Though not professing to a particular sweet tooth herself, there exists one special exception for Éowyn; old Helga's honeycakes. They are the most sumptuous treats she knows, and she is only too happy to indulge Faramir's weakness in this instance. It is the first morning of their wedded life, after all-- if this occasion does not call for something a bit special, then nothing will.

Her brow climbs a little higher still at Faramir's silence, a knowing smile spreading to her lips as if she is aware of what he thinks. She does not, of course, but she can make a fairly good guess. Shaking her head a little dubiously at his explanation but not contesting it, Éowyn flits over to one of the shelves and grabs a bottle of mead with a quiet laugh of glee to add to their bounty.

"We do now," she grins. "Let us away, before we truly run into someone who is conscious and able to hinder our return to our room."