Duty kept the men in the City, inspecting posts and men at arms along the wall of the First Circle, having a word or two with the commanders and the occasional guardsman.
Then Faramir tapped the king on the shoulder. "Look," he said, pointing below to where the Pelennor began.
Two horses, grey and black, blazed like smoke across the field, now lush with a year's growth since the war's end. Two heads bent over the manes before them, braids, golden and raven, streaming like banners behind them. Skirts flew around bare feet, thighs gripped the sleek strong flanks of their mounts. The men imagined more than heard the whoops of bliss as their wives raised their faces into the wind.
Aragorn turned, smiling, to his Steward. "My friend," he said, "we are the two luckiest men in Gondor."
From the gleam in Faramir's eye, he too was anticipating the coming night.