Author's Note: The original premise for this story was a challenge at the now-defunct A'mael Taren, to answer the question of Eomer's possible reaction to Faramir's wish to marry Eowyn. I'm reposting the story now, with some changes, to tie it in with another of my stories, An Act of Desperation. The basic storyline is still the same, but I've made some alterations to the cause of Eomer's conflict with Faramir. So if you've read it before, I hope you enjoy the changes (and that Eomer is coming off as less of a jerk now!), and if you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy the story.
Part 1: The Best-Laid Plans
Éomer pulled Firefoot to a halt as he reached the edge of the Pelennor. Minas Tirith had been in sight for quite some time by then, but now it rose like a pillar of white marble gleaming in the late afternoon sun at the other end of the field. Quite a difference from the last time I was here, he thought with more than a bit of sadness. The last time he had traveled this way, the fields had been overrun by the forces of Mordor; that had been the day when his uncle had died, and his sister… Éomer paused in mid-thought. Though months had passed since that day, the memory of that dreadful moment when he had seen her on the battlefield and believed her dead still pained him greatly.
"My lord?" Éomer turned to see Éothain, the captain of his guard and one of his most trusted friends. "Are you well?"
"Éothain, I have told you a thousand times that there is no need for you to be so formal with me," Éomer complained.
"I know, but it is a little difficult sometimes, getting used to the idea of you being the king," Éothain said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. Éomer gave him a look of mock sternness, at which Éothain laughed. "I meant no offense, Éomer. It is just strange; that is all."
Éomer laughed. "I am having a little trouble getting used to the idea myself." Then his smile faded a bit. "And I am well—I just have a lot on my mind, with the funeral and the journey."
"And I am certain that Éowyn has nothing to do with it."
Éomer groaned at the reminder of his headstrong sister. She had wanted to accompany them to Gondor, of course, but he had finally convinced her to stay behind to make all of the necessary preparations for their uncle's funeral. His last conversation with her was still as clear in his mind as if it had just happened…
"Safe journey, brother. I will be watching for your return," she had said with a smile as she handed him the cup of parting.
He had groaned a little. "Come now, Éowyn, we both know that I am not the one you will be looking for."
"Yes, I will!" she had automatically protested. Then her face had colored a little, and a somewhat dreamy smile crossed her face as she admitted, "Just not the only one." In the months since their return to Edoras, Éomer had seen that same look much more frequently than he cared for—the far-off look that clearly said she was thinking about the young Steward of Gondor. "Forgive me, Éomer," she said. "It has been months since I last saw him."
"I still cannot fathom what it is you see in him." The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Éowyn's smile faded, and a steely glint lit her eyes. "I still cannot fathom why you put him down so. Faramir has just as much courage and honor as you, or Uncle Théoden, or even Lord Aragorn!"
"I do not question his courage or his honor. I just find it hard to understand what is so fascinating about a man who would spend all his time buried in a stack of books."
Éowyn rolled her eyes. "Not all of his time. And he enjoys learning. I see nothing wrong with that."
"Maybe so, but you could probably outmatch him with a sword." He was making pathetic excuses, and they both knew it.
"That means nothing. If I recall correctly, I have been able to outmatch you on several occasions," Éowyn pointed out, a mischievous smile on her face.
Éomer could not deny it, nor could he come up with a good reply, so he resorted to an exasperated glare. He simply could not understand his sister any more. Ever since he had left her in those Houses of Healing, she had been acting so differently. She had taken up learning the art of healing, and had spent a great deal of her time in Edoras determining uses for various plants. Either that or she was studying the books that she had brought back with her from the city. He could accept that; she was still a more-than-willing sparring partner when he asked her, and her love for riding was as strong as ever. And healing was a necessary skill, one that she had shown some interest in even back before the war.
But then there was her infatuation with Faramir. He still could not understand how that had happened. The last he had known, she was in love with Aragorn, and merely weeks later she had completely changed her mind. It was not like her to be so flighty, and he could not help but be concerned at how rapidly she believed her heart to have changed.
"Just promise me that you will try to be civil to him?" Éowyn pleaded.
Éomer sighed. "I will try." It was not that he hated the Steward; had circumstances been otherwise, he might have even liked him in spite of their differences. But he was a man of action, and the last few years of Gríma's influence in the court at Edoras had taught him not to trust men of words. Especially those who could so quickly and completely bewitch his sister…
"Éomer?" Éothain asked, jerking him out of his thoughts.
And I still do not trust him. "Maybe a little." He shook his head in frustration. "Why could she not have fallen in love with one of our people? It would have been so much simpler!"
"Though you must admit, she smiles more than she used to," Éothain pointed out.
Éomer glared at him, even though he knew Éothain was right. He would even admit, though rather grudgingly, that perhaps Faramir did have something to do with it. But I do not have to like it.
He glanced back at the other Riders who had accompanied them. The horses and men alike were starting to act restless. "We should start moving again, if we want to reach the city before nightfall."
"As you wish, my lord," Éothain said, laughing at the dirty look that Éomer shot him over the formal title as he spurred Firefoot on once again.
-------
"I wish he would sit down," Pippin whispered to Merry as they watched Faramir pacing back and forth across the marble floors of the great hall, deep in thought. "He's making me dizzy."
Merry rolled his eyes at his younger cousin in mock exasperation. "He's just anxious to leave, that's all. You would be too, if you had some pretty hobbit-lass waiting back in the Shire for you."
Pippin shrugged noncommittally. "I don't think that's it."
Frodo, who was sitting across the table from them, smiled faintly. "I would have to agree with Pippin for once. I am not sure which is stronger; his desire to see the Lady Éowyn or his wish to avoid her brother."
All of the remaining members of the Fellowship had gathered in the great hall of the Citadel to await the arrival of the newly-crowned King of Rohan, along with Faramir, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his family, and Queen Arwen. The company from Rohan would remain in Minas Tirith for the night. Then they would all accompany Éomer back to Edoras for the burial of his uncle and the previous king, Théoden.
Most of the group was sitting around one of the long tables as they waited, except for Imrahil's children and Faramir. Imrahil's three sons were talking softly in the corner. His daughter Lothiríel was sitting by the window, occasionally glancing outside indifferently—Faramir knew that she would never admit that she was watching for Éomer's arrival. As for Faramir, sitting had proved to be too daunting a task for him, and he had resorted to pacing the floors for a great deal of the afternoon.
Though he had not voiced his thoughts on the matter, it had escaped the notice of no one that as the day of Éomer's arrival drew closer, Faramir had become increasingly agitated. "I don't understand why he's so nervous," Sam said, obviously trying to keep his voice quiet enough so that Faramir would not hear. "King Éomer wouldn't stop him from marrying Lady Éowyn… would he?"
Aragorn smiled at the hobbits as he watched. "Oh, I believe that he will consent eventually. It seems to be in the nature of older brothers to be very protective of their sisters. When Elladan and Elrohir found out that I was in love with Arwen, I was certain that they would bring my head back to Lord Elrond on a mithril platter."
"I highly doubt that, Estel," Arwen said with a laugh.
"Yes, if I remember correctly, they were actually discussing putting your head on a pike near the entrance to Imladris as a warning for all passing mortals to stay away," Legolas interjected, a hint of a smile crossing his face. Gimli snorted in an undignified manner, and Aragorn simply rolled his eyes at the Elf. "But even so, Éomer is the last of her male kinsmen, and therefore has the right to grant or deny Faramir his sister's hand," he added more seriously.
"And from what I have seen, that stubborn horse-lord will not grant it without a fight," Gimli added, trying to keep it under his breath and failing.
Imrahil laughed. "I think that you underestimate him, Gimli. Éomer is a little rough sometimes, but he has a good heart. He will not deny Éowyn the happiness she deserves."
Lothiríel glanced over from her post by the window overlooking the entrance to the city. "And my cousin can be almost as stubborn, when he puts his mind to it."
Up to this point, Faramir had been pointedly ignoring the others as they talked about him. But now he stopped pacing for a moment and looked over at Lothiríel, a hint of mischief in his grey-blue eyes. "It hardly seems fair for you to begin your next sparring match with Éomer without him being here to defend himself, Thirí." Lothiríel's face colored slightly, but she quickly masked it. It was plain to both Faramir and his uncle that in spite of the amount of time that Éomer and Lothiríel had spent arguing when the lord of the Rohirrim was last in Minas Tirith, Lothiríel was quite fond of Éomer. Maybe that is the answer, Faramir thought wryly. Éomer could be so preoccupied with my cousin that he will forget about Éowyn…
Highly unlikely, he realized. And if Lothiríel's brothers knew what he was thinking, they would have his head quicker than Éomer ever could, though he was sure it would take a lot less to provoke Éomer to such action. He could not understand how he and Éomer had gotten off to such a bad start, nor why the Northman clung so stubbornly to the thought that he would somehow do Éowyn harm. As he tried yet again to make sense of it, he remembered his last meeting with the King of Rohan…
After the ceremonies surrounding Aragorn's coronation had ended, the Rohirrim had grown increasingly restless, and it had not taken long for Éomer to announce the date of their departure from Minas Tirith. The time had gone all too quickly for Faramir, and now it was the evening before Éowyn had to leave. He and Éowyn had spent much of the afternoon walking around the city and talking, trying to get a few more precious moments alone before their separation. But now night was falling, and as much as he hated to admit it, Faramir knew he needed to take Éowyn back to the Citadel.
After her brother's return, Éowyn had moved into the guest quarters in the former Hall of the Stewards, now Aragorn's palace. The situation had proved to be a mixed blessing for the Steward. Since both his living quarters and the study where he did most of his work were still in the Citadel until all the arrangements for the settlement at Emyn Arnen were made, he got to see her much more frequently than he had when Éowyn was still living in the Houses of Healing.
On the other hand, Éomer was also staying in the guest quarters.
Faramir did not dislike the soon-to-be-crowned King of Rohan; in a way, Éomer reminded him a bit of Boromir. Although he looked nothing like Faramir's late brother, save maybe his tall, muscular build, it seemed that Éomer had a similar love of combat and sometimes brutally honest manner of speaking. In Éomer, however, these traits served as a bitter taste of how things might have been different between himself and Boromir if they had not been brothers. It was obvious to Faramir that Éomer did not like the idea of him courting his sister at all, despite the fact that thus far, he had not attempted to forbid Éowyn from seeing him. Éowyn had been no help; when he had asked her about it, she had simply said that Éomer was just being stubborn and would come around in time. It was a nice thought—Faramir could only hope she was right.
But he could not think about such things right now; his attention was completely taken by the golden-haired maiden who was lightly holding his arm as they entered the palace. They had an unspoken agreement not to speak of Éowyn's departure for that evening, and so they were both silent for the moment. Faramir started to turn down the hallway that led to the guest quarters, but Éowyn pulled him to a halt. "I am not ready to return yet," she said, grey eyes pleading with him. Faramir smiled as she took his hand and led him to the gardens. They quickly found a seat beneath a tree, and Faramir leaned his back against the trunk and wrapped his arm around Éowyn as she sat down close beside him, resting her head against his shoulder.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the leaves rustle over their heads as the sky grew darker. After awhile, Éowyn lifted her eyes to his and murmured contentedly, "I could live like this."
Faramir laughed. "Could you? I would think that this would be too dull for a wild shieldmaiden like you," he teased gently.
Her grey eyes sparkled as she gave him a tantalizing smile. "I have not yet grown tired of it," she said, sitting up and turning just enough that her soft lips could touch his. For a moment, he was unable to think, lost in the warmth of her kiss. Then the intensity of it deepened as he pulled her a little closer.
They abruptly pulled apart as he heard an indignant command, "Get your hands off of her!" Faramir sat back, startled to see Éomer standing a few feet away, his hand resting on his sword-hilt as he glared at them disapprovingly.
Éowyn's shock was quickly replaced by annoyance. "Honestly, Éomer, it was just a kiss," she said, brushing her hair away from her face as she glared back at her brother.
Éomer's eyes narrowed dangerously as his gaze turned to Faramir. "It looked like a little more than just a kiss to me."
"I can assure you that I would never do anything to bring your sister's honor into question," Faramir said coolly, though the way Éomer's hand kept tightening on his sword-hilt was making him a little nervous.
Éowyn rattled off an additional retort in Rohirric, spoken much too quickly for Faramir to catch. Éomer's face reddened slightly—whether from anger or embarrassment, Faramir could not tell. But his face softened as he looked at his sister and said, "You should get some rest; we will be getting an early start in the morning."
"Very well," she sighed, giving Éomer a look that clearly said this was not over yet as she got to her feet. She looked back at Faramir and added, "Will you walk me to my room?"
"As you wish, my lady," he said, pushing himself to his feet as Éowyn took his hand. Éomer moved to her other side, still glaring suspiciously at Faramir as the three of them walked to the guest quarters. Once they had reached Éowyn's door, she stood on her toes and whispered a good-night to Faramir, then kissed him lightly on the cheek. She also bid Éomer good night, kissing him on the cheek as well, and then entered her room after one last apologetic smile at Faramir.
The two men were left looking at each other warily as Éowyn closed the door behind her. Éomer's mistrust was plainly written on his face as he motioned Faramir away from his sister's door. Faramir complied, and once they were far enough away that Éowyn would not hear, Éomer whirled on him angrily. "What exactly do you want with her, Steward?"
Faramir was a little taken aback at the suspicious edge in Éomer's voice, but managed to keep his gaze steady. Deciding a straightforward approach would be best, he said, "I want to marry her."
"And what makes you think you deserve her?" Éomer asked, eyeing him coldly. It reminded Faramir of the way his father used to silently measure his quality—and once again, he could tell he had come up short in the other's eyes. Faramir fumbled for an answer that might possibly satisfy, but for once, words failed him. How can I convince him when I hardly believe it myself? he thought desperately. Éomer nodded curtly as if that had been the answer, then leaned in and said, "You will stay away from my sister."
Faramir could not miss the unspoken threat in Éomer's voice. Nevertheless, he met Éomer's firey gaze and said softly, "Do what you will, but I cannot and will not do that." Éomer opened his mouth to respond, but Faramir quickly added, "And what about Éowyn's wishes? Have you considered that?"
Éomer stared at him for a moment. His hand clenched into a tight fist as a number of conflicting emotions passed across his face before his mouth finally tightened to a thin line. "I will be watching you, Steward." Then he whirled and walked away.
Lost in his recollections, he was caught completely off-guard when the door to the hall opened and one of the guards of the Citadel walked in. "My lord?" he said, addressing the King. "The company from Rohan has arrived."
"Good," Aragorn said. "Send them my greetings, and give them time to take care of their horses and refresh themselves before sending them in." The guard bowed and exited, and Aragorn stood up and walked over to Faramir.
Faramir looked back at him a little warily. He was still unsure how to act around the new king, since he was used to having to constantly guard himself around Denethor. But unlike his father, Aragorn seemed to actually value his opinion, and so he was finally beginning to let his guard down—most of the time.
Aragorn lowered his voice as he looked at Faramir with a twinkle in his clear grey eyes. "I could always order Éomer to give you Éowyn's hand." Faramir looked at him in surprise as the king continued, "After all, it would be a very good match politically to have my second-in-command marry the sister of the king of Rohan. And since you already love her, I know that I would not have any argument from you." He grinned to let Faramir know that he was joking, at least in part.
Faramir laughed. "That is very kind of you." Then his smile faded a bit as he added, "But I would rather he consent freely. Éowyn would want it that way."
Aragorn clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "I know; I would too. But I will gladly help in any way I can. It is not easy to have to wait for the hand of the woman you love," he said, looking over at Arwen fondly.
"Thank you," Faramir said in genuine appreciation as the guard returned and announced that Éomer was waiting to see him.
-------
Éomer was a little surprised at the size of the group that awaited him as he was ushered into the great hall. Aragorn and his new queen were there, of course, along with Faramir. He had expected that, and was a little more surprised to see the four hobbits, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf. And, he had to admit, he was glad to see Lothiríel—though he was sure it was only a matter of time until she began attacking him again True, he had started it with his comment about women outside of Rohan not knowing how to handle a horse, but Lothiríel had more than risen to the challenge. He had enjoyed the resulting verbal battles more than he cared to admit, and months later, Éowyn still took every opportunity to tease him about the princess of Dol Amroth. For now, he simply grinned at her in greeting. She smiled back sweetly, though he could almost see her plotting her next move behind the innocent look she gave him.
His attention was taken away from Imrahil's daughter as Aragorn turned towards him. "It is good to see you again, Éomer," he said, clasping Éomer's arm in greeting. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"
"I cannot complain," Éomer said, smiling. "It is good to see you too, Aragorn."
Aragorn smiled and took the hand of the dark-haired elf standing slightly behind him. "I do not believe you have met my wife yet."
Éomer then turned to Arwen and had to force himself not to stare—she was easily the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Aragorn, you are a lucky, lucky man, he could not help thinking as the queen bowed her head and gave a little curtsey. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Éomer," she said politely, though her smile was warm. "I have heard much about you."
"The pleasure is mine, my lady," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it politely. He could not help feeling a little satisfaction when he saw a jealous look cross Lothiríel's face out of the corner of his eye, though she quickly hid it. Faramir was standing near her, an amused grin on his face as he watched his cousin. Éomer felt a prick of irritation at the sight of him, but quickly reminded himself that he had promised Éowyn that he would try to treat him well.
I might as well get this over with, Éomer thought with a sigh as he walked over towards the Steward. Faramir's face became an impassive mask, his raven-colored hair falling into his eyes a little as he nodded. "King Éomer," he said politely.
Éomer could not help noticing the way that Faramir twisted his ring around his finger nervously. And it seemed to him that the Steward's face had turned a little paler than usual, though it was hard to tell—the man already looked like it had been weeks since he had seen the sun. Probably because he spends all his time with those dusty old books, he thought before he was able to remind himself that he was being civil. "Lord Faramir," he said, returning the nod. "My sister bade me give this to you," he added, pulling a slightly crumpled letter out of a small pouch on his belt.
Faramir's eyes lit up, and a bright smile flashed across his face. "Thank you," he said, taking the folded parchment a little more eagerly than Éomer wished to see. "And how is she… the Lady Éowyn, I mean?" he added, belatedly trying to resume his formal tone as the smile faded.
"She is well, and sends her regrets that she was unable to accompany me on this journey as she is completing the preparations for King Théoden's funeral." Éomer turned slightly to address the entire company as he said this.
Aragorn spoke up then. "Which reminds me…Éomer, would you be able to meet with me later? I would like to make sure all the preparations on our part have been fulfilled to your satisfaction." Éomer nodded his consent, and Faramir breathed a sigh of relief as the horse-lord's attention was taken off of him. He could not help noticing that Éomer's hand still never left his sword-hilt when the young king addressed him. Aragorn said, "Good. We have a room prepared for you; I am sure you would like to take some time to rest from your journey before the feast tonight."
"Of course, thank you." Aragorn asked one of the servants to show him to his room, and Éomer bowed as he exited. As he left, he glanced over at Faramir one more time. Faramir returned the look steadily, and Éomer had the uncomfortable sense that Faramir was somehow trying to read his thoughts. For a moment, they watched each other warily, the tension between them as tangible as the warm metal of the sword hilt under his hand. Then Éomer looked away first, silently vowing that he would not let Faramir do that again as he walked out of the room. As soon as he had passed the doors, he felt the weight of the encounter lift off him.
Faramir watched him go with more than a little relief. He had not missed the suspicious look that Éomer had given him, nor how uncomfortable the horse-lord seemed to be as he had returned the glance. Faramir also did not relax until Éomer's back had vanished from sight. He looked back to see that everyone had been watching, and shifted his weight uncomfortably as he looked over at the King. "My lord," he said, "I just might take you up on that offer after all."
-------
Not long after, the company had dispersed to prepare for the feast that would be held that night. Merry and Pippin walked together towards their quarters. "Well, that didn't go very well, did it?" Pippin said as he thought about the obvious tension in the exchange between Faramir and Éomer.
"Not at all," Merry said. "It's a shame, really. I like both of them. I wish they could just try to get along, if only for Éowyn's sake. I would hate to see Éomer turn Faramir down; she's so happy with him."
"It's too bad that there's nothing we can do to help them," Pippin said thoughtfully. "There must be something they have in common to get them talking, besides Éowyn."
Merry stopped. "Pippin, that's one of the most brilliant ideas you've ever had!"
"What?" Pippin asked, clearly confused.
"They're both reasonable men. If we can just get them to sit down and talk it out, I'm sure that Éomer will see just how perfect Faramir is for Éowyn. Then he'll have to let her marry him." He grinned at Pippin. "Come on…we have some planning to do." The two young hobbits quickly ran off.
Several paces behind them, Frodo shook his head as he turned to Sam, a bigger smile on his face than had been there in quite awhile. "I almost feel sorry for Faramir and Éomer. They have no idea what they just got themselves into." Sam laughed as he and Frodo continued down the hall.
Once they were out of sight, a door that had stood slightly ajar opened, and Éomer glanced out, feeling a little foolish that he had resorted to eavesdropping. The hobbits obviously had not known they were passing his room or they would not have spoken so loudly, but still…
Éomer shook his head, then smiled a little. In battle, even the best-laid plans could easily fail if the enemy knew your strategy and was prepared to counter it. And even though they had not revealed the details of their plan, he had no doubt that he would be able to beat them at their own game.