Éomer had come to accept that sometimes it was better not to know his sister's mind. Éowyn needing the forge for Gimli was one of those times he knew to quit while he was ahead. At least this time, the scheme was aimed at Faramir, and not at himself. Éomer scribbled a note officially requesting Rohan have access and use of the forge, signed it, and put it in his pocket to give to the Steward.

That morning had been embarrassingly eye-opening for him. The Steward's letter had arrived to both of them just as they were breaking their fast together, letters written to ask if they would like to join Gondor's diplomatic envoy to Dale and Mount Erebor. It was not until that moment that Éomer truly understood that he was King. He fought in battles. He rallied troops. He did not care about grain stores or livestock or weapons stores, unless those weapons were ones in his hand. He'd gone pale. Then Éowyn had placed her hand in his.

"Don't worry brother," she had said. And she was right. Éowyn had run Edoras while their uncle was sick, creating a shadow council away from the poison of Wormtongue. She kept track of it all. It took less than a half hour to agree to what Rohan would offer: horses and grain for the men and women of Dale, and the Glittering Caves for Durin's folk. Éomer had been amazed, and grateful. Éowyn would always be his closest advisor, even if she lived far away. He would need her wisdom for the rebuilding, as he was unsure that he could do it himself. He hated Faramir a little bit in that moment, knowing that Faramir had taken his sister's heart. But Faramir had the true measure of his sister from the first time he met her. Éomer was still ashamed that it had taken him so long to see her worth for himself. Éomer would have defended her place on that council with his sword if it had come to it, but it had not. Éowyn had shown herself to need no defending.

A tear came into his eye then. Éowyn's secret books. Keeping their people safe against that despicable excuse for a man, even as he hunted her. Éomer thought he would always be haunted by Wormtongue's memory, but their heart-to-heart had made him less fearful for her, for love, for him. And today was to be the day that he would meet Lothíriel. An unexpected King meeting a suitable match. Even in marriages Éowyn had shown herself to be remarkable, capturing the heart of the Steward of Gondor and falling in love in kind. Éomer hoped he should be so lucky as them.

Faramir. His soon-to-be brother in law. The unexpected Steward, whose father seemed incapable of seeing his quality. Even in Éomer's most protective moments, he could see the man Faramir was. Éomer wondered if Faramir had looked around that table at council and seen the looks that were directed at him. Kings and elves and dwarves and princes, even wizards, with admiration in their eyes. Faramir was a good Steward.

But it was now time again to visit Faramir the man. Éomer grinned. He would go less easy on the Steward this time, putting more force into his blows. Just to make sure Faramir understood that even though he was the better swordsman, Éomer would still make him hurt if he harmed a hair on Éowyn's head. He doubted he needed to repeat that message, but he wanted to make sure that he backed it up a bit better this time. Especially seeing Éowyn's face as she described the way Faramir's touch made her feel. He didn't know why he pressed her for so many details… yes he did. He pressed her for himself, because he wanted to trust that women could love men, even when men hurt them.

Éomer threw his armor across his back; he would feel more natural in his own, then headed to the Steward's House. As before, Faramir had opened the door before Éomer knocked. Faramir must have a view of the guest houses. Éomer frowned.

"Rohan requests access to the Gondor forge, for Gimli," Éomer handed Faramir the note, and tried not to think more than that. The puzzlement on Faramir's face quickly diminished.

"Granted," Faramir replied, scribbling something on the paper in turn.

"My door is within the sight of your window," Éomer frowned
Does Éowyn know too? he wondered

Faramir's eyes widened ever so slightly, just enough.

"My office window," Faramir paused, making a decision, then sighed, "She knows of my view, though likely not my purpose. I look upon her door many times a night, watching... in case he makes his way to Gondor. To find her."

Éomer looked in the Steward's eyes and saw worry, and anger.

"That's why… Beregil..." Éomer realized it then, why the royal siblings of Rohan had an escort.

"Yes…," Faramir looked into the distance, "I've relaxed my guard now that you are next door, but still I watch."

"What would you do," Éomer asked, "If you saw a snake crawling in the night?"

"Put an arrow in his leg. It is a 30 second sprint from my door to yours. He would be alive, and he would not be able to get away." anger was in Faramir's eyes, he then looked at Éomer, "...if it ever comes to that."

Éomer smiled. He had no doubt that there was a bow and quiver at the window through which Faramir watched. Ready for its noble use if anyone threatened Éowyn. Éomer put his hand on Faramir's shoulder, and nodded solemnly.

"Now brother, I believe I was here for lunch and sparring," Éomer changed the subject, he wanted to will those images of Gríma out of his mind. His failure to protect Éowyn properly. He promised himself he would never fail to protect Lothíriel.

Faramir smiled, "yes! I see you've brought your own armor. Would you like to dine or spar first?"

Éomer thought, "Let us spar first. I daresay it will help me work up an appetite again, after morning tea."

Faramir laughed, "I will see you in the garden shortly."

Éomer threw on his breastplate only. He knew Faramir would not take shots at his head unprotected, nor particularly foul shots at any part that was uncovered. Faramir's skill was excellent, but today Éomer faced a foe familiar to him, rather than someone new. It would be interesting to see how much that changed things.

When Éomer emerged, Faramir saw that Éomer was in only breastplate, and removed the helmet he was going to wear. After choosing blunt swords, the two smiled, and began circling one another.

"How did Éowyn come to have her skill with a blade?" Faramir asked the question, but then attacked. Their swords rang together like music.

"She asked… my uncle. He said yes, so she started… practicing with… me and… my cousin," each pause of Éomer's sentence was punctuated with a clang. Yes, Faramir was a bit more predictable today. Éomer pressed an advantage he had seen, and struck a blow to Faramir's right shoulder, "Gotcha."

Faramir laughed, "so you did."

Éomer wondered if Faramir was going easy on him. He would have to make the Steward pay if that were so.

"Éowyn learned with Gamling… when Théodred and I… went out… on campaign…" Éomer parried Faramir's attack, and recognized that Faramir's footfalls were not as light as the previous day, they were more obvious somehow. He was preoccupied thinking about Éowyn it seemed.

"Has… she been trained… in close… combat with a… dagger?" Faramir was distracted after all, he was worrying about Éowyn. It felt almost cruel to use this advantage, almost. Éomer let his sword strike true once more, though Faramir had gotten several clean blows in now himself. Éomer would be feeling it soon…

"No," Éomer let Faramir attack once more, parrying most blows, until one caught his thigh. That was going to hurt.

"Would Éowyn consent if I… wanted to… teach her?" now Faramir's sword strokes were becoming cleaner, looser. Faramir had begun to predict Éomer's sword strokes again.

"Before we continue, let's get two things straight," Éomer had dropped his sword to his side, "I should like you to tell me what I am doing that makes my strokes so predictable to you. Your effort has greatly lessened. And second, just ask Éowyn, remembering that she had to sleep with a dagger for months. Her memories of daggers may be dark."

Moreso than the blows Éomer had delivered earlier, his two comments looked like they hurt Faramir, so much so that the Steward had dropped his head. "Sorry Éomer, bad habit I picked up from my brother. When I attack from my left side top, you almost always use the same stance, and I know the parry you have chosen. Your predictability is in your feet. I can show you how to better mask your steps," Faramir's voice became serious then, "And I do not want to bring any further hurt upon Éowyn. If you think learning dagger work will bring her back to those terrible nights, then I will never ask."

"Ask her. But perhaps draw out the memory first, and make your judgment then." Éomer spoke, channeling his sister as best he could. She would be angry if she found out that Éomer had stopped Faramir from even asking, and she was strong enough to face those shadows, "Then shall we say the practical is now over for sparring, and you can explain to me how I might improve my footwork over lunch. I suspect my bad habit comes from the fact that éored mostly fight on horseback."

Faramir nodded assent, "Lunch is inside. And I will order us both baths. I believe that the Dol Amroth host are within sight of the city now. Imrahil will likely request your company near as soon as they arrive."

Éomer's stomach turned to ice. That was one battle he knew he was woefully unprepared for.

"Please tell me everything about Lothíriel." Éomer turned red.

Faramir threw his head back in laughter, "Éomer, there is more than we could cover in a lunch, but I will try to do my best on the parts you most need to know."

Both men dropped their swords, and removed their armor, and then Faramir threw his arm around Éomer, and both walked in for lunch.

"Is she beautiful..?"

"She's my cousin, but yes, I do believe she is beautiful… not as beautiful as your sister." Faramir's smiled seemed to suffuse the whole of him.

"Both you and Imrahil give me queer looks when speaking of her. And Imrahil has spoken of Lothíriel as being quite similar to Éowyn, but happier," Éomer was speaking more to himself than to Faramir.

"I cannot speak for my uncle, but I do fear that you will be as hopeless upon meeting my cousin as I was upon meeting your sister." Faramir then turned to Éomer, and gave him a hopeful look, "And I should hope you find the happiness with her that the Valar have granted me."

"How did you win my sister's heart?"

"I don't think Éowyn's heart was ever a prize that could be won," Faramir was thoughtful, "I was simply honest with her. When I saw her, I did not hold back admitting how drawn to her I was. I asked her only to keep me company in those last doomed days; walking with me and talking with me. I opened my heart to her, let her inside. I was vulnerable and let her see into the worst days of my life. She made me trust her with those vulnerabilities. Éowyn's love is the greatest gift I have ever received. Lothíriel has not endured the same hardships as your sister, but her heart is the same. Let Lothíriel see the whole of you, even when it is the scariest thing you have ever done. I almost let that fear keep me from loving Éowyn."

"How so?"
"By convincing myself she loved another, against all evidence to the contrary," Faramir's face was drawn.
"You believed she loved Aragorn."
"And in my moment of doubt, I almost did not trust her to know her own heart."
Éomer snorted, "A mistake I fear most of us have made with my sister."

"And one I will never make again. I am just grateful that my lapse in judgment did not cost me everything," Faramir refocused his gaze on Éomer, "Lothíriel has a gentle heart. You can trust her with yours. Do not let fear of your own vulnerability cost you a chance at love."

Éomer nodded. He wondered what Lothíriel was like. Did her brothers put toads in her bed when she was younger, as Éomer had done to Éowyn? Could she spar? Had her father taught her to hunt? Even as the excitement of meeting her built in Éomer's mind, so too did the apprehension. He had never learned how to woo. The only woman he had ever really interacted with was his sister. And now, he could not even meet Lothíriel without the weight of expectations pushing him into the ground.

"If Éowyn wasn't sister of a King, would you still be marrying her?" Éomer hoped Faramir had not taken it as an accusation.

"I would," Faramir's smile told Éomer he had not.

"You marry for love. But when you met, there were no expectations on your meeting," Éomer wished he could have met Lothíriel as Faramir had met Éowyn, "That your match is also excellent for Gondor and Rohan was just a benefit."

"Yes," Faramir's eyes concentrated completely on Éomer. He did not like it. Being read by his soon-to-be brother-in-law. But he was growing more used to it.

"I never wanted it," Éomer supposed he should start this whole honest and open thing now, "Being King. It wasn't supposed to be me. I'm a soldier, and was happy to become the chieftain of the éored. My cousin was always meant to be King."

"I never wanted to be Steward; it was always meant to be my brother. The office made my father stern and dour. Though now I wonder if that was just him, rather than the office," Faramir replied, sadness laced in his voice, "It is not how we came to our titles, it is what we do with them now. How we use them to help our people. I may be Steward only until King Elessar is crowned, but I will make the most of the time given to me."

Éomer smiled, "I witnessed that today. I was hopeless without Éowyn in that council, but your authority outshined even Aragorn."

Faramir reddened at Éomer's compliment. It made Éomer smile. Éomer suspected Faramir's prediction that he would no longer be Steward once Aragorn was crowned was incorrect. With kin like Éowyn and Faramir, perhaps Éomer would not be hopeless as King after all. Éowyn had already promised to teach him everything she knew when they returned to Rohan. He doubted there was enough time before the end of the world to learn all that Éowyn knew, but he was appreciative.

Éomer raised the glass of wine in front of him, "to new titles and the time we have."

Faramir smiled thoughtfully, "to the time we have."

And the men dug into the lunch before them, eating quietly. There was no more need for words, for they would have all their lives to speak. Éomer also could not think of more he wanted to ask about Lothíriel. It was time to just see for himself. He wondered when she would arrive…

As if hearing his thoughts, a messenger came to the table and hailed Faramir.

"Lord Steward, I'm here to inform you that your cousins have arrived." the messenger bowed, then catching Éomer, took a small note out of his pocket, "To Éomer King, a note from the honorable Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

Éomer thanked the man and took the small piece of paper. He opened it.

Dear Éomer

I would be honored if you would join me and my family this afternoon for tea. This meeting is strictly informal, but it appears that my letters about you and your sister have generated some interest from my children to meet the King of Rohan. Please call upon us at your leisure.

Yours,
Imrahil

Éomer turned red. So this was it. Meeting Lothíriel at last. Éomer handed the letter to Faramir, who read it quickly and smiled.

"He's trying to take the pressure off of your meeting, in case you and Lothíriel find that the match is not suitable, you will know in private," Faramir said, and Éomer breathed a sigh of relief, "Éowyn and I will join you there later this afternoon, after I've finished the business of the Steward, and she the business of a healer."

"Thanks for your company, this lunch has been… enlightening," Éomer stood and gripped Faramir's forearm.

"Good luck, and don't forget what I told you. Lothíriel has a gentle heart, you can open yours to her," Faramir pulled Éomer in for a brotherly hug, "Trust me."

Éomer nodded, and took his leave. When he walked back to his apartment, he saw that they had already drawn a bath for him. He bathed quickly. He was never good at waiting for the moment to find him, he liked riding out and confronting it. This was like that. He could linger and delay meeting Lothíriel, or he could charge ahead.

Éomer saw that someone had left him a clean tunic with green and gold embroidery and forest green pants. Colors of Rohan. Éowyn, he thought. He smiled and dressed in them. King. He was King of Rohan. A golden-hearted King, Éowyn had called him, who deserved love from a woman who craved his touch. Éomer deserved nothing less, that is what his sister had said. After tying back his hair and lacing on his sword belt, Éomer was off. He looked up and could see the Steward's house, and the window which he now knew Faramir was keeping guard over his sister's door. Making sure no snakes slither out of the west.

Éomer walked decisively to Prince Imrahil's house, only a 5 minute walk from the guest houses. He got to the door and stopped, staring at it. His hands were pulling on his tunic, as they always did when he was nervous. Should he knock? Was he ready? Confronting Orcs was one thing, confronting what was on the other side of that door was entirely another. He thought of Éowyn and Faramir. Standing that first time facing each other in the garden, enthralled at the sight of one another. They found love while facing their own mortality. Éomer could face what was inside that house. So he knocked.

Hurried footsteps were on the other side of the door, and he was greeted by the Prince.

"You made it!" Imrahil's tight hug took Éomer by surprise. The bruises of his sparring with Faramir radiated across his upper body.

"How could I say no to your invitation?" Éomer replied, "You have spoken so highly of your family."

"Yes, well, thank you. Come in, my family is in the courtyard"

Was the Prince nervous? The thought of Imrahil nervous landed like a weight on his chest.

Éomer followed Imrahil through the house and into the courtyard. Three people were waiting, tall and raven haired like their father. Two sons and …

When he saw her, everything else fell away. If Elbereth walked the earth, surely she would look like this. She was tall and willowy, but not without womanly shape. She had long and wavy hair down to her waist. Her face was heart shaped, and her lips and cheeks were pink. She studied him with intelligent gray eyes through thick dark eyelashes. She was trying to suppress a smile; one that was given away by the twinkling of her eyes. Éomer tried to keep his face composed, but he felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

Well dear sister, I fear the Valar have done their good work on me too, Éomer thought, and he stepped forward to meet the children of Imrahil, and his future wife.