Hi! :) I haven't post on this site since forever (and I also have forgotten how to use it) but after years of ao3 I thought Lords of the Ring could be nice here as well. So, I hope you like it.

I'm finally giving my favorite pair a chance, even if I feel completely not a decent enough writer to do so, but anyway -a couple of things for you to enjoy the story (hopefully) a bit more:

1) my Faramir is movie Faramir. To be specific, he has the face and the body of David Wenham, and this is why you'll find his hair blonde and his eyes clear. I absolutely cannot help myself. 2) English is not my first language; I normally write fics in English but being this Lord of the Rings, I feel like my use of the language is not elegant enough. nonetheless, I've decided to give it a try anyway so I hope it's still enjoyable even if not perfect.

nothing more about the story itself because I kind of like the idea of you discovering what I want to do one step at a time. I really, really hope I'm doing a decent job and giving them justice :) and if you want, leave a review to make me happy!

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Prologue

Éomer

King Éomer of Rohan was not known to be a man who trembled.

Apparently, that was no longer the case.

After the Battle of the Pelennold Fields, after the Gates, after he had to stay still and wait for Frodo and Sam to succeed or to convict them all to a death sentence. He was convinced that, it didn't matter how long he was going to live, he would never forget what he had experienced when he had thought he was going to die without having hold his beloved sister for the last time between his arms. His little sister he had proved to be not capable of protecting.

Hence the trembling.

Because after all they had to face, after he had been convinced that he was going to die, that she was going to die and he was going to hold her lifeless body like he had their uncle's, she had not came to him.

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and a voice he knew very well, a voice that had become dear to him during the time of darkness. He turned and looked in the face of who now rightfully was the King of Gondor.

"My friend," Aragorn spoke, and in his blue eyes the young King of Rohan read something unnamable. "You seem troubled."

"She did not come," Éomer said with simplicity. His hand closed in a fist around nothing.

"I cannot understand. Merry just spoke to me about her, he assured she was in good health the last time he had seen her. She should be here."

"She should be," he confirmed. "I, as well, do not understand her reasons."

The hand on his shoulder turned into a friendly hug around his back. "Come, my friend. Let us speak about Éowyn with Merry and Pippin. Besides, there is a matter I intend to discuss with you."

"A matter of what kind?"

With a sigh, Éomer followed the King inside the main tent. Despite what they have been through, a sense of hope and life filled the narrow space, along with a sparkling fire, laughs, and the scent of beer and good food.

Hobbits: you can take them outside the Shire, but there is no possibility to take the Shire out of them.

The two Kings took a seat and were immediately presented with two plates full of the tastier food they could have, considering the solution they find themselves in.

Prince Imrahil, a man Éomer had come to know and appreciate, sat down next to Aragorn, while Merry was all smiles next to the King of Rohan.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" he asked Aragorn, wishing for something to take his mind away from worries about his sister.

Aragorn gave him a smile and said: "It is the right moment to discuss so, my friend. Now that we are alive and safe, there is nothing I would wish for more than a renewed and long-lasting alliance between our kingdoms."

"There is nothing that would please me more, as well," Éomer declared, offering a smile that went from Aragorn to Imrahil. "Please, speak at once and tell me what you wish for."

"A marriage," Aragorn declared.

Éomer mentally listed every dreadful option that could present itself with this statement, and they were: himself married to a frivolous Gondorian lady; Éowyn married to Aragorn himself.

He could not picture what could be worse. But could it be possible, that he wished to marry Éowyn, after he had so clearly refused her affection? Did not the whole company knew there was, after all, an Elvish lady?

The prospective of himself with a Gondorian woman presented clearer.

"I see you are confused," Aragorn nodded. "A marriage between your sister, the Lady Éowyn, and Faramir, son of Denethor, the Steward. Imrahil's sister-son."

As he said so, he placed a friendly hand on the older man's forearm.

Yes. Not exactly what Éomer would have expected.

"I do not know the Steward," he simply objected, saying the first thing that came to his mind. And as if asking for help, he turned to look at Imrahil.

"He is the best among men," the man declared. "Kind and brave, and noble in every sense of the word. Every woman would be very fortunate indeed, to call herself his wife, if you allow me to say so, King Éomer."

"I do not wish to have my dear sister forced to be the wife of a man she does not know, nor want," he murmured. But then, as soon as the word were out of his mouth, a shocking yet sudden truth formed in his mind. He was bound to give Éowyn away, at some point. Be it to this Steward, be it to someone else. She was four and twenty. She needed to marry. It was what was expect of her, be her the killer of the Witch King or not. What other option did she have, in Rohan? Despite what he was thinking about, he said: "And I am not convinced I want to live so far away from her."

"Think you she will be happy to go back to Rohan?" Aragorn objected. "I have known her for such a short time, and I have seen nothing but sorrow in her eyes."

He knew about Grima, or knew he not? Éomer could not say. But he was right.

"What about… Faramir?" he asked, looking at Imrahil.

"I share your concerns, King Éomer. After what that boy had to bear during his childhood, I wish him to wed for love and in the prospect of happiness."

A smaller voice broke into the conversation.

"But I do have seen them together."

It was Merry.

Three men turned to look at the Hobbit.

"Speak at once!" Éomer commanded.

"They were together in the House of Healing," Merry started, his cheek turning into a slight shade of red. "The Lord Faramir is indeed noble and kind -"

"The Lord Faramir is the most valiant among men!" another voice swore, and it belonged to Pippin, sitting on the other side of the table. Then, he followed his cousin in blushing and muttered: "After you three, my lords, clearly. I'll be quiet, now."

"He is," Merry confirmed. "Valiant. And every day he would call on the Lady Éowyn and he would offer her his arm, and they would spend the day together, some time in speak, some time in silence, and they would walk and break their fast together."

"Every day?" Éomer asked, surprised.

"Most of them," Merry nodded. "The Lady Éowyn looked delighted to have the Steward's company."

"I do not understand," Éomer just said, looking around the table. "But I wish to see my sister and judge for myself."

"Well," Aragorn raised his glass. "We are going to Gondor, tomorrow."

That is not my sister, Éomer told himself as his horse stopped right after they have passed the gates of Gondor. A gathering of viewers had made its way to greet the royal delegation, kings coming back to their thrones, warriors with fearless gazes, and the hobbits and their grins.

Among the crowd, Éowyn's was the first face Éomer could locate. She was wearing a plain, white dress, and its simplicity underlined the healthy coloring of her face, her rosy cheeks, her shining green eyes. Her shield arm was still in a cast, but that aside, she looked perfectly fine.

"She looks beautiful, right?" Merry grinned, sitting behind Éomer's back, sharing the same horse.

The King of Rohan barely nodded, but then, something else caught his attention.

His sister was not alone.

Next to her stood a tall, proud man, his blonde hair blowing in the wind. He was wearing a black vest with the silver tree of Gondor and a cloak, black as well.

"That man…" he started, apparently speaking to Merry, searching for the words to express what he was feeling. His sister, alive and if not happy, at least apparently balanced, and healthy. In a different realm. A real where he had never thought she could feel at home.

Had Aragorn been right, at last? Could his sister truthfully wed this man?

Looking closer, Éomer realized how Éowyn's eyes were on him, but the Steward's clear ones were not about to leave Éowyn's face, and his hand was near his sister's elbow, a simple presence.

"Yes," Merry confirmed, the glee clear in his voice. "That is Faramir. I'm not a specialist in the matters of the heart, King Éomer, but I have reasons to believe he thinks high of your sister. Highest of any other woman. And please, do believe me when I tell you that no other woman in the Middle Earth deserves happiness more than the Lady Éowyn."

"Thank you, Merry," he placidly said. "I'll solve this, hopefully."

Éomer stalled his horse and jumped on the ground, and at once, he was holding her, her arm strong around his back, her voice full of tears while she said his name.

"Sister," he grinned, moving her at arm's length to look at her. "You look well, sister."

"I know," she confirmed, and in the light in her eyes, he saw a smug attitude that was utterly hers, and he had not seen since their childhood. Before their parents died, before… before Grima. Before everything.

"I am so happy to find you healthy, sister."

"And I, you, my dear brother," she assured him, leaning forward to kiss his bearded cheek. Her eyes left his face for the briefest of moments, to look at the Steward, engaged in conversation with Aragorn. Éomer could not read the emotions playing on her face.

"I must admit, I was expecting you to come to me, when called. We have been apart for so long."

"It wasn't time, for me, to leave Gondor," she said, her eyes filled now with a serious intent. "Besides, I knew you would join me, here, in due time. I am sorry if I caused you any sorrow, brother."

"You have not," he was quick to tell her, his hand closing on her shoulder. "I am merely happy to be here now, reunited with you at last. Let us not speak about the past. We just have the future, ahead of us."

Éowyn raised a hand, placing it on his cheek. "You will make such a fine king, my brother."

That night, as they ate a dinner that tasted of freedom and new beginnings, it was easy to find a brief moment to engage a short conversation with Aragorn - he had tried addressing him as King Elessar, but the answer had been that no Elessar nor king existed between friends and brothers. The Steward was sitting at his right, but his eyes appeared not able to leave his sister, to whom he was speaking in a low voice, making her laugh every once in a while.

"I think you may have the right idea, my friend. But please, allow me the time to speak with my sister alone."

That opportunity presented itself the following morning, as Éowyn joined him in his chambers to break their fast together.

"Sister," he smiled widely, taking place next to her. "I have a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you."

"I'm listening," she promised, sitting more comfortably in her chair, a glass of pale ale in her right hand. Once more, Éomer found himself in utter surprise. He was not such a fool to think her as fine as new, but he had reasons to believe she was on the correct path. What could have been the cause? Did it really depend on the Steward? Had his sister truly found love, after having his heart broken by Aragorn?

"There is no other way to tell you this, sister," he started seriously, swallowing a sip of his own beer to ease the lump in his throat. "But as soon as Aragorn is crowned king, we need to forge a new alliance with Gondor. I would want you to wed with a man of Gondor."

He took a moment to study her face, her grey eyes widening, her mouth opening in shock. "Please tell me you don't intend me to marry the king."

"No," he promised, taking her hand in comfort. "But after the king, he's the highest personality in the kingdom. I have met him just briefly, but his value precedes him. And I presume he would be a good husband for you, and a good alternative to some old men from Rohan. I do not wish to part from you, but if you would accept this destiny, I won't stop you."

He finally fell silent, and if her eyes were big before, she looked positively astonished by now.

"Could you be speaking about Fa - the Lord Faramir?"

She was quick in correcting herself, but Éomer indeed noticed her mistake.

So she called him Faramir.

He nodded. "You know him, I would assume."

Éowyn nodded. "Yes, brother. We spent the same period of time in the House of Healing, and we had the chance to get acquainted with one another."

"Could you possibly feel -"

"No," she made a haste in replying. Her tone was so determined, as he had never heard from her before. "Nonetheless," she rectified, lowering her gaze. "I will do as my king and brother commands. If he wishes for me to be his wife. I desire no man's pity, nor I would wish to be near him, if he wants me not."

Éomer took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

"So be it, sister. I'll speak with Aragorn and the Steward this afternoon."