A man sat staring at the fire, snow settling on his dark hair. The fire cast a watery light onto the surrounding tents and horses. A gentle wind stirred and brought to him the sound of light footsteps. He turned, right as the woman sat down. The fire’s flickering glow turned her hair to gold, and reflected in the blue eyes as she turned to face him. The soft light played on her face, outlining every curve and hollow.

“I brought you a drink, Faramir,” she said softly, pressing a hot mug into his hands.

“Thank you, Éowyn, dear,” his reply was whispered and he brought the cup up to his mouth, taking a deep drink of the smooth, chocolatey drink. She sipped hers and leaned her head on his shoulder. He tensed, then leaned his head against his intended’s.

“Faramir?”

“Yes, Éowyn?”

“It’s cold.”

He chuckled, grey eyes crinkling with laughter.

“It is winter, love.”

She giggled. “I know that! It’s just really cold!”

Faramir put his arm around her and drew her closer. They sat in silence for a little while, Éowyn drifting off into sleep. She was jolted awake when Faramir moved and put something on her head.

“What is this?” Her voice was curious. She reached up to touch it and felt the unmistakable glossy feel and pointed edges of a holly leaf.

“The holly bears the crown, meleth.”

Éowyn looked up at him and took in the firelight dancing in his silver eyes.

“Well, it is not fair that you gift me when I have nothing to give back to you, be you Steward of Gondor or not! You are just lucky, Faramir, that I made you something as well,” she said.

“And what would that be?” he asked, smiling.

She handed him a small spoken token in the shape of a horseshoe.

“For luck,” she whispered.

They sat in silence, each enjoying the others company, before the dying fire prompted them to return to their respective tents.