Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
Author's Note: The result of a
A bitter wind howled around the eaves, pellets of sleet pounded upon the rooftop, but the kitchen at Emyn Arnen was snug and warm.
The Prince and Princess were curled together by the fire, each holding a newborn lamb. Patiently they dipped bits of cloth into warm milk, squeezing it into the lambs' mouths, enticing them to suckle. Their flock was small; every lamb was precious.
Éowyn smiled. "I've done this many times as a girl, but never dreamed of doing it with my husband."
Faramir laughed softly. "And I never dared to dream of such a wife as you."