PROMPT: lothiriel and eomer at a halloween party, but both have taken costume advice from eowyn and/or faramir and end up in a coordinated couple's costumes

"You have no one to blame but yourself," Eowyn says, smugness apparent in every word.

Eomer, sitting with his arms crossed in the cramped back seat of her car, rolls his eyes. "Not true. I can absolutely still blame you for this."

His sister, turns her head-an impressive feat, considering the pointy pink elf hat perched on top of her hair-and smirks, full mega-watt, into his face. "After twenty-odd years of being my brother, you should know better than to bet against me when it comes to football."

Which is...a fair point. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"It could be worse," Faramir adds, though from what Eomer can see of his face in the rear-view mirror, he's grinning too, "you, at least, don't have to wear tights."

Eowyn frowns at him. "You said you didn't mind!"

Faramir lifts her hand to press a kiss to its back, clearly ignoring Eomer's noise of disgust at the show of affection. "And I don't. But I have to admit, they're not the most comfortable thing I've ever worn."

Eomer can only agree when they manage to all unfold themselves out of the car-Faramir's a good bit shorter than him, of course, but still tall enough that his legs look both absurdly long and strange in the bright yellow tights. Personally, Eomer doesn't quite understand how Buddy the Elf qualifies as a Halloween outfit and not a Christmas one, but his ego and shoulder have already taken a bruising because of the outfit his sister has forced him into, and he's not willing to face more of Eowyn's wrath by asking.

Eowyn tucks her arm through Faramir's and reaches back with her other hand to adjust Eomer's jacket. "Try to at least look like you're enjoying yourself, won't you?"

"No promises," Eomer grumbles, but he follows them up the pumpkin-lined path leading to Boromir and Theodred's house. The sight of the jack-o-lanterns makes his palms sweat, which is ridiculous and embarrassing, all at once. Glad that Eowyn and Faramir are facing away from him, he scrubs a hand over his face, willing himself to calm down.

It's just a party, he reminds himself.

They can hear the music before the door is open and Eomer forces himself not to grimace. But he's agreed to be here, knows it makes Eowyn happy that he is, and besides, it's a bit late to back out. It's not as if he can walk around in public, considering the way he's dressed.

"Come in!" Someone-he thinks possibly Boromir-yells. So they do.

The scene that greets them is happy chaos; the house is packed to the brim with friends and family, all decked out in their Halloween best. Merry and Pippin appear to be Mario and Luigi, who are clearly battling Sam and Frodo-who are a little more sedately dressed as a pair of M&Ms-in beer pong. Boromir gives them a wave, recognizable even with the long blonde wig on his head. Now that's a costume Eomer could have happily worn-it's not a bad thing to dress up as Thor, or any other superhero, but this-

"It wasn't my choice," Eomer grumbles, tugging at the front of his jacket as one of Faramir's archery buddies offers his dubious compliments.

"Oh, no doubt of that," Theodred agrees. "Just wait until you see who you match, cuz."

Eomer turns accusatory eyes on Eowyn and Faramir, both of whom look abruptly-and unconvincingly-innocent. "Who?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Eowyn says. "Oh, look, Aragorn and Arwen are here!"

Hearing their names, the other couple walks-or rather, Aragorn walks as Arwen glides effortlessly beside him-over. Aragorn's hair has been slicked into some semblance of elegance and Eomer can only arch an incredulous eyebrow at the red checkered robe and the strange curl to his mustache. Though, once he's been able to look more closely at Arwen, it makes sense-much as he loathes Halloween, even he recognizes the long-sleeved dark dress, pale makeup, and red lips as Morticia Addams.

"Festive," Aragorn says, grinning at all of them. "Though I have to say, I thought Hell would freeze over before I'd ever see Eomer dressed as a Disney prince."

"Don't remind me," Eomer groans.

"I think you look nice," Arwen says, in that sincere way of hers. "The hair helps, of course."

"Exactly!" Eowyn chirps, brightly.

"And I think I've seen your princess around, somewhere," says Aragorn.

"My what-"

"Oh, you made it!" A familiar voice cries.

The group turns in unison towards the sound. Eomer thinks his brain may make an audible noise of incomprehension, because Lothiriel is hurtling herself into Faramir's arms with a happy yell. Lothiriel, whose wide yellow dress and dark coiled hair leaves absolutely no doubt about who she's supposed to be.

Beauty and the Beast, he thinks sourly, more annoyed at Eowyn than ever as she makes her way around the circle for hello's, as cheerful and sweet per usual. Fitting.

"Hello, Eomer, how-" And she stops, eyes widening as she takes him in. "Oh."

Eomer snorts. None of their friends have been particularly subtle about trying to matchmake the pair of them, but this is the most blatant attempt so far. "Not my idea," he assures her.

If he didn't know her so well, he thinks he might have missed the way her face crumples, just a bit, before she forces a smile. "Of course not. I know you don't like Halloween."

"S'not so bad," he says, because nothing is guaranteed to make him feel like an ass as much as Lothiriel Prince directing hurt puppy-dog eyes in his direction. She brightens a little at that and he's forced to admit that her costume-and its meaning-fits her well. Lothiriel is beautiful, always has been, and he'd probably have asked her out for real ages ago, if it wasn't exactly what every single one of their meddling friends wanted him to do.

Eowyn's smirk is shark-like and dangerous, but he ignores it in favor of offering Lothiriel his elbow-she's drinkless, currently, and he is too, and they could probably both benefit from rectifying that particular situation as quickly as possible. Lothiriel's smile widens and she lets him escort her-as if they are the characters their costumes suggest instead of a racehorse trainer and a med student-to the bar.

"Be honest," he says as she grabs them both cups, "how ridiculous do I look?"

Lothiriel huffs a laugh, pouring a generous amount of rum into their drinks. "I think it would take something much worse than that to ever make you look ridiculous, Eomer."

He blinks, surprise shifting into full on shock-she's flirting. With him.

(Which isn't a first, of course, but it's a first when they're dressed in a pretty damn obvious couples' costume.)

"Well then," he asks, willing his hands not to shake when he takes the offer drink from her, "what do you think would do the trick?"

Her smile curls into something mischievous and the urge to kiss her flares to an almost painful point of want somewhere in his gut. "Oh, I don't know," she says, in a tone that suggests she absolutely does know. "Maybe that charming Peter Pan ensemble from grade school?"

He can feel his face heat in a blush-damn Eowyn, he'd told her to never, ever show those pictures to anyone-and he gulps down a large swig of his drink. "Remind me to throttle my sister."

"Wrong culprit, I'm afraid," she answers, taking a sip of her own. "Though I think that might only be because Theodred beat her to it."

Eomer groans. "Of course he did."

"Don't worry," she says, threading her arm through his and smiling up at him, "your secret is safe with me."

Trouble, he thinks, I'm in such trouble.

The party is still in full swing, hours later, and Eomer has escaped outside for a few minutes of peace and quiet. The cool darkness of Boromir and Theodred's backyard is a welcome reprieve-he'd been alright as long as Lothiriel had been with him, happy to listen to her tell him about her classes and trade stories of friends and family alike, but she'd gotten swept up in some sort of Halloween competition between Legolas and Gimli and he'd felt...uneasy in the way that only Halloween makes him, standing alone.

He relaxes into the chair, focusing on the stars above him as he takes another long sip of his back door slides open and shut just as quickly, just a murmur of the party inside reaching him as it does so.

Sighing to himself-it's probably Theodred, or Eowyn, coming to check on him, he says, "I'm fine, just wanted some fresh air-"

"Me too," comes the response and he nearly hurts himself shooting into a sitting position. Because it's not his cousin or his sister that drops into the chair beside him, but Lothiriel herself. Her hair is a little disheveled, the tiny golden crown slightly askew, and his hands itch with the effort of not tucking it back into place.

"Sorry about abandoning you," she says. "It's hard to say no to Gimli when he's in that mood."

Eomer snorts. "An understatement if there ever was one."

They sit in companionable silence for a moment.

Then he's aware of slim, soft fingers fitting around his. "Eomer?"

"Hm?"

"You don't have to tell me," she says, hesitancy clear in her tone, "but I was wondering-have been wondering for ages, actually-why is it that you hate Halloween?"

He swallows, throat suddenly dry. "It's ah. Not really a fun story for a party, Lothiriel."

Her fingers tighten around his. "I don't mind."

He turns his palm up to meet hers and relaxes, minutely, when she doesn't pull away. "Eowyn was too small to remember it, but Halloween was...was when they told us my dad had been killed in action."

He can make out Lothiriel's small noise of distress but he continues on, gritting his teeth. "I was dressed up like a soldier, too-Bema, how stupid I was, wanting to be just like him, reckless and brave and a damn fool-"

He can still remember it, so vividly-the knock at the door, the sound his mother had made when they'd told her, the brightly lit jack-o-lanterns looking more like goblins than friendly decorations in the background-

"You were a child," she whispers. "Eomer, you were a little boy and he was your father. Of course you'd want to be like him."

Eomer presses at his eyes with his free hand. He hasn't cried about this in years, hasn't talked about it in nearly as long, and the prospect of her seeing him like this-so...so...weak is mortifying-

Lothiriel's hand leaves his and he wants to kick himself. Of course she was going to pull away from a grown man who cries at a party over a man who's been dead for the better part of twenty years. But then she's climbing into his lap, swinging her legs over the left arm of the chair and pressing his face into the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry," she says, stroking a hand through his hair, "I'm so sorry, Eomer, and even more sorry I agreed it would be a good idea to make you come tonight-"

"You couldn't have known," he mumbles, feeling less unmoored with her anchoring him to the here and now.

"Well, I know now," Lothiriel says, stubbornly. "Do...we can leave, if you want? I'll think of an excuse to tell everyone, they're probably too drunk to notice much, anyways."

But the pressing, painful sensation is fading, bit by bit, the longer they sit in the peace and quiet. "No," he finally says. "I'm alright. I think I'll stay outside for a bit longer, though."

He expects her to nod, to unwind herself from him now that he's not so embarrassingly distressed, but instead Lothiriel snuggles closer, settling more comfortably against him with her head on his shoulder. "Alright. I will, too."

"Lothiriel," he says. She's one of the most social people he knows, and he knows she's been looking forward to this party all year. "You-you don't have to, I'll be fine-"

"I know I don't have to," she interrupts, lifting her head enough to meet his eyes. "But I'd like to, all the same."

There's not much he can say to that. So he tucks a still trembling arm around her waist and breathes in the sweet, rose-scent of her hair.

"Eomer?" She murmurs, after a few moments of silence. "Thank you. For trusting me with that."

It hits him, abruptly, that there is no one else he would have admitted such a thing to. And that despite Eowyn's meddling, he probably should ask her out, for that reason alone. But that's too much to even attempt vocalizing right now. So he settles for lifting her hand up to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm. Her answering kiss to his neck would be nothing short of hot any other time, but he recognizes it for what it is for now: one of comfort.

Soft, warm light is the first thing Eomer is aware of. That and the weight of something equally soft, and warm, pressing against him. His neck is twinging a bit uncomfortably, body stiff from sleeping mostly sitting up, but-

The sound of a yawn pulls him to full awareness and he finds Lothiriel looking sheepishly up at him. "Good morning," she says, subdued as he's ever heard her.

Eomer can't help but smile at her-she's still beautiful, rumpled as she is-and he shifts her weight a bit, trying to bring sensation back to his leg. "Morning."

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, not meeting his eyes. "Your poor leg-"

"It's a small price to pay for ruining your evening," he promises.

At that, Lothiriel's expression turns fierce. "Ruining my evening? Are-are you joking?"

He blinks at her. "Well, I'd hardly say I improved it-"

She makes an adorably frustrated noise. "Listen to me, Eomer Eorlsson, and listen closely. I'm glad you told me what was bothering you so much, and I'm glad I could help in some small way-a Halloween party doesn't compare to that at all, you absolute-"

He's kissing her before he can stop himself, hands gentle on either side of her face. Her outrage fades quickly and then she's kissing him back, arms wound around his neck.

When they finally pull back for air, he knows he's grinning like the absolute idiot she was about to accuse him of being. Last night's sadness, the anxiety that Halloween stirs up in him, seems miles away.

"I know this is backwards," he says, "but do you want to get breakfast?"

Lothiriel's answering smile is as wide as his feels.