The foaling lasted long into the night, and by the time it’s over, they’re both dirty, sweaty, and exhausted.  Faramir’s glad he married a woman of Rohan, for he can’t think of a single lady in all of Gondor who would work this hard, side by side with her husband, on a task so messy.  Éowyn insisted, though, and anyone left in his household who might otherwise object recalled that horse-breeding was a trait of her homeland.

A blessed trait, then, for so many women expected to do nothing more than sigh and gaze in their lovers’ eyes, and if that was all to love, then love was meagre indeed!

“I tire,” says Éowyn, “and I stink, and I need a bath ere I sleep this night.”

Faramir turns to her, and though her judgment is sound, she still looks fair to his eyes.

“Alone.”

Faramir nods, and merely squeezes her hand before she retires for the night, for though he’d love to watch, he would rather not distress her.

Strange, this, how when he was younger he always thought he’d need time alone, even once he was married.  Now that he is, he’s shocked to find she needs it more than he.

And who better to understand the needs of solitude than Faramir, Denethor’s son?

Yawning, he makes his way into the moonlit night, where a stream runs by their home, and makes his ablutions as best as he can, then settles his back against the bole of an oak to doze.  It has been a long time since he has greeted the day thus, and he doubts he could get much sleep this night, even abed.

When the birds begin to sing, he wakes, and opens his eyes to a lightening sky.  As the sun rises, she joins him from the house, already dressed for the day, and takes his hand in hers.

They watch the world stir together, in silence, and for Faramir, that is more than enough.