…touch me, hold me, share yourself with me…" The last words tumbled out of her mouth as she bit her lower lip again, her mind flooded with the pleasure of his touch. "Aragorn," she whispered his name, "you are my sanctuary."

"And you are mine, beloved."

Eventually, they would have to go back to the real world, but at the moment, he lost himself in her skin…and their love was the only reality either one of them wanted.

Faramir leaned his head back against the pillared door frame and gave a heavy-hearted sigh. Behind him, the voices of men bickering came to his ears and he closed his eyes in the attempt to shut them out. Leaning against this door frame was a habit of his from youth; many years ago, when he was a young boy, this was the place he would stand to wait for his father to come from the council chamber.

Of course, each time he had waited there, his father had passed him by as if he were a statue that needed no contemplation, never mind speech. Before his mother had died things had been different, but she, Eru bless her soul, had loved him best. The loss of love from his father after her death had been something he grew accustomed to after years in his experience…and yet, still he would wait there for him to pass him by, hoping that one day he might notice him as the son he once loved.

Faramir sighed once more; those were the old days when he was alone…except for Boromir. Boromir and he had many an adventure together; he, at least, knew his brother's feelings on the neglect Denethor showed one son and showered praise and glory to the other. Boromir and he knew each other well, and they had loved each other well, too. It was in times of reflection that he missed Boromir—times as this one. But then his mind always returned to his new brothers, Aragorn…and Éomer, Legolas and Gimli, and the love he had found in sweet Éowyn. What a delight he had found in Éowyn and how lucky he was that they were together. At times, he felt a flash of regret that Boromir would never meet Annî or the new baby that Éowyn was carrying. He still wished deep in his heart that they had an Uncle who would help the children grow, but he could certainly rest assured that they had many more role models that they could look up to.

And one of those named 'guardian' came to his mind right at the moment the council's arguing returned to his ears. He sighed loudly, frustrated, as his mind once more remembered why he had left their bickering. What am I going to do with that man? It was nearly six in the evening, and yet no one could find him or the Queen. One would think it would not be too difficult to find two of the most worshipped people in all of Minas Tirith, but here he was, waiting for word from the guards on the details of their disappearance. Naturally, because he was a good friend of them both (and because he was no dolt!), he assumed they were together and that they were more than likely alone. Gathering that this was indeed the case, there should have been no cause to worry—couples usually did lose track of the time, and they had been awfully short on time lately—and though this was not the first time the two had vanished, it was the longest.

Faramir, however, tried not to worry. Reasonable man, as he was so often told he was, he had spoken first to the friends of the King and Queen, and Legolas had quite joyously—if you could sound joyous with your voice as soft as a whisper—informed him that the two were probably somewhere near the Anduin having some quite time. Faramir believed this was probably the case, and though he did not worry in so many words, the thought had crossed his mind that one of them had fallen in… He hoped, nay, prayed it was only that they had lost track of the time.

The sound of boots hitting upon marble reached Faramir's ears and he immediately raised his eyes. He smiled. The King was dressed in his riding clothes, which Faramir should have expected but it somehow was a surprise to him. It was also strange to him how the same man could look completely disheveled and utterly renewed at the same moment, but somehow, Aragorn pulled it off quite nicely. Faramir tried to turn his face serious, and as the older man drew nearer, the younger reached out and hit him in the shoulder, shaking his head.

"The King of the Realm should not play hide-and-seek with the old men of the council. First, four and ninety years old is a little too old for a such a child's game, and second, you gave the council quite a worrisome day."

Aragorn looked at him with a smile as his eyes laughed. "They could do with the excitement of a lost King for several hours. Were you worried, Faramir?"

Faramir grinned as he saw the set of his shoulders, the exhaustion there, yet delight in his eyes. "Of course not; I knew who had the correct information. I did wonder, but not worry. You were together then?"

"Yes," he answered. "I thank you for not sending for me near the Anduin."

"The Council wished to send guards to search for you, but I convinced them otherwise. I thought it would be unwise to leave them searching for you all day long."

"I thank you greatly for your convincing them to respect our retreat." He sighed softly, his eyes closing as he rested his head on the granite wall. "We needed the time."

"Time," he agreed softly with a sigh, "not something easily found these days." He knew these past few months had been very hard on his closest friends. He settled his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "But, you are right that you both needed it. Sometimes, I think you threw yourselves too hard back into your duties, but…perhaps that was for the best as well. It has been too long since I have seen both you and Arwen at peace. You seem renewed."

A smile appeared upon Aragorn's face. "We prayed together," he said as if that would explain it all. "It was a day filled…with the simple things in life. A rather perfect spring day."

Faramir smiled, and then sobered, thinking of the men arguing inside. He sighed. "They are not pleased with you, Aragorn. You know how they feel about your leaving, as I am sure you knew before you even went, as they never believe you should be out riding, never mind being lost the whole day—"

Aragorn raised a hand, and Faramir fell to silence. "I know all of this, Faramir, and still I chose to remain out there with Arwen. The council is not King, and so they do not understand the tight fit of such duties on a man who once was able to roam the Wilds on his own…or on a simple man who would like some time alone with his wife."

Faramir chuckled. "I understand," and he nodded towards the chamber door, "but they are old and we are young—"

It was Aragorn's turn to chuckle. "No, Faramir, you and Éowyn are young…Arwen and I, well, we are quite another story." The voices suddenly grew louder inside at a momentary disagreement and Aragorn sighed. "I suppose I must face them at one moment or another, and better tonight than tomorrow morning. I might as well get to it, and you should be getting home to supper with your family. You have sat in my stead for far too long today."

"Do not let them keep you all night," he chided the elder man, and Aragorn smiled.

"I will not…I do need to get some rest," he replied, clasping Faramir's shoulder and turning toward the room. He entered the council chambers and as the door closed, Faramir could hear their voices:

Finally!

Where were you?

What happened, my Lord?

Well, it is about time!

Faramir shook his head but continued to walk away. If anyone could handle them and come out unscathed, it was Aragorn. He would be all right and home in no time at all.