For those of you following my other LotR story, "Gray Eyes, White Tower," don't panic! I have every intention of continuing it, but sometimes plot bunnies come along that cannot be denied. This will be much shorter than "Gray Eyes", probably around 5-6 chapters. Please note that the rating may change in later chapters.

Enjoy! If you do enjoy it - or even have a bone to pick - reviews are very welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1

July 3018

Éomer glanced at his sister perfunctorily as he held out his arm to her, then paused and looked again. "Éowyn, I can't recall seeing you wear that dress before, is it new?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"It was made some time ago, but I've never had a reason to wear it," she told him, taking his arm. They started out toward the throne room together, and she continued, "It's not often we have such a distinguished guest, so I thought it would be appropriate."

"Oh, of course," Éomer said gruffly. "Well, you look…err…nice, sister," he added lamely, obviously still trying to come to grips with the fact that his sister had become an attractive woman.

Nice! Éowyn thought, rolling her eyes and suppressing an urge to cuff her brother. She certainly hoped it was much more than 'nice' since her intent was to impress. But his surprise was to be expected, normally she dressed to conceal her figure rather than highlight it, and for good reason.

That 'good reason' was attentive, as always, when they entered the throne room. Gríma's eyes sought her out and his reaction to her attire was immediate. He stared, eyes wide and mouth open for a moment before his usual caution reasserted itself and his face closed.

Éowyn turned resolutely away from him, chin lifted in defiance; he was definitely not the man she wished to impress. She looked toward the king's seat, fighting back a wince of pain on seeing her uncle, bent and gray, nodding himself to sleep on the throne. Standing nearby was her cousin Théodred, conversing with their guest for the evening. Théodred glanced toward his approaching cousins, his brows rising in appreciative surprise at Éowyn's appearance.

Éowyn's heart was beating hard as the other man turned toward them; only dimly she heard her cousin formally introducing them. "My lord, you may recall my cousin Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark, and his sister, the Lady Éowyn."

Boromir of Gondor was much as she remembered him from his last visit; near in height to her tall brother and cousin but broader in the shoulders. A mane of golden-brown hair—unusual for a Gondorian—framed an open face with an easy smile and piercing green eyes. Older, of course, that was to be expected, and somewhat grimmer than the last time she'd seen him, but still very much a man that would find it easy to attract women even without his lofty title and noble birth. She felt a pang of doubt; would he even notice that she was no longer the scrawny waif he had met years before?

The Gondorian warmly congratulated Éomer on his elevation to Third Marshall which had occurred since his previous stay at Edoras. Knowing he would address her next she cast her eyes down, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze; afraid of what she might find there. Courtesy bade that he speak first, but instead of a polite greeting from him she heard a quick intake of breath as his hand tightened on hers. Surprise gave her the courage to meet his eyes, which even more surprisingly, were fixed not on her face but her cleavage.

Ah ha! She thought in triumph. He started and met her eyes, the chagrined expression crossing his face telling her very clearly that he knew he had been caught looking. "It is pleasure to see you again, my lord," she murmured, a smile in her voice and in her gaze.

He recovered quickly, kissing her hand and smiling wryly before saying, "The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Éowyn." Then instead of releasing her hand he covered it with the other, saying contritely, "Please excuse my discourtesy, my lady, for a moment your beauty left me bereft of speech." Despite his conciliatory tone, Lord Boromir's eyes were warmly appraising; what's more it was obvious that he liked what he saw.

A snort of amusement drew her attention to her cousin who was snickering behind his hand. In contrast, her brother looked confused and faintly suspicious. But before more could be said the steward informed Théodred that it was time to assemble for dinner.

There was a soft touch on her arm; she turned to find Gríma standing at her side with a fawning smile, "May I escort you, my lady?"

She shuddered faintly and stepped back from his proffered arm, furiously thinking of how she could refuse in a way that would not appear rude in front of their guest. No need; the Gondorian captured her arm in a firm grip, saying, "My pardon…Gríma, is it? I have not yet atoned for my loutish behavior toward Lady Éowyn, but I pray you won't begrudge me the opportunity to try." The tight smile he gave the king's advisor would have been perfectly suitable for delivery at the point of a sword. Gríma's survival instincts were keen; he backed away with a bow and murmured pleasantries.

Gratitude flooding her she grasped Boromir's arm, his muscles hard beneath his tunic as he guided her to the table. Lord Boromir glanced sidelong at her, concern in his eyes. "I hope I haven't overstepped, my lady," he said under his breath. "You didn't seem to welcome that fellow's attention."

Her hands tightened on his arm and she gave him a grateful smile, "No, I do not," she whispered. "Thank you, my lord."

He returned the smile, his eyes dancing, "Accepting your thanks implies that there was no selfish motivation on my part, and I can assure you that is not the case. Escorting a beautiful woman is never a hardship."

During the preparations for the meal Éowyn had made certain the seating arrangements were to her liking. Théodred was seated to the right of the king as usual, but Éomer had been moved from his typical seat at the king's left hand and that position given to their guest, which, not coincidentally, put Boromir next to Éowyn. Éomer grunted in surprise at the change, but otherwise took it in stride. She suspected he was all too happy to have a chance to discuss battle strategies with Théodred all evening.

Lord Boromir's attempts at conversation with her uncle received little response, so he soon turned to Éowyn, looking visibly relieved. Their exchanges were general in nature, until finally she encouraged him to speak about the journey that brought him to Edoras. She was intrigued when she heard that the impetus for it was a dream, and even more so that his destination was the fabled elven haven of Rivendell.

He greeted her enthusiasm with a rueful chuckle, "Alas, the old tales neglect to mention that dream summons to mysterious locations do not include a map or anything in the way of useful directions! I fear I could be wandering the wild for months unless I happen upon a traveling elf that takes pity on me and steers me aright."

He looked so aggrieved by his plight that Éowyn let out a rather undignified snort of laughter which caused Éomer and Théodred to glance curiously in their direction. Boromir laughed as well, readily seeing the humor in his situation.

Then he sobered, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "In all honesty I am concerned that this journey could keep me away from Gondor for many months. The Enemy presses us closer by the day; I worry that our defenses will not hold, and it troubles me as well that my father does not trust or value Faramir's efforts as he should."

"Faramir is your brother?" Éowyn prompted softly, having heard the name in conversation before.

"Aye, he is five years the younger. A fine man and a fierce warrior, for all his gentleness of spirit." He sighed, a sad smile on his face, "I miss him already." After a moment the Gondorian shook himself out of his reverie and said heartily, "But I am certain that a lovely lady like yourself has no interest in hearing of such troubles."

Éowyn met his eyes, her voice gently chiding, "I am no child, my lord. War marches on our lands as well, and I know that a day may come when Éomer and Théodred do not return from battle. We have lost many already."

Boromir straightened and bowed slightly, "You are right, of course, my lady. I do not think of you as a child and I should not treat you as one. Please accept my apologies." He gave her a wry smile, "I am more accustomed to conversing with ladies who prefer vapid pleasantries to what is oftimes grim reality. I should have realized that you are not among their number."

"I am not, my lord, I prefer plain speaking," she said firmly.

"If directness is your preference, perhaps you would permit me to ask a frank question," the Gondorian said, keen eyes on her face.

Éowyn's heart thumped a bit, wondering what he would ask, but she replied with a gracious nod, "Of course, my lord."

His voice fell, "Your uncle's advisor, that fellow Gríma, has been watching us intently all night. Whether it is due to distrust of me or interest in you, I know not…"

"Both, I'm sure," Éowyn murmured.

"Do your kinsmen know that he presses his attentions on you? Surely they would wish to protect you from any unwelcome advances," Boromir inquired softly.

Éowyn looked down, afraid that the sympathy in his face might be her undoing, "Éomer and Théodred are often abroad and have not yet noticed. Nor have I brought it to their attention." Answering the unspoken question in his eyes, she continued, "They both despise him and would surely confront him if they knew, but Gríma has great influence with the king and I fear if they were to do so it would cause more problems than it solved."

"But…" Boromir protested, clearly unable to comprehend why her uncle would not wish to protect her as well.

"My lord, I appreciate your concern, but this is not the best time or place to discuss this," she said with a covert glance at the king in the high seat just beyond Boromir. Her voice fell to a whisper, "At times my uncle is more attentive than he seems."

"Very well," the Gondorian said with an understanding nod. "Another subject then," he said more loudly. "How goes your sword training? I hope the press of other duties has not required you to give it up."

Éowyn's chest constricted with surprise and delight. "You…you remember?' she asked, hardly able to believe her ears. "That was years ago!"

Boromir grinned, "Of course! It is not often I meet a slip of a girl scarcely wider than a blade herself so insistent on learning swordsmanship, and willing to defy her older brother to do so!"

"And I remember your kindness, my lord," Éowyn said warmly. "I have continued my sword training, in no little thanks to you. There was no reason for you to have spoken for me as you did, but I am certain it influenced Éomer and my uncle and cousin; they might have insisted that I stop otherwise."

Their eyes met and held; for a moment she was certain she saw a flash of hungry desire in his gaze. It was fleeting; he looked away and took a sip of wine. "Think no more of it," Boromir smiled when he turned back to her. "I admired your spirit and felt it should be encouraged, and besides," he laughed, "it was worth it to see the look on your brother's face!"

She laughed with him and her mind went back, as it often had over the years, to the last time she had met Denethor's heir.

-ooo-

Éowyn leaned against the railing and watched with keen interest as the two men traded blows on the training ground. Though, she amended, two 'men' might be a bit generous. One was undoubtedly a man, but the other…just her brother Éomer, who as much as he liked to think of himself as full grown, seemed a mere stripling compared to Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor.

The Gondorian had come for a state visit—some business between his father, the Lord Steward of Gondor and her uncle the king—and Éomer had seized upon the opportunity to spar with such a renowned warrior. Éowyn snorted in amusement; her brother might very well be regretting that choice now for he was not faring well against the older man. She knew that Éomer was an excellent fighter for his age, he often sparred with their cousin Théodred who was of like size and experience to the Gondorian and typically held his own. But today he was getting beaten badly even though their visitor generously did not press his advantage when he could.

It was an informal bout; both wore tunics and breeches with blunted swords rather than armor, and Éowyn found herself watching Lord Boromir with more than casual interest. He was old, of course, at least thirty summers like her cousin Théodred, but nothing about him seemed old. His footwork in the ring was quick and sure, his sword flashing like an extension of his arm. She noticed other things as well; the way laughter lit his face when he joked with Éomer; the play of muscles under his tunic… Éowyn blushed and shook herself—she had never thought about a man like that before! On the contrary, she had always declared that girls her age sighing over her brother and the other riders showed them to be brainless ninnies.

But as she glanced down at her rail-thin figure she knew in her heart of hearts she knew that reaction was at least in part simply envy. Most of the other girls her age already looked womanly and sometimes she felt it would never happen to her. As much as she disdained the girls whose sole interest in life revolved around which men paid attention to them, she wondered whether a man would ever look at her the way Éomer stared at the buxom tavern maids.

A cry from the training field brought her attention back to the present, and she glanced up to see the Gondorian hand a red-faced Éomer his sword. Evidently her brother had been disarmed—he would surely not be pleased with that. Lord Boromir smiled and clapped Éomer on the shoulder in a comradely fashion saying, "You have done well, Éomer, but I think a break is in order." His green eyes fell on Éowyn, "I am thirsty and besides, it seems we have a visitor."

"Oh, that's just my sister, Éowyn," her brother said dismissively, earning a furious glare from the girl. Undeterred, Lord Boromir caught up a water skin and came to lean against the railing next to her.

"What brings you here, my lady?" he asked with a warm smile. Before she could respond he glanced to the sword at her side, his eyes widening, "Is that a blade I see?" He chuckled, "And here I thought you had come to cheer on your brother."

Éowyn could see the mortified expression on her brother's face behind the Gondorian and lifted her chin defiantly in response. "Yes, my lord. My uncle gave me leave to train with a sword a few months ago. I am waiting for my instructor to arrive."

"Train with a sword?" her brother snorted, "Play with a sword is more like it."

"At least I know why Lord Boromir was beating you!" Éowyn retorted hotly.

Éomer sputtered angrily at her claim, but Lord Boromir put up a hand to stay his response. "Indeed, my lady?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in interest. "Please explain."

Éowyn flushed and looked down, suddenly nervous under such keen scrutiny. She took a calming breath and forced herself to speak, "Éomer is not as strong or experienced as you are, my lord, but that is to be expected given his age. When he spars with Théodred and the other men he is usually able to compensate with quickness. But he is accustomed to fighting against the shorter blades of the Rohirrim and you use a longer blade. I…I think he has not yet adequately adjusted for that."

Lord Boromir's face split into a grin, "Well spoken, my lady, well spoken, to be sure. And I do believe you are right." He turned to the silently fuming Éomer with a smile, "I have no doubt that you will be my match some day soon, Éomer, but in the meantime there is no reason to begrudge your sister her lessons. There might come a time when you will be grateful that she can defend herself."

Largely mollified by this praise, Éomer confined himself to muttering, "I doubt the noble ladies of Gondor study the sword."

Lord Boromir snorted in amusement, "You are correct, they do not. But since I generally find the noble ladies of Gondor to be painfully dull and fit only for bedding, I would not recommend them as an example for your sister."

Éowyn choked back bray of laughter at Éomer's horrified face as he glanced from the Gondorian to his sister and back again. Honestly, did he think her completely ignorant of what happened between men and women?

Evidently realizing belatedly the reaction his comment provoked, Lord Boromir bowed and said contritely, "Apologies, my lady, if my soldier's bluntness is cause for offense. I can assure you that was not my intent." But as he and Éomer left the field he smiled at her and she was certain she saw the merest shiver of a wink.

Éowyn was in love.