Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Author’s Note: This tale comes a bit before the rest of the ones in this series, but I liked it when it sprang into my head, and so here it is. I hope you all enjoy it!

The King of the Golden Hall

   There was a hobbit sitting on his throne. As he neared, Eomer saw that it was the young one, the lad named after his brother in law. Faramir Took, Pippin’s son.

   “Master Holbytla,” he began, a menacing tone in his voice, “You are sitting in my seat.”

   The hobbit grinned up at him, completely unabashed. “It’s a very comfortable seat, King Eomer. Very nice for sitting and reading.”

   Eomer glanced around the Golden Hall; it was mostly empty but for one old servant lighting a fire in the fireplace. He turned back to Faramir, trying to look menacing and failing spectacularly. The hobbits had arrived the night before, as the sun had gone down. Pippin had carried his sleeping son into the Hall, and so Eomer had not met him, as yet. Faramir, Eomer reflected, seemed an awful lot like his father. He pitied Aragorn already.

   “Why are you sitting on my throne? Do you want to be King?” Eomer asked, sitting amiably down on the counselor’s seat.

   Faramir leaned back in the throne and considered. “No,” he said at last. “I’d rather have adventures.”

   Eomer grinned to himself. “Being the king is always an adventure.”

   Faramir seemed willing to consider this. His father had always told him stories of the Rohirrim, and how they rode around on horses all of the time. Faramir was rather afraid of the giant animals, but running on one must really be an adventure.

   “I like being a hobbit,” he declared finally, grinning up at Eomer. “We aren’t underfed, like Men and Elves.”

   Eomer raised an eyebrow at that. “Underfed?”

   Faramir nodded. “You only get three meals a day. How can you survive? Everyone knows that you must eat six to be healthy.”

  Eomer rolled his eyes and grinned. He had often wondered, in the past, how hobbits managed to eat so much without dying of indigestion. They were bottomless pits, it seemed.

  “Have you eaten yet today, Faramir?” Eomer asked. When the hobbit shook his head, he continued. “Then I suggest that you come raid the kitchens with me. The food is always freshest when taken straight from the ovens.”

   Faramir stared at the king in amazement. “You steal from the kitchens?!”

   “Yes, of course. An old campaigner, me. Come on, then.”

   Faramir jumped off the throne and followed Eomer as he set off towards the kitchens. Eomer looked down at him when the hobbit seized his hand. “I think you’re a funny king,” Faramir declared.

  Eomer grinned and acquiesced. He doubted that having hobbits in Rohan would be dull. If, that is, the land survived.