Faramir says nothing as she accuses him of trying not to laugh, but tries harder to control his facial expressions. That should not be so difficult, he has years of practice after dealing with his father...and yet facing down Denethor's sternness is altogether a different thing to facing down Éowyn, wearing nothing but her shift and a disgruntled expression, poking suspiciously at the water with her toes. And how well being dressed in naught but a shift suits her, he notes, watching the water lap at her ankles...
Until she yelps, and fails to hold back a chuckle, stepping forward so that he may reach her. "This is but a little! I have seen you covered in far more of it on the training fields, or when riding during the spring rains."
Her fears are not foolish to him--anyone may be afraid or uncertain, and far be it from him to look down on one who acknowledges and faces their dislike. But it is hard not to be bemused by the Lady of the Shield-arm, so dauntless in all other things, being so wary of a quiet, clear lake, of all things.
His eyes soften a little, and he squeezes her fingers, as much as he can given that she has a death grip on his hand. "Come, trust me. Would I lead you astray?"
Whoohoo!
Until she yelps, and fails to hold back a chuckle, stepping forward so that he may reach her. "This is but a little! I have seen you covered in far more of it on the training fields, or when riding during the spring rains."
Her fears are not foolish to him--anyone may be afraid or uncertain, and far be it from him to look down on one who acknowledges and faces their dislike. But it is hard not to be bemused by the Lady of the Shield-arm, so dauntless in all other things, being so wary of a quiet, clear lake, of all things.
His eyes soften a little, and he squeezes her fingers, as much as he can given that she has a death grip on his hand. "Come, trust me. Would I lead you astray?"