Éomer dismounted, watching his sister descend, his eyes searching.  She looks fine, he thought and felt the relief wash through him; his shoulders lightened, and allowing a boy to take away the stud he’d ridden, he approached her.  Éowyn spotted him coming and halted.  With a sigh, she raised her arms and spun in a slow circle, her voice droll, “I’m in one piece…it’s a marvel, brother, a true wonder of our age.”

            “Don’t make fun.”  He scolded, eyeing her up and down just to make sure.  His sister sighed again.  She looks good, better than in a long time…not so thin or pale…Éomer glanced at Faramir, who was coming through the crowd; his eyes were fixed on Éowyn.  Of course, this means I may end up gelding him.  Feeling himself smile, he asked, “What did you do while I was away?”

            “Nothing.”  Her expression was just a little too innocent for his taste.  Suspicious, he echoed,

            “Nothing?”

“Well, not nothing.”  Éowyn took a deep breath, gave him an exasperated look, and then listed.  “I had three new gowns made and I had that foal brought back for Arwen to see.  I met with the Marshals and we decided to move two small villages to different locations for better grazing land.  Oh, and the Master had six new stallions brought by for you to see—they’re behind the stable, in the smaller corral.  There were two plain-fires in the Wold…I heard…but none burned anything but pasture.  And a bear was killing sheep, but it’s been hunted down.  All the crops have been doing very well…hmm.”  Éowyn bit her lip, thinking, “That’s about it.”

“Good.”  He’d never doubted her ability to rule in his stead and this proved his confidence had been well founded.  Éomer felt proud of his little sister, but still, he needled her, “You stayed at Edoras, though?”

“Yes!”  It was irritated and he relaxed, deciding he’d questioned her enough.  Éomer put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing in a hug.  She was definitely not so thin; he couldn’t feel her bones sticking out as sharply and it made him happy. 

“I missed you, I had no one to talk to on the ride there.”

“Poor brother.”  Éowyn patted his chest, hugging him back and saying quietly, “I’ve begun getting everything ready for Uncle’s funeral ceremony.” 

“That’s good.”  He sobered, too, leaning his chin against her head before releasing her.

“Yes.  There are a lot of Riders camped nearby, they want to see him before he’s put in the mound.”  Éowyn added, “I think two or three days would give them all a chance; most of them are volunteering their aid in the preparations.”

“That’s fine.”

“Oh, and…” Then her voice changed and she straightened at his side,  “Hello, Faramir.”

***

            He’d fought his way through the crowd of people, eager, but now that he was finally standing before her, he had nothing to say.  Éomer gazed at him; expectant while Éowyn wore a faint smile.  Faramir hesitated, cursing his sudden blankness.  She was so glimmering, radiant in the daylight; the rays sparked in her eyes, the gold circlet in her hair, off her lightly tanned skin…her hair’s lightened from the sun—its not so much gold or tawny anymore as a soft yellowy, cream-color… she’s still wearing my necklace.  Valar, her eyes are so very blue, I’d forgotten that they were sky-blue like that—just like in deep summer…  Focus you idiot and say something.  “Hello, Éowyn.”
            Her smile became more visible, but he sensed reluctance and he wondered, nervous until Éowyn glanced up, saying pointedly, “Brother?”
            “Right.”  Éomer’s eyes met his briefly, in a flash of part amusement, part stern warning and then he moved away through the crowd.  Faramir was still blank and he felt like a fool.  Staring down at her, her mouth curving and her lips looking as soft and sweet as peaches, all he really wanted to do was kiss her.  Come on, she’s waiting…  His words came out jumbled and rushed, “I missed you, you’re so beautiful, I missed you so much.”

            Éowyn laughed, looking almost embarrassed.  Eyeing him through her pale lashes, she smiled as he took her hand; he pressed his lips to it, twining his fingers in hers and wishing they were alone so he could come closer and hold her while he kissed her.  I bet she feels different; Faramir had seen her twirl for Éomer’s inspection and her more rounded body had captured his attention and made his fingers twitch with the urge to grab.  Her sapphire eyes not quite on his, Éowyn replied, “I missed you, too.” 

             Pleased, he squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.  “Look.”  Faramir raised his left hand and wiggled it for her.  “I’m all better.”

            “Let me see.”  Éowyn caught it between hers, rubbing the pads of her fingers over his skin.  It felt good; her touch was light.  “It doesn’t hurt at all?”
            “  Twinges a bit.”  He watched her as she bent his fingers gently, stroking the joints.

            “Good.”  To his delighted surprise she smiled, her eyes meeting his, and teased, “I won’t have to watch out for it now, will I?”

            Faramir laughed, feeling whatever unwillingness or hesitance that had been in her fade or at least drop below his sense of awareness.  He stepped closer, playing her game, “Maybe.”

            Then, as he bent to kiss her, Éowyn pulled back.  “Here?”  She had a small point, they were surrounded by people still—various elves, Gondorians and Rohirrim with the hobbits off to the side somewhere, lost in the throng of taller folk.  Soldiers gazed respectfully at Théoden, preparing to move him to a small shelter.  Faramir glanced around; no one was paying them much attention, too busy with duties or talking or moving towards Meduseld. 

            “Shy?”  Murmuring, he raised her hand, placing it flat on his chest, over his heart, keeping his on top of it.  The other he held down at her side.

            She smiled coyly, biting her lip, still playing.  “Maybe.”

            Glancing from side to side, his eyes narrowed for effect, Faramir moved even closer.  Whispering, he lowered his head to her ear, resisting the impulse to nibble at it.  “Courage, then.  Never fear, I will get you out of this predicament, my lady.”

She laughed, astonished and pulling back to stare at him.  “What are you…?”

“Shh!  Just hold close—” Faramir leaned down and she quieted; she was laughing at him inwardly, though.  He lightly met her familiar mind.  I learned something.  

Éowyn seemed to soften at his mental contact.  He felt her want to be close to him, want to touch.  Faramir encouraged her silently, letting her hand slide out from under his.  It was slow, running up his chest and finally resting on his shoulder with her fingers curled around the nape of his neck as she replied.  What did you learn?

He concentrated, remembering the words and looking into her light blue eyes.  …Ge eart se mæst ænlic cwen Ic hæbbe æfre sewen.

Éowyn blinked in astonishment.  That was good, Faramir, very good…she hesitated, a small frown wrinkling her forehead.  …You…you think so?

It was doubtful and he squeezed her hand, frowning a little himself.  Yes, I do.  Éowyn smiled; her disbelief waned, but didn’t disappear.  Faramir put it aside, though, there would be time later for questions.

He looked at her lips, they seemed just as soft as he remembered and he knew she was waiting, but after having waited so long himself, he was almost reluctant to actually do it.  Savoring the last of his impatience, Faramir murmured again, “…courage.”  His lips hovered, brushing, aligning with hers and then were just touching.  It was barely a kiss, more of a tease while he touched her mind, opening his further, allowing her to feel his longing and tenderness.  After so long a separation he’d been afraid she would have grown cool again, but Éowyn’s arms went around his neck almost instantly, and she pressed herself to him in reply.  Confident she wouldn’t shrink away; he’d just begun to kiss her with more intensity when Éomer walked back with Aragorn, Arwen and several others in tow, deadpanning, 

            “Well, here my sister is now—unfortunately she’s being mauled, or I’m sure she’d be happy to greet you.”

***

            Mortified, caught between a giggle and a groan, she leaned her forehead against his collar.  Faramir’s irritation was clear in her mind, flickering brightly as he stood, outwardly quite composed.  I’d forgotten how I could feel him, Éowyn thought; she smiled, he really wanted to kiss me, he’s angry.  She liked it just as much as she had months ago, this curious ability—it gave her security in knowing his thoughts and emotions.

I did want to.  He answered her thought as Éomer spoke loudly, “Sister, aren’t you going to say hello?”  Faramir’s displeasure flared higher and he tensed a little, making a considerable effort not to snap at her brother.  Éowyn hugged him a moment more, enjoying the feel. 

Be still, he’s just being an ass…more to bother me than you.  With a sigh, she turned, pressing herself back to Faramir’s front and keeping her left hand in his.  He felt solid and she leaned for a moment.  Faramir squeezed her fingers as she gave her brother a look.  Go away, Éomer.  He read it effortlessly and gave her an arched eyebrow and shrugging shoulders in a silent, mock innocent reply.  What did I do?  Éowyn glared at him, but the moment was broken anyhow and he knew it.  Summoning a smile, she greeted the King and Queen.  “Hello.”

Aragorn eyed her closely, “Hello, Éowyn.  You’ve been well?  You look it.”

She made it quick, Faramir shifted behind her and she could feel his impatience gnawing.  Go away; it came from one of them, but who she wasn’t sure.  “Yes, thank you.”  Arwen smiled, as though she sympathized and turned to say, her voice subtly hinting,

“It was terribly odd, the journey seemed so much longer this way…I’m quite tired, perhaps before…” She left it hanging in the air and Éomer, as host, had no choice but to pick it up. 

“Of course, I’ll…show you you’re rooms and get someone to...” His eyes flicked over Éowyn’s head before he left, sending a silent message to Faramir; it was something she couldn’t interpret, but it made him stiffen for a second.  The royal party left and as others around the yard began to disperse, she felt Faramir’s arms steal around her waist.  His lips were moving on her neck with small kisses as his arms tightened; Éowyn smiled, feeling warm from his attentions.  His mind touched hers again as he nibbled her earlobe.

I learned something else, too.

What?

Faramir nuzzled her, murmuring into the cup of her ear, “Ic lufie ge.”  This he spoke aloud, and very precisely; she could tell it was something he’d practiced to get the accent and pronunciation exactly right and his care made her swallow in some sudden emotion.  Hearing the words in her native tongue made it more real; Éowyn turned in the circle of his arms, wrapping hers around his waist, whispering back, 

“Ic lufie ge.”  He smiled and his happiness washed through her.

***

Éowyn hugged him tightly and all of the infuriating hours spent with Deolir were immediately worth it.  Faramir kissed her mouth again, eagerly; she wasn’t afraid of him at all, returning the kiss and moving her hands up to his back to hold him close.  Suddenly he heard little, familiar, padding footsteps and he sighed in resignation, resting his forehead against hers.  Curious at his pause, Éowyn turned her head to look.  It was Pippin, coming up to them.  The hobbit looked as tired as Arwen had feigned being—smeared with road dust, still in his mail and uniform of the Citadel and clutching his helm, he came to a stop.  “Hello, Éowyn.”  Pippin gave her a small, weary grin.

“Pippin.”  She pulled away from him, kneeling at once to hug the hobbit.  “You look so handsome in this.”  Éowyn smiled affectionately, still at Pippin’s level, and Faramir tried not to be jealous, wondering if and when he would ever get her alone. 

“I feel silly in it, but…you think so?  Really?”  The hobbit brushed some of the dirt off, looking pleased.

“Yes.”  She laughed, asking, “Where’s your Merry at?”

Pippin sobered, nodding to the tent where Théoden had been carefully placed.  “In there.  With the King still.”  Faramir felt her deflate at once; he gazed down at the circlet of bright gold in her flaxen hair, concerned and wishing he could comfort away the sudden sadness that took her.  My love.

“I see.”  Éowyn hugged Pippin again before she stood.  She was making an obvious effort to be cheerful, saying, “You look weary, go on and I’ll fetch your Merry.  Make sure my brother has them put you someplace befitting—if not, come and tell me.”

“I will.”  Faramir didn’t remember Pippin being acting this mature in Minas Tirith.  The hobbit that had bothered him at every turn now bowed courteously to Éowyn and left.

“Should I…?”  He was uncertain, not knowing if she wanted his company in this or not, but he didn’t get much of a chance to ask before a man came up, carrying his two small bags.  Éomer had told him not to bring much; half the contents of one bag contained Éowyn’s presents.  Most of the rest was drawing materials.  He’d dreamed of drawing her and now, looking at her, fair in the sun, the desire pulled at him.

“My Lord?  Are you ready…” Faramir waited for her answer.

Éowyn nodded, forcing a smile, wrapping her arms around her waist.  “Go.  I’ll find you.”

“All right.”  He sighed, turning to the patiently waiting man, who, luckily, showed no signs of mocking or harassing him.  “Yes, take me to my rooms.”

***

She watched him follow the servant through the small courtyard and then climb the stairs, entering the wide, open doors of Meduseld.  Faramir moved quick and light, with none of the occasionally lumbering strides of her people.  Most are heavier men than he, she thought, watching his retreating back; she noticed, too, that his sable and silver tunic contrasted oddly with the golds, greens and browns of the hall and surrounding lands.  It is obvious he doesn’t belong.  Éowyn turned away when Faramir had disappeared, walking slowly across the yard.  Her feet dragged; I don’t want to see him lying there, all cold and lifeless…I wonder, if in the halls of our fathers, does he miss me, miss Éomer?  If the gods are kind, he and Théodred are laughing, singing and telling their great tales together and they do not grieve, only wait like one waits for a loved one to come—eager, yet with no sadness of the time lost before they meet again.  Théoden’s guard stood at solemn attention before the tent as she stopped, preparing herself for the effort of entering.  They bowed to her, respectfully silent as they parted the flaps.  Éowyn took a deep breath and slipped inside. 

It was dim and the fabric made soft swishing noises around her.  Merry’s head was bent; she hesitated, not wishing to disturb him, but his keen hobbit ears heard her and he turned.  “Oh…hello, Éowyn.”

“Hello, Merry.”  She smiled.  Éowyn was glad to see him, though she wished it were in a more cheering setting.  Merry turned back and she slowly came to stand beside him; Théoden lay on the bier, his armor glinting dully in the faint light.  He’d been treated well; he looked not young, but mature—a warrior in the prime of life, still strong and fearless.  Éowyn’s eyes burned and her throat tightened.  The gods were merciful that this did not end as I once planned…here he has our pride and his honor full won.  Our people shall remember Théoden Ednew, the eighth and now last of the second line of Kings of the Mark, as a hero.  Her thoughts changed briefly.  My brother shall begin the third line, which at least, went as I’d once thought to arrange when things were so dark.  Thank the gods nothing else did... 

His low voice broke the silence.  “He looks peaceful.”

“Yes.”  Merry looked sad and though it was fine to be so, Théoden would not have wanted mourning.  Éowyn mused, her head bent for a long while before she spoke.  Merry’s normally light-hearted face, now drawn in sorrow, pained her and she wished to comfort him if she could.  Taking a deep breath, she began, “He went to a good death in battle, in victory over darkness.  We should not grieve, though it might be long before we meet him again.”  The hobbit looked up, his eyes wondering at her words. 

“Our people will honor him long after even we are dead,” She smiled, “they will sing of the great charge to the White City and how Théoden, King of the Mark, led it and fell, unfailing and unbroken in his vows to the South men.

“You should not grieve so much, Merry…all the years before we meet again with the ones that went before us are ours to live as well we may.  The dead do not ask for grief, only respect and a place remembered in our hearts—our loved ones are not selfish ghosts—they understand.”

Merry hesitated, and then asked, “Where do your people go?”
            “To the halls of our fathers—it is much like this, like our world, only invisible to us.”  She frowned, remembering, “There is rejoicing there in the reuniting of loved ones and joy in the new tales of battles and honor.  There is no pain, no illness.  Death is nothing to dread to us—misery and fear do not last forever and we only go back to our people.”

He nodded and there was a longer, companionable silence between them before he spoke, “I remember when the wraith…I thought I was dead and I was alone in the cold darkness until I heard Strid—Aragorn’s voice.  It was terrible.”

The memory alone made her numb with the remembered echoes of her screams in the chill shadows she’d been banished to before Aragorn had bade her return as well.  “I know.”  Gods, the horror that was, to drift helpless in black, icy fog…doomed to die in bed, an invalid…

She could hear the nervous hope in his voice.  “It is…nothing like that?”

“No, no…He died with great honor—even the best warriors of our people would respect his deeds and give him a place among them.  No, it is not the cold darkness…he is with his son, Théodred and his wife and his sister, my mother, and my father, who was his friend.”  Her eyes filled with hot tears.  Now they wait for my brother and me and then we would be a family again at last.  “They feast and sing and jest with the people in their great halls of gold…there—” Éowyn swallowed, her breath catching, “There is no more darkness for them, so...so our hearts should not greatly ache…do you understand?” 

“Yes.”  Merry smiled for the first time, though it was very small, taking her hand in his little one.  “Thank you.”

She nodded, her chest drawn too tightly to speak, and kneeled to hug him.  The hobbit felt hard and distant with his Rohirrim armor, not warm and kind, as she knew he should.  His curls tickled her cheek, his arms were tight and she tried not to weep.  Gods grant it be just as I told him, I could not bear it otherwise.  “You’re welcome.”

***

Faramir was putting his few clothes away, folding them and placing them in the dresser, well conscious of the fact that they’d probably all be on the floor within days; the knowledge made him smile.  His rooms were befitting his station—a spacious outer chamber and large bedroom with fireplaces in each and a window overlooking a small, pretty field filled with high grass.  Sparse, though rich, furnishings made it look even bigger.  There was little furniture, but the two tables, one in each room, bed, and three chairs were strikingly well made and finished.  There were many designs of horses and other animals carved into the wood, including the headboard of his bed, which featured a gigantically antlered deer, standing alert.  Scattered all over the stone floor were numerous woven rugs of different patterns and colors.  It is a nice room, he thought.  More than I expected Éomer to grant me…though he did not say when I would begin my quest as a Rohirrim soldier.  This worried him briefly, I hope it will be soon, I do not want to squander away my time here and I do not wish to wait forever to wed. 

Done with the clothing, he walked back into the outer chamber to the small, but adequately long, table and carefully laid down his bow.  It was not the great one he handled while on foot, but a smaller bow that was made for mounted use.  His full quiver, the leather worn to a smooth, glossy shine in places from lying against his shoulder, and his long sword, too, he lay beside it.  Thinking about simply leaving his drawing materials—pads, pencils and bits of supplies with which to make paints—in his pack, he moved to the window, drawn by the arrival of a bright bird.  It balanced on the sill, a gleaming black with crimson and yellow bars on the tops of its wings.  Faramir wondered if it would fly inside as it cocked its head and peered at him with bright eyes.  Abruptly, there was a sound and he turned back into the room, startled; there were the quick flap of wings as the bird, too, jumped then flew away. 

Éowyn stood in the open doorway, her arms hugging herself.  He sensed her misery and wondered how he could have missed it coming.  She gazed at him; her blue eyes were reddened with unshed tears and Faramir walked quickly to her, unable to bear the sight.  “Come here.”  Éowyn moved into his opened arms and he actually staggered back a step from the force of her embrace; her chin dug into his collarbone as she hugged him tight.  Faramir stroked her hair and rubbed her back as she shook, her shoulders trembling with the effort not to weep.  “Shh, shh.  It’s all right.”  Éowyn’s sorrow made him close his eyes, holding her hard.  She was trying too much not to cry, resisting herself; he frowned, feeling her push her emotions down into a tightly bound little ball in her chest—it hurt, hot and twisting her insides.  This worried him.  Why does she not allow herself to weep?  Pressing his lips to her ear, he murmured,  “It’s all right, Éowyn, you can cry if you want.”

She shivered, mumbling, “No, no, I shouldn’t...he wouldn’t have…”

“Yes, it’s all right.”  He touched her mind, hoping to lend gentle support.  Don’t hold it in, love…please, I can feel how it hurts you.

“I miss him, I miss them both, I couldn’t find Éomer...” A choked sob interrupted her words and he kissed her wet cheek then pressed his chin to her temple. 

Let it out, please, it makes it better.  The link between them strengthened and Faramir swallowed hard, feeling his heart pound with the force of her emotions. 

I remember…he was so kind…he didn’t have to…

What?  Tell me.

            Éowyn took a slow, calming breath, still clinging to him, “I remember he played with me when I was just a little girl—Théodred would drag Éomer away to go out fishing or something and Théoden played with me…” She laughed, it was miserable and hurt his heart.  “He sat at the foot of the throne with me and we played with little wooden horses and men and we won great battles all day.”  Tears ran down her face then gleamed wetly on the dark leather of his tunic.  “And when I was tired he carried me to my bed and told me a story.”  She paused and he felt her struggle, fingers twisting against his back.

            Faramir held her tighter, whispering, “Please, don’t fight it...”

            “He called me his daughter.”  This fractured her restraint at last and Éowyn wept brokenly.  Faramir felt her weaken and looked around the room, spotting the chairs.

            “Come, sit down over here.”  He led her to them and sat across from her, pulling close and wishing he could do more to ease her pain than pat her hand.  I did not weep for my father…but then he only grudgingly admitted to my existence as his son…I have no memories of his playing with me, no stories told…it was Boromir or no one who put me to my bed when I was a boy.  Saddened further at the memory of his brother, Faramir held her hand, thinking, at least she knew a good father…  His heart hardened in a silent vow.  I will be a good father; I will love my children both equally and without condition… or may the Valar strike me from this earth because I would not be fit to walk it.  Looking at Éowyn, he wished he could make it better with a simple word or deed.  Her head was bent and her shoulders quaked.  Faramir rubbed her hand helplessly.  After a while, she lifted her face, wiping at her wet, reddened cheeks.  Éowyn looked embarrassed.

 “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be—there’s no shame in tears.”  She gave him a weak smile and Faramir kissed her hand comfortingly, searching for something less sad to speak of.  “How did you know where to find me?”  He’d walked down many long corridors before he’d been shown into his rooms.

            “I asked, but I would have guessed this one—this is,” She paused, “in all of Meduseld, the quarters farthest from mine.”  For a moment he was silent, then Faramir’s astonished laughter burst from him. 

            “Are you serious?”

            “Yes.”  Éowyn’s smile firmed and her fingers rubbed his.  Their knees touched as she added,  “If it were any farther he would have had to put you in the barn.”

            “He might still.”  Faramir teased and kissed her hand again, lingeringly, hoping for a small jest to soothe away the last of the heartache he sensed.  However, he was surprised when Éowyn moved to touch his lips, running her thumb over them and the entire feel of her mind changed.

            “He may.”  Despite the matching, teasing tone, she was solemn, deliberate in her exploration.  Trying to hold still, he swiftly lost his battle.  Éowyn was too desirable and he’d gone too long without seeing her, and as she licked her sensuous, soft lips, staring at his mouth, it was too much.  Faramir leaned forward, putting his hand beneath her chin and kissed her, feeling his strict control almost immediately slip; he ran his left hand from her waist down her hip and thigh, then back up, firmly caressing through the light dress.

            He felt her surprise, but no fear.  Éowyn hesitantly took his hand from her side, guiding it to her breast and Faramir slid to the edge of his chair, eager to please.  Cupping it, he felt the difference a summer of no anxiety made—since she was no longer rail-thin, her bosom was larger and the soft curve fit his hand perfectly.  Moving his other hand to her side, he ran it up and down her slightly parted thighs, massaging the muscles toned from riding, though he was careful not to go too far inward; he’d sensed no fear from her yet and did not want to.  Is that her excitement?  He wondered, feeling his own heart beat faster in response.  Éowyn was astonishingly controlling this time, pulling back from his kiss and using her hands to guide him to her neck.  Tell me where.

She spoke aloud and her voice was low and throaty, challenging his restraint.  “There…no, there…oh, yes.  Good.”  Her breathing changed and he could feel her warmth grow.  Faramir was almost alarmed at his own eagerness and while she didn’t seem to be, he slowed, taking himself back under control.  Pulling his hands back, he restricted them to gently touching her face as he lightly kissed her chin, her cheeks and mouth.  Éowyn felt perplexed at the ending of his caresses, frowning and pulling away to ask, “Why…?”

“You’re too tempting.”  He broke his resolve, kissing her neck, using his tongue and then teeth to give it a rough feel, hoping for a moan.  She didn’t disappoint, but the sound threatened to drive him beyond his control.  The tops of her breasts were against his arms as he held her face, going back to her lips.  Valar, but he wanted that dress off.  I can imagine, but it’s not the same…

She flushed slightly, he assumed reading his thought.  “I don’t think so.”

“Probably…a good…idea.”  It was difficult to speak when all he wanted to do was pick her up and throw her down on the great, wide bed in the other room. 

“I meant the, oh…” He couldn’t resist any longer, lowering his head to lick the valley between her breasts, just visible over the top of her dress.  Éowyn finished her sentence shakily, “the other, what you said.”

“Hmm?”  Faramir was far too busy speculatively eyeing and then yanking hopefully at the ends of the silk fastenings he’d just discovered at the top of her gown, to even bother remember what he’d said.  Realizing what he was doing just in time, Éowyn squeaked in alarm and slapped his hands away, abruptly standing.

“Faramir, no!” Mournful, he watched her redo them.  So close, I was so close.  She felt like a mix of shock at his action and curiosity at what he might have done.  The curiosity gave him encouragement; remembering the first time he’d even tried to touch her breast and looking at her, Faramir smiled, suddenly quite patient.  All his supportive restraint had been rewarded with Éowyn steadily growing more trusting and relaxing—it was only a matter of time.  Yet, if I’d just…The thought made him grin, vowing to be swifter with next opportunity.  “Fine.”  Faramir nodded, sliding back and down in the chair, stretching his legs.  She’s rather near, too near perhaps…he chuckled and straightened, pulling her waist and as he’d hoped, she didn’t resist and half fell, sideways into his lap.  Wrapping his arms around her stomach, he endured her wriggling into a comfortable position, trying not to think about how it felt.  Éowyn looked at him mock-suspiciously.

“What’re you doing?”

Neatening her skirt for her, pleased as she put her arm around his shoulders and rested her other hand on his chest, he insisted, trying for innocence.  “Nothing.”  

“I hope not.  Really, I might vomit.”  The familiar voice made them both jump and Faramir wondered how in the world he’d missed this coming.  I was concentrating on her, I guess.  Éomer had entered the open doorway; now he folded his arms, plainly displeased.  Faramir sighed, disappointed.  Why didn’t I shut that?

***

He was indeed quite irked, but he was not surprised.  This is what I’ve been thinking all along…he’s not going to leave her be…the sooner I get him in the barracks, the better and yet, the sooner I get him there, the faster he is done with our bargain.  He frowned, disturbed and not knowing which was worse.  His sister slid up and off of Faramir, her cheeks burning and yet she gave him a swift look, clear in it’s meaning—do nothing to him, brother, you promised.  Éomer relaxed his rigid stance, unfolding his arms; his body language was assenting and she favored him with a small, private smile.  Has she been weeping?  He hoped not, but her eyes were reddened.  Faramir stretched back out, quiet and patiently waiting.  Tame pony, Eomer thought and this time, although he did not acknowledge it, his inner voice contained more gratitude than disgust.  A tame pony he could handle pestering her.  Giving him a glance showing she was trusting him not to attack, his sister took a deep breath, her hands quickly straightening her dress, hair and slim circlet of gold.  For a second she stood, shifting awkwardly.

“I…I have things to see to…before the feast tomorrow night.”  Éomer frowned; now tasks she despises are preferable to standing in a room occupied by the two of us?  He didn’t want it to be like that and yet, what else could he do with Faramir pawing at her like a common barmaid?  Even mild Théodred would have been enraged, I think, sister.  Can’t you see I’m trying my best to remain as well mannered as you wish me to?  I did not so much as raise my voice!

Her Prince asked immediately, “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yes.” Éowyn replied, glancing once at Faramir, then looking back to him as he kept himself quiet.  The Steward smiled and as she passed, Éomer could see fresh marks on her neck as she quickly left them alone.  He has not been here an hour and already he brands her for all to see, like a cow turned loose in the Wold.  Irritated anew, he spoke, but didn’t allow his anger to rise in his voice; she’d trusted him to be civil and he hated disappointing her.  I still have not forgotten the look on her face when she held Güthwine to me.   Taking a breath, he began.

“I came to talk to you about our arrangement.”  Faramir stood; it was, he assumed, a respectful gesture to mollify him.  It didn’t work as far as Éomer was concerned.

“Yes?”

Scowling inwardly, he changed what he’d been about to say.  He’d thought about it often on the leisurely ride back home and decided that there was no hurry and that Faramir should take time to familiarize himself with the lay out of Edoras.  And also, look over a few maps and get to know some of the soldiers he would be working closely with.  No, I think not, though they shall make it difficult.  Let’s see how he handles it.  This would be punishment for Faramir for indulging himself with his sister in that fashion, although he was aware the man might think otherwise at the promptitude in beginning.  “You begin the day after we…no, you will start in five days.  Report to me in the morning, and I’ll give you your duties…” Éomer added, his voice curt, “We’ll find something for you to wear as well; none of your White City uniforms.”

“Aye.”  It was properly deferential.  Faramir looked relaxed, but he noticed the man’s fingers were twitching slightly, as though he were angered. 

Disregarding the signal, for a moment he stood thinking about what would be needed.  “You’ll be given a horse, too, soon—”

Faramir frowned for the first time.  “I have one.”

Scoffing at the idea, Eomer shook his head.  “That nag?  He cannot carry you at our pace.  Besides, he’s already turned out to the fields—he was lame in the shoulder, he needs rest and light exercise.”

“Oh.  That’s…fine.”  Now the Steward sounded uncertain. He grinned, pleased at the slow realization that was dawning on the other man’s face—Faramir was truly somewhere where he was not in the chain of command and entirely subject to another’s will.  This will be a test indeed, to a prince long used to his status.  I would have difficulties and I’m eager to see what he does, what kind of man he is. 

“That is all I can think of now…enjoy your stay, Lord Faramir…because I warn you, when you are in the éored, you will be naught but Faramir of Gondor.  Treated no different than the soldiers—they would not respect you otherwise, noble blood from what they consider an unknown, unproven house is of little worth to them.”  Éomer did not mention he considered Faramir quite worthy of the trial, at least; he thought it rather obvious, because otherwise the man would not be here.  Nor would he be breathing after pawing at my sister like that… though, he had better thank his gods she says she loves him or I might have forgotten my promise.  

“I understand.”  It was carefully neutral again and he cursed inwardly; he’d been sure to get a reaction.  Finished, he turned to leave, but stopped. 

“Oh, and…how is the hand?”  Éomer could not resist a chance to needle him and in the process, help drive his thus unspoken point home.  His own broken nose had healed well and reasonably straight.  From what he could see so had Faramir’s broken fingers.  Our four-legged brothers would be ready to fight.  Indeed, were we stallions battling we’d be already challenging each other once more, having licked our wounds and regrouped.

The Steward gave him a surprised glance, looking at the appendage in question and flexing it.  “Fine.  It’s mended well.”

“Keep it to yourself and let Éowyn be and it will stay that way.”  On that note, Éomer left; hoping his advice would be heeded. 

***

Later, after he’d fully finished unpacking, Faramir wandered the halls of Meduseld, half-looking for Éowyn and half simply exploring.  After many winding corridors, he ended up in the empty throne room and stood, taking it in.  The feel is much simpler and yet …he compared it to the cool shades and slick, flat stones of Minas Tirith...here its warmer, there is more heart, I suppose you could call it, he thought, looking at the golds, browns and deep greens, all the colors of the earth.  It is difficult to pinpoint.  Standing in the center and turning in a slow circle he gazed at the carvings covering the walls—most were so deeply interlinked he knew he would never find their endings.  There were many horse heads, with arched necks, flared nostrils and wide eyes. Faramir wondered at the repeated, intertwined symbols.  From the curiously patterned floor to the high, arced ceiling, it had a vastly different feel than the throne room of his city, which was starkly bare and cold in comparison.  It is almost…a home, decorated and meant to be lived in more than a place of standing, though there is dignity and command here, too.  He couldn’t quite explain it to himself, but he liked it.  I can well see a little Éowyn playing on the floor in front of this throne.  It was large and heavy looking, made of deeply polished wood with a single, odd mar at the base, almost a slash.  Overhead were more horses, whole ones in stylized engravings with gleaming with red, jeweled eyes as they galloped or leapt endlessly over the King’s seat.  The flag of Rohan and multiple banners were hung up and down the great hall, waving gently, showing scenes from various battles and tales. He was pleased to recognize two —the grand charge down Wilderland to aid his people and from which the Calenardhon was gratefully yielded, and the invasion of Wulf that Deolir had briefly spoken to him about.   

This time he felt her approaching and turned to watch.  Seeing her come toward him gave him pleasure.  One day I will never see her walk any further away than I can be in a few minutes.  “Here you are.”  Éowyn strode to him, looking exasperated.  “I’ve been searching for you.”

Her gown glowed soft ivory, contrasting to the earth tones of the hall, making her stand out, almost luminous as he admitted.  “I was exploring.”

She smiled playfully, one hand tugging on her necklace; it looked like a nervous habit.  “Without waiting for me?”
            “I couldn’t find you.”  But I’m glad you found me, I’m not sure how to get back.  Meduseld is larger than it appears, almost as big as the Citadel.  He looked at her—knowing Éowyn would be somewhere around was comforting, but he wanted to know she would always be close by. I want to take you home, love, for good.  Faramir fingered the pale green jade bracelet.  He’d slipped it into his pocket before he’d left his room, thinking it would be a pretty accessory to her cream gown and although he was uncertain about whether or no she would like it, the rawhide thongs of his mother’s necklace were still firmly in place, encouraging him.  “I got you something; actually many things, but this is the only one I’ve got on me.”

Éowyn was surprised.  “Many things?”

Shrugging, he said, “I wanted to bring you gifts—I like giving you things.”

“Oh.”  She looked slightly puzzled, as though the thought were foreign to her.  A moment later he could sense her curiosity as her eyes went to his hand, deeply stuffed into his pocket.  “What is it?”

“A bracelet.” 

Interested, she came closer and held out her hand, palm up.  “Let me see.”

“Promise you’ll love it?” 

Éowyn smiled quickly, “I promise.”  He heard her thought, directed to him.  You are silly.

Perhaps.  Faramir pulled the jade bracelet out, holding it for her inspection.  Taking it, she turned it repeatedly, running her fingers over the circle of smooth, lustrous stone.  A very soft, almost translucent green, the bracelet was solid jade and when she slid it on over her hand he was relieved to see it fit neatly around her wrist.  Well?  She glanced up from moving her arm, tilting it to see the stone gleam in the light and move back and forth on her forearm.

“I like it.” 

Utterly relieved, he scolded gently.  “You said love.”

Éowyn laughed at him, turning the bracelet on her wrist; he’d given her something else to play with.  “I love it, then.”  The soft color of the jade went well against her lightly tanned skin, the creamy-white gown, her summertime eyes and the pale straw of her hair swinging.  It reminded him of early spring, when the trees and plants were budding and everything felt fresh and new.  I should have gotten more.  To his delighted surprise, she smiled and hugged him, standing on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Smiling, he teased, “...do you want the rest of it now?”  He could still feel the sorrow in her, under her simple gladness, but it had faded to a dull bruise, a melancholy stain on her heart.  Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her close for a moment, not to kiss but to offer whatever poor comfort he could. He wanted her to know if she ever wanted to cry she could come to him, not to let it twist and burn in her, painfully suppressed.

“No.” Éowyn shook her fair head, perfectly at ease in his loose embrace.  Faramir wondered what the difference was that she was so relaxed here; was it the familiar surroundings or the fact that if she screamed, guards would undoubtedly come at a run with swords drawn?  I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s the last, that itself would involve a touch of fear…there’s no fear in her right now.  Maybe she’s just more used to me.  Biting her lips, she shook her head again.  “No.  Surprise me.”

“You’ll have to tell me where your rooms are.”

“Why?”  Éowyn narrowed her eyes at him, pretending suspicion.

So I can know where it is…a temptation, yes, but I am quite strong enough to resist.  His arms still around her waist, he tugged gently on the ends of her hair; the gold strands were as fine as corn silk.  “So I can hide the things.”

“Hide them?  How will I ever find them?”
            Faramir smiled, “Well, I’d hide them in plain sight…as a surprise.”

“Fine.”  Éowyn pulled out of his embrace, taking his arm.  “Come on,” she smirked, “I’d better or you might try and come by yourself and end up in Éomer’s room—it’s just across from mine.”

“That wouldn’t be good.”  He could imagine and Faramir grimaced.

“No.”  She laughed lightly and he relished the sound.  I wish I could take your grief and your pain and make you happy forever.   

***

Éowynfelt it, cool and gliding easily down to her wrist; it was an unfamiliar feeling.  The bracelet was a soft shade of green; almost like the first tender shoots of spring grass she’d watched foals nibble every year.  Every year but this one and all that will come after…  Hastily, she pushed the thought from her mind, not wanting Faramir to notice it’s despondent tone.  Her other arm was through his, so she couldn’t play with it.  I wonder what else he’s gotten me.  I really like this; it’s such a beautiful color.  She led him through the crossing, turning halls, unhesitating and came quickly to her quarters.  “Remember, it’s this one.”  Éowyn tapped lightly on an old scratch across the middle of the wood as she swung open the door.  The two, wide windows were open and the afternoon light shown in as Faramir entered and halted almost immediately.

“This…is…not what I expected.”

“What?”  She frowned, glancing around.  Everything was neatly in its place and clean as usual.  “What’s wrong with it?”
            He turned slowly on his heel, eyeing the walls and her things; only to return to looking at what lay in front of her hearth.  The door to her bedroom was still shut, so he could only see her outer room.  “You have a bear.”

Éowyn folded her arms, leaning on the wall just inside the door; as an afterthought, she closed it.  “It’s dead, it’s called a rug now.”  She frowned.  “I helped in the killing of it, why shouldn’t I have it?”

“I…” He sounded disconcerted, “I don’t know…most women—”

Annoyed, she cut him off, “Who aren’t me.” 

“Uh…yes.”  Faramir seemed to reconsider what he’d been about to say and repeated, staring around, “It’s just not what I expected.”

“So?”

He was still stuck on her new rug.  “It’s a big bear.”

She smiled, remembering the thrilling hunt.  Although aged, the animal had given them a hard chase and then a good battle.  It deserved to be preserved and looked upon with respect.  “It was.”  The skin stretched out wide and long, fur gleaming black as pitch, streaked with grey at the flanks.  The bear’s head was up with its tattered ears pricked as its mouth gaped, old, ragged teeth bared.

“You helped kill it?”  Faramir sounded a little perturbed. 

Éowyn couldn’t keep the pride from her voice as she answered, “We fought it for a while and then I got a good shot, lucky shot really.  Arrow went right through the eye and felled it.”

“When?”

“Oh,” She waved her hand, trying hopefully.  “It was years ago.”

Instantly his keen grey eyes were upon her.  “No it wasn’t.”
            “Fine!”  Éowyn sighed, thinking this was the only annoying part about his ability, she couldn’t even tell harmless lies without him knowing.  Confessing, she said, “It was this summer, while Éomer was gone.”

Faramir’s eyes were still upon her, “Does he know?”

“No and you’re not going to mention it, either.”  Éowyn glared meaningfully.  Gods, the last thing I need is my brother throwing a fit.  She looked at the bear and grimaced.  It would be worse than the time he caught me sneaking out to taverns when I was sixteen, I swear, he shouted himself hoarse within an hour.

He wasn’t listening to her thoughts, instead, appeared to measuring the hide with his steps.  “I think he’ll find out sometime.”

Exasperated, she snapped, “I’ll say it was a gift from the men—he knows there was one bothering sheep, and he can’t tell if I’m lying or not.” 

“It’s enormous, we don’t even really have bears in Gondor…” Faramir walked in a circle, steering around the first of what were her mother’s stuffed chairs; the other was on the other side of the bear, perpendicular to the stone hearth.  He used his boot to touch the open jaw and then the huge paws with their long but almost worn away claws extended.  “You could have gotten hurt, how many were with you?”  When he heard her thought, he looked horrified, “Only five?”

Éowyn came away from the wall.  “Don’t you dare start!”  She wanted to scream, Look at it!  Look how old it is!  Are you blind or just dumb?  Of course he picked it up anyway.

“I don’t care how old it is!  Only five…no wait, five all together?”  Faramir appeared to have trouble breathing, staring at her in furious dismay.  “Were you mad? Only…you only took four men and six dogs to hunt this?  What if you’d been hurt?”

“Stop it! I wasn’t!”

“But…”

Éowyn’s temper erupted; she could take it from her brother, he was almost adorable in his anxious care, but Faramir had no right to question her actions.  At least not yet, her mind tried to say and she ferociously silenced it, hissing at him, “You will not lecture me as though I was a helpless, witless child!  I can take care of myself!  Look at it! There is your proof!  Not one scratch and none of my men were hurt!  I know what I am doing!”  The last she snarled through gritted teeth.  Faramir looked taken aback by her fury, bewildered as she demanded, “What do I have to do next?  Slay a damn dragon to get through to you?  To prove I’m not defenseless?  Not a fool girl?”  Clenching her fists, she waited, expecting him to argue his side.  Instead, Faramir fell silent.  After a second he sighed and relaxed, perfectly calm again as he answered slowly,

“I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“What?”  Wary, she waited, expecting his words to be the prelude of a tirade.  Confusingly, they weren’t.  He came toward her, avoiding the bearskin and the chair and she watched him, still waiting for an answer. 

“I said, I’m sorry, you’re right.” 

“I’m right…?”  Éowyn knew it was a trick, keeping herself braced for an explosion. Théodred would have been infuriated that she’d gone without one of them with her, as though their mere presence would shield her.  Éomer would have been pushed to the point of a full out, seething rage with its origins in his life-long fears for her safety and more than likely screamed at her the rest of the day and night.  Beneath the anger, both would have been proud, though.  With Faramir she had no idea where she stood.  He had been shouting, but now he was quiet…does he have no fight at all in him?

I don’t like to fight.  I like peace.  I don’t want you to yell at me and I don’t want to yell at you.  He gazed down at her, having come to within a few feet. 

What?

Faramir smiled faintly.  I’m letting you win.

No…  “You don’t think I’m right, you’re just saying it.”  Éowyn could not comprehend this sort of conflict.  She was used to shouting matches where all the anger was released and in the end each knew well where the other stood and the fight was won by whoever could keep shouting the longest.  It is like he fights in the dark, maneuvering around me…sneaking…  She didn’t like that at all, it was too reminiscent of things she’d spent all summer trying to forget.  “You’re lying to…to keep me quiet.”  It was almost a question.

“I wouldn’t say that.”  He looked as though he was picking his words carefully as he felt out her mood.  “I just—”

Frowning, she interrupted him.  There was no reason he could lie and she couldn’t.  “But that’s what you are doing.  Why?”

Faramir hesitated, “I’m not—”

Angered at his insistence of innocence, she overrode him.  “Yes, you are.  That’s exactly what you’re doing.  Why?”  Grimacing, Éowyn accused, “It’s cowardly.  Why don’t you just fight; say what you mean Faramir…”

“I don’t want to fight!”  He snapped, irritated by her persistence.  “Do what you like—just, Valar, be more careful, will you?  I couldn’t stand it if…!”  Faramir ran a hand through his hair, pacing suddenly and wheeled to face her.  “I know, I know, you’re not helpless, dammit, though…just would you at least take more men or something?  I mean, four, four to slay a bear?  It’s huge!  It’s over twice my size!  Why do you have to do such risky things, you could—” He halted abruptly, as though his outburst disturbed him. 

Éowyn wasn’t angered she was pleased.  “That’s an response.” 

“You…liked that?”  Faramir looked desperately confused, like he’d expected her to be upset rather than satisfied at his eruption. 

Shrugging, she smiled and moved to wrap her arms around his waist, looking up.  “You answered me.  It was what you felt, honestly.  Of course I’d rather you not lie to mollify me—like you would a child.  It’s…” Éowyn emphasized the words, “very insulting.”

“Oh.”  He still looked confused.  “So…all right, then?”

“Yes.” She wanted him to kiss her but he didn’t, apparently not paying attention.  Grey eyes resting upon hers, he asked,

“Can I see the rest of the place?”  Releasing him and slightly disappointed, she walked to her bedroom door. 

“Yes.”

***

Faramir followed, glancing to the left as he did.  There was a long table and two chairs there.  The wood was gleaming and elaborately carved with a wild rose pattern, complete with vines and tiny curling leaves, on the legs and backs of the chairs.  It looked odd in her rooms, especially when he looked back to the right at the bearskin lying before her hearth.  The two stuffed chairs on either side of it were upholstered in dark green velvet and looked cushy, though unused.  Behind the wooden table and chairs were two large windows with floor-length curtains that showed views of the west side of the White mountains’ foothills.  Her quarters are twice the size of mine and far better.  He’d expected as much, really.  They are actually larger, I think, than my rooms at home.  Entering her bedroom, he found it was half the size of the outer room. There was no window, but there was a partially open door to the left.  Sunlight shone through the crack, provoking his curiosity, but first he turned to the rest of the room.

Her bed, a little table beside it and a large dresser with a mirror matched the other wooden furniture with the attractive wild rose carvings.  The bed was wide and covered in quilts, neatly made and the dresser and table’s top were clear of clutter; her entire quarters were very orderly.  Éowyn noticed his gaze to the left and opened the door fully, saying, “These were my mother’s rooms and all of her things.  She loved flowers and especially roses.  Théoden had servants care for these until I moved in here.”

The area was just as large as the bedroom and full of flowers, with a gigantic window that let in the fading afternoon sunlight.  Roses of many bright colors climbed lattices on the walls and the scent was delightful as Faramir entered.  There were other flowers, though, as many as he could name and some he couldn’t, all plants that would come back year after year and flourish without much aid.  The floor was flagstone in a swirling pattern of dark and light stones, dappled with fallen, faded crimson, pink, yellow and white rose petals.  In the center was a small table and chair, a place to sit and enjoy the room.  “It’s very beautiful.”

“Yes.  I don’t use it much, but I take care of it…it would be a shame if her flowers died.”  Again Éowyn was sorrowing and he tried to think of something that would take her mind from her sadness.  Maybe…  Faramir walked slowly back into her bedroom, moving to her bed.

“This looks comfortable.”  There were two large pillows and several patchwork quilts on it.  She shut the door to the flower room, a small smile coming back to her lips. 

“It is.”  Giving her a mischievous glance, he sat on the edge, bouncing lightly.  To his surprise it was incredibly soft, like sitting on a cloud.

“Mines much harder.”  Faramir slid back, propping himself with his elbows, amazed at the feel.  His bed at home could not compare to this. 

Éowyn didn’t look surprised at his comment, though she was eyeing him.  “Yours is probably straw; this is feathers.”

Her sorrow had lessened with his distraction, but he planned to drive it well away, at least for a while.  Teasing, he smoothed the quilt.  “Well, I can’t possibly sleep on mine now, it’s like a stone.  Really, hard as rock.”

Coming closer to look down at him, she narrowed her eyes, “I suppose you want to stay here?”

Grinning hopefully, he asked, “Could I?”

            Éowyn shook her head, amused and fiddling with her bracelet.  “No.”

            “Please, it’s so much nicer.”

            “I don’t think so.”  Standing at the edge of the bed, still just out of his reach, she nudged his leg with her knee, “Get off of there, you’re wrinkling the blankets.”

            Faramir bounced again, sitting up and getting ready.  “Make me.”  Éowyn rolled her eyes, leaning forward to grab at his hands but he pulled her down on top of him instead.  She froze in surprise and wariness, lying on his front, her face near his with her hands propping herself up.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Nothing.”  Faramir was sure to keep still, sensing she could go either way with little provocation, either retreating in alarm or staying and relaxing.  It’s all right, don’t worry about me.  Éowyn shifted, lowering herself.  Her legs were tangled with his, skirt flaring and he slowly put his arms around her waist, enjoying her warm weight.  Her blue eyes were on his and to his relief, he felt her choose calmness. 

            Kiss me?

            If you wish.  He raised himself slightly, using his elbows, but it was awkward without any support.  Faramir gave her a small kiss, murmuring, “Don’t be afraid.”  Wrapping his arms back around her, he rolled on top.  She wasn’t afraid, accepting this as well, even seeming to like it better, as he did.  Éowyn touched his face as he kissed her, careful to keep it slow, not really trusting himself in this position to do anything more ardent.  Her fingers stroked his cheek, ran through his hair and rested on the back of his neck, caressing.  It was pleasant and encouraging.  She was soft beneath him, not completely relaxed yet, but not anxious.  He paused, his lips gently pressing hers before moving away long enough to ask, “You like this?  You’re all right?”

            “Yes.” She tugged him back down for a second, and then answered again, with a quick smile.  “I think so.”

            “Good.”  Éowyn’s hands were caressing again with her fingertips dragging over his shoulders, his back as he kissed her, long and deliberate.  She was receptive and willing and Faramir could really do this all night, but after a few more minutes he had to get up.  Valar, I don’t want to frighten her away…I’ve come so far already, it would be a shame.  Stalling, he made the kisses smaller, hoping to ignore her warmth beneath him, her hands moving slowly on his upper body.  His own he’d not moved from around her frankly a bit worried to.

            You’re not scaring me.  She’d heard him; Éowyn touched his cheek, rubbing with her knuckles.  If she was disappointed he’d stopped, he couldn’t tell.  “It’s smooth.”

            “I didn’t want to look like a ruffian.”

             “No, you look like a boy.”  Faramir growled at her response and she laughed.

            He kissed her again, asking, “A boy?”

            “A stripling lad.”  Éowyn smiled, mischievous.

            “Hmm.”  This time she shrieked with surprised laughter, bucking beneath him as Faramir tickled her.  Éowyn wriggled, her hands slapping at his shoulders as she giggled helplessly.  He ran his fingers up her sides, over her stomach, feeling her muscles contract through the dress. 

            “Stop, stop…”

            “Call me a boy, will you?”  Tickling her relentlessly, he pinned her the best he could, not allowing Éowyn to do more than flop and twist with uncontrolled laughter.  

            “No.”  Gasping, she was flushed and limp under him, her hands flat on his back, shaking her head.  “…No, you’re not.”  

            “Good.”  Faramir moved to kiss her subdued lips and froze, his mind warning him.  Valar, does he just follow you around all day?

            What?  Oh, her eyes widened and she shoved at his chest, trying not to giggle.  Hide, hide in the flower room…quick!

            Éomer’s voice sounded, calling as he knocked again, then stepped through the door to her quarters.  “Éowyn?”

***

            “Here.”  Faramir rolled off of her, slipping into the other room with impressive silence; she stood quickly, smoothing her dress.  Luckily he hadn’t really wrinkled it. Anxious to keep her brother away, she walked out of the bedroom.  “What do you want?”

            “I was looking for you—you said the stallions were…” He trailed off, looking at her bracelet.  “What’s that?” 

            Self-consciously fingering the cool stone, she answered, “It’s a present.”  Éomer didn’t have to ask from whom and he continued, almost hesitant,

            “I was going to look at them and I wanted your opinion.”

            “Oh…all right.”  Pleased, she smiled.  Either he hasn’t noticed the bearskin or he’s just waiting, trying to catch me off guard…

            “Good.” As though he’d heard her thought, her brother jerked his head to the right.  Voice suddenly far harder and more demanding, he asked,  “What’s that?”

            Unperturbed and well used to it, Éowyn replied, “A dead bear.”

            “Where’d you get it?” 

            “It was a gift from the men—I told you about it when you rode up.”

            Éomer’s eyes showed he didn’t quite believe her, but that he had to, for the moment.  “Oh.  Well, you want to go and look at them before it gets too late?”

            Still pleased he’d sought her viewpoint she smiled.  “Yes.”  Faramir, wait a little while before you leave.

            All right.  He sounded a cross between amused and exasperated.  For a disorienting moment she could see through his eyes as he sat in the chair.  I’ll see you at dinner?     

            Recovering, she sent back, Yes.  Éowyn led her brother out the door.  “Come on...I like the blood bay, wait until you see him, he’s very regal looking and handsome.”

***

It was dark outside with the last of the sun’s rays dull on the bright gold of the hall and still she was nowhere in sight.  Faramir ended up listening to Aragorn and Arwen try not to argue as servants delayed the evening meal, waiting for their lord’s appearance.  A few bustled about slowly serving wines as the near-silent quarrel progressed.  He wanted her to come with him to Isengard and for some reason Arwen did not wish to.  Although her elven mind was too strong for him to read her thoughts, Faramir felt her distress grow as Aragorn gently pushed.  “I’ll be gone for weeks, you know, at least two and…”

She said determinedly, whispering,  “I’ll be fine here.”

“But…” The King searched for an argument he hadn’t already used, finally settling on a pity plea combined with a bargain.  “I’ll miss you…and don’t you want to see an ent?”  Faramir wanted to, but apparently Arwen cared little.  They kept their voices as low as possible; all up and down the long King’s table were the rest of the traveling parties—the elves returning to Rivendell and Lórien and the remains of the Fellowship.  The only empty seats were Éomer’s, at the head of the table and Éowyn’s, to the right of him.  Behind the empty chairs, guards stood at ready their faces unperturbed.  Faramir sat on the right, four places down from her vacant space.  It’s not as though I would get to speak to her anyway…He sighed, trying not to slump.

Arwen’s voice was tight; her agitation made Faramir’s temples throb and he wanted to get away but there was nowhere for him to go.  The King sat on Éomer’s immediate left, with his wife at his side.  On one side of Faramir were the Lady Galadriel and her husband, the Lord Celeborn and the other, between him and Éowyn, was the lord Elrond, and his sons, who were also politely ignoring the quiet argument.  Across the table from him was Gandalf, followed by the four hobbits, two on each side and then Legolas and Gimli and multiple other elves.  Most were involved in conversations, trying to drown out the royal couple.  Staring dolefully at the door, he listened to the hissing whisper cut through the chatter,  “I said no, Estel.”

            Faramir gritted his teeth as Aragorn finally broke and asked in quiet exasperation, “Why?  Why not?”

“I don’t want to—do I have to explain my reasons?”
            “Yes.  You do.”  Valar, I will slay them both if they do not quit and soon.  Faramir tapped his foot impatiently, still considerately ignoring the slowly heating conversation, though, of course, as their emotions clashed against his mind, he could not really ignore them at all.

“I do not want to travel any farther—any more…that is my reason.”

Aragorn frowned and opened his mouth to speak and Faramir interrupted him, snapping in irritation, the feelings of disturbance finally growing too great for him to withstand, “Will you both be silent?  You’re giving me a headache.”  From all around he felt relief.  The couple looked surprised, then apologetic, as though they’d forgotten all about the surrounding people.  The Queen smiled gently,

“I’m sorry, Faramir, to be so rude.”

“It is all right.”  The emotions were subsiding and he felt the throbbing in his temples slowly ease.  Éowyn?  Where are you?

They finally entered, the King and White Lady of Rohan, laughing, talking. She’s so lovely in that.  She’d changed into a blue green gown that went well with his bracelet.  Éomer apologized swiftly and graciously for the delay, seating himself and gesturing for the food.  Faramir gazed at her and Éowyn gave him a smile.  The meal was not long, as everyone was wearied from their journey and aware of the feast the next night.  Soon, Faramir was able to rise and make his way to her side, admiring the way her hair and skin shone in golden contrast to the turquoise gown while her blue eyes looked even bluer.  Lightly embroidered along the sides with spiraling, tiny lighter green beads with the sleeves long and loose, it was well-made and low cut, showing off her bosom and tanned shoulders and fitting to her new curves tightly.  He wanted to run his hands along her sides, to feel the silky looking material cling to her skin. 

Finally standing before her, he murmured, using the opportunity to kiss the back of her hand, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”  Éowyn smiled as her blue eyes looked down briefly, like the compliment embarrassed her.  He pressed his lips to her palm, reluctant to release her.  

            “Good night, Éowyn, Faramir.”  Here were Merry and Pippin, the younger hobbit yawning wide as they padded by on their bare, furry feet. 

            “Good night.”  Her voice was warm and he glanced down at the pair.

            “Good night.”  Coming closer to take her arm, he whispered, “I don’t know how I’ll get to sleep on that bed…”

            To his delight, she laughed immediately, eyes sparkling, “Forget it, Faramir.”

            “It’s so hard, though…” Éowyn laughed again.  Wanting to see the stars, he tugged her through the corridor and out the double doors.  The sky was brilliant with them, shining and flickering.

            Éowyn shook her head, amused, “No.”

            Looking at her in the starlight, he smiled and said, reaching out to touch her soft cheek with his fingertips, “Vanimle sila tiri.”

            This got him an immediate wave of curiosity.  “What does that mean?”

            “Your beauty shines bright.”  Faramir teased her, “I may not be proficient with Rohirric, yet, but I do know elvish.”

            Her eyes challenging, she said, “Ge eart min dóm, Faramir, se dóm æt min mægdenhád. Ælc dæg Ic eom læs egeslic.”  Her hand touched his chest, lightly stroking the white tree.  “Ic áswereð,” Éowyn smiled in a wicked fashion, “Ge eart a gecynde bysen æt a mann…brad in eaxle, liþe in giedd, cynelic…” Putting her arms around his neck, she added, her voice softer.  “Min bealdor, ge eart min efne frendscipe.”

            After a moment, he shook his head, “I didn’t get all that.”

Éowyn laughed while hugging him.  “I said you were…” She played with the bracelet behind his neck, fingers rubbing the jade, pushing it around and around her wrist.  “That you were…handsome.”

            Eyeing her, he frowned playfully, “I think it was more than that.  I thought I heard I was a proper example of a man…what was it exactly?  Something about my speech being gentle?  Oh, and…I am your doom, the doom of your maidenhood?” He gave her a fiendish grin.  “I will speak more elvish in the future, my lady, if you like it that much.”

            This provoked an embarrassed giggle and Éowyn put her head against his shoulder, saying in a muffled voice, “I didn’t think you were that good in Rohirric yet.”

            “Just because I can’t speak it, doesn’t mean I can’t understand.”  Faramir looked down at her golden hair, turned silvery in the starlight as she hid her blush.  You are so dear to me.  I would die if something happened to you.  Carefully, he spoke, trying his best to keep the accent correct,  “Ge eart min efne frendscipe, toss.”

            Éowyn raised her head, quiet for a moment, her arms hugging him in an affectionate way.  “Will you walk with me to my rooms?”

            It was not an invitation for much, but it was for something that she felt comfortable with and Faramir didn’t mind; every day she feared less—she’d said so herself.  “Yes.”  She stepped back, taking her arms away and he followed, taking her hand in his.   Moving through the hallways, letting her lead, he wondered how long it would be before Éomer judged him competent enough to wed her.  Every day she fears less…maybe because of this I will not have a shrinking bride…I would like that very much, for her to want me without dread or panic.  He vowed not to hasten the process.  I have all the time I need…I have waited this long and surely it will not be more than a few weeks, a month at most.  Valar, I would see her in my bed at home, warm against the furs and willing.  But I must wait and be patient.  Éomer does not want to let go—I can understand that, I suppose…he will be alone here, bereft of the one person he loves most.    

            They reached her door and Éowyn turned, placing her hand on his shoulder.  She smiled as he cupped her chin, kissing her lightly, sneaking one in even before he said, “Goodnight.”

             “Goodnight Faramir.  Sleep well.”  He kissed her again, reluctant to part, but as he let go of her, he sent,

            Dream of me.

            She laughed, shaking her head, hand on the doorknob.  The ego on you, so arrogant, I cannot believe it.

            What? 

            Go!  Go so I can sleep.

            All right.  Turning, Faramir began to make his way to his bedroom, hoping he could find it.  I will see you tomorrow.

***

            Éowyn walked into her rooms, automatically checking herself as she reached for the dagger she no longer wore.  There is no need, she thought fiercely, trying to ignore the brief crawling sensation down the back of her neck.  There is no one in here.  For years she’d been in the habit of moving quickly through her quarters, slim blade drawn, investigating every possible hiding place.  Gríma is gone and there is no point, Faramir would have sensed anyone lurking and spoken.  Undoubtedly he would have rousted them himself, protecting me.  The thought was comforting and she made it to her bedroom without breaking her will and checking the place.  Closing the windows, she began to undress, placing the jade bracelet on her small bedside table.  The quilts were still rumpled and she touched her lips, remembering how good he’d felt on her.  I liked it…his weight, his shoulders and chest over me and the way he kissed me—he was being careful; it wasn’t bad at all.  Tomorrow I will show him the little foals and take Arwen to see the one we rescued.  And maybe after that…  Éowyn sobered.  That is, after I make sure Éomer does not need my help in preparing anything for uncle…I wish he and Théodred were here.  I miss them…my brother will be all alone when I leave.  Melancholy again, she turned back the blankets and blew out her candle, trying to ignore the fact she’d not bolted any of the doors.  Who shall take care of mother’s flowers?

***

            Éomer moved quiet; the room was dark, furniture mainly gone, but what was still there was dusty with disuse.  Here in Théoden’s chest were all his weapons, his riches.  Gold and silver gleamed, jewels sparking in the light of Éomer’s candle.  He’d wanted no one to handle this but himself—Éowyn had left the dining hall with Faramir before he had time to ask her.  Little sister, will you leave me alone, too?  The memory of her lying cold and still, dirt streaking her face, limp on the blackened ground near to the crumbled, hideous body of the wraith’s steed made him shudder.  He would rather her leave with Faramir than leave the way his uncle and cousin had.   

              Pulling the chest close to the door, he set it there.  He’d already searched the rest of the rooms and there was naught but clothes, spare armor and furnishings left.  Tiny trinkets he saved as he came across them, gently wrapping them in cloth to place in the mound.  They were broken toys and little presents a child might give.  Éomer thought he recognized some of them as his; his throat tightening, he carefully laid the bundle beside the chest.  His uncle had kept them for a reason and they would go with him.   

            Altogether it made a pitiful pile and he bowed his head, wondering if any ghosts watched him.  Father, Mother, I have done what you asked so far…I have kept my sister safe and I have never shirked my responsibilities…I have tried to be a good son.  Théoden, I do my duty as your heir.  Uncle, please help me to be as great and wise a lord as you were.  He remembered helping Théoden carry out other things in another room not so long ago, his sister standing silent and cold; she’d been trying not to weep.  Théodred, cousin, brother, I wish you were here to help me…I need you more than ever, you always knew what to do. 

            There was no reply from the empty room and Éomer turned away, closing the door.  Gods, but I will need help in this.

Translations:

Ge eart se mæst ænlic cwen Ic hæbbe æfre sewen.—You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Ge eart min dóm, Faramir, se dóm æt min mægdenhád.  Ælc dæg Ic eom læs egeslic.--You are my doom, Faramir, the doom of my maidenhood.  Every day I am less fearful.

Ic áswereð, Ge eart a gecynde bysen æt a mann…brad in eaxle, liþe in giedd, cynelic… --I swear, you are a proper example of a man…broad in shoulder, gentle in speech, noble…

Min bealdor, ge eart min efne frendscipe —My prince, you are my only love.

Ge eart min efne frendscipe, toss—You are my only love, too.