There was anxiety in Faramir's eyes that Aragorn knew not how to soothe. A King did not lavish praise easily; but not only did Aragorn hold back his words due to his station but also because he was not one to give false praise. Words lightly used were words with little meaning, and Aragorn knew better than most the weight of words coming from men of high status.

It was not merely the healing arts that he had learned from the Lord of Rivendell.

Aragorn's lips curled up slightly, the briefest of smiles. "Indeed it does," he turned away from Faramir to his wife, reaching out to take her hand. He pressed a soft kiss on the fingers. "My Lady."

A breath, "'Tis strange to speak to you in the hallway of your home, Faramir. I would like to see your garden, will you guide me thus?"