If Faramir had not already been aware of his own wishes, the way she lights up would have made them undeniable. For a moment she is radiant, to a degree that almost stops his heart with wonder. This is what Beren felt, he thinks distantly. This or something kin to it.

It is as well that she misses this reaction, busy as she is with unfolding the cloak and arranging it on her shoulders. He should move to help her, as he did yesterday, but reacts a bit too late. "Beautiful," he manages, his voice lower and more rough than usual. "It looks beautiful."

Almost painfully so. Sunlight teases sparkles from the fabric, and more from her hair, so that her whole figure seems to shine. Carefully he reaches out and takes the clasp, fastening it for her and nor daring to look at her face (or think of what expression he himself is wearing) as he does so.