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A beautiful thing has occurred in Gondor, life has sprung anew in a land that has felt the freezing touch of Mordor. That has seen the darkness and barrenness of its legions firsthand.
“My lady, you are surely busy, but would you like to accompany me to view the new foals?” Faramir asks his beloved where she wafts around the Houses of Healing, looking very willowy and just like his ideal woman. There may be elves in Minas Tirith, but he only has eyes for her, and indeed has been going about like a drunk since they met, stumbling into things and failing to pay attention to the trivial and the petty, most of his mental process being wrapped up with this wonderful woman who slew an evil legend.
Eowyn turns sharply, her bright hair like a wave of gold surging over her shoulder, her sudden smile lighting her face to match. “Of course, my Lord. I would love to.”
The stables are all in a fluster, busier than usual because of the baby horses, which tempt even those who pride themselves on possessing a stiff upper lip to come down from their high places to feast their eyes on adorableness. Foals of every colour gambol up and down the fields, looking very funny on their too long legs, their young faces alight with the joy of being alive.
Eowyn’s smile grows ever more beautiful. “They are delightful, my Lord. It cheers my heart to see how truly fleeting and perishable Evil's influence is. Every new birth is a fresh rejection of it.”
Hands meet on the flat top of a fence pole. “I agree, my love.” says Faramir.
For a while the couple are content to watch the young creatures play, the foals always returning to their mothers, who graze on, eyes watchful.
“...My Lord, I have something I wish to tell you.”
As quietly attentive to his wife as dams are to their foals, Faramir turns towards her, body and face alike presenting an open stage where she may air her thoughts and worries without fear of rash judgement.
“I am all ears.” he says, his smile proud, proud to be the husband of such a wife.
Coming closer, Eowyn takes first one of his hands, then the other, placing them both on her stomach. “...Faramir, I am with child.”
If before she appeared to embody the sun, it is now her husband's turn to imitate that noble light, though he adds the enthusiastic gangliness of a colt to it, picking her up and spinning her around, their celebration attracting the benevolent attention of horse and man alike.