He wasn't quite sure why he had decided to come home for Christmas. Maybe it was a feeling that it was simply what he should do, maybe because he was happy to see is family (or at least part of it) again, or maybe, because there was still the hope that some day, his father might be willing to say a couple of nice things to him. Pathetic, really. His therapist would have to say a couple of things about that, he supposed.

Now that he was here in London though, he only wanted to be back in Edinburgh, in his cosy chaotic appartment with too many books and knick-knack, the missmatched plates and blue couch. And with Minny and Mory, his two wonderful cats, of course. Another thing his father didn't approve of, apparently adopting two poor strays brought him only one step closer to being a 'cat lady'.
An idea that included his father's two biggest fears:

That A) Faramir could not find a wife or B) that he would not find one.
Oh, and add C) that he didn't conform to his standard of masculinity.

These fears seemed odd to Faramir though, and a very irrational thing indeed - why would his father care anyway? It wasn't as if 'the line was in danger', not that that was a good reason to have kids in the first place. No, no doubt Boromir would take care of that sooner or later. From all the comments he had recently heard about Cat Tully (irony in the name here), there might even be a candidate lined up. Faramir wasn't sure whether his big brother was even aware of his pining, probably not. But the former playboy mentioned her with a regularity that was surprising even to Faramir, and they had been through a lot together. Anyway, he was looking forward to meeting her.
Regarding the other fear - while Faramir himself would have had no issue with being gay, he was fairly sure he wasn't - it was simply that dating was not at the front of his mind. There was so much else to do, to see, to sort out, and if he was honest with himself, he was also bloody scared of getting hurt. He knew life had fucked him up his fair bit, and he didn't need to risk adding to this further, if there wasn't a very compelling reason. So, he usually became friends with women, but it never went any further, even though he knew there had certainly been interest from time to time.
And with regard to his masculinity - he could only shrug about this. Masculinity was a construct to begin with, something that any reasonable person should have realized by now. Which meant that Boromir might or might not be fully reasonable sometimes. For his own taste, he was masculine enough - whatever that meant. He didn't need to fuck around or talk over a girl to prove it.

But you want to prove yourself to your father, don't you? a persistant voice in his mind called out from time to time. After all, some habits were harder to kill than others.

For now however Boromir had dragged him out of the office building of Gondor Investments in a fancy part of London and down into a back alley. Just when the little brother had wondered whether he wanted to murder him and hide the body there after all, they had reached a little restaurant-bar-thing called Prancing Pony - nothing special from the outside, but bigger on the inside, Boromir had promised. Indeed it was, friendly, warm and smelling wonderfully of food and a mixture of ale, juice and whiskey that shouldn't be nice but somehow was. Christmas decoration was hanging and pinned everywhere and to his surprise the room was rather packed with people. Most seemed to know each other, standing around in groups or leaning against other people's tables. They squeezed towards the bar where a short man was cleaning glasses, giving them a friendly smile as they approached.

"Good evening!"

"Good evening Master Took," Boromir greeted him with an overly stiff little bow. Apparently there seemed to be a running gag behind it, "this is my brother, Faramir."

"Oh, the famous Scot!" the man exclaimed, his own Scottish brogue slightly tinting his words.

Faramir laughed.

"I am not sure what my brother told you, but I am sure it was highly exaggerated. And I am not sure whether I can lay claim on being Scottish yet."

The barkeeper shrugged.
"Ye sound like home, at least a wee bit. Now, what do you drink?"

"A pint, please," Faramir ordered, just like Boromir.

While the barkeeper got their drinks, he looked around a little, his keen eyes taking in the other patrons. It was a wild mixture, many people dressed carefully like his brother with suits, but just the same a couple of tourists and locals in jeans and sweaters. In this bar he really didn't stick out, he found, this was a relief. In the office, it had been super awkward - Faramir had arrived with the assumption just to drop in and drop out again, therefore he hadn't worn a suit. His father however had had other plans, and so he had felt fully out of place for most of the day in his jeans and leather jacket.

Suddenly, female laughter ripped him out of his musing. He turned towards the sound, it seemed to come from a little group that was sitting in a booth further back in the room. A blond-haired man was gesticulating at a dark-haired woman, while a redhead was leaning back against the cushion of the booth, still laughing. The forth person had burrowed their face in their hands - he assumed it was a woman who was hiding her face. At first he thought she might be crying, but judging by her companions' reactions, Faramir assumed her shoulders were shaking with laughter. He quietly wondered what would make a woman lose composure like that. The man just wanted to turn back, after all, staring was creepy, when she put down her hands. There were actual teartracks on her face, Faramir reckoned, he could see it in the way the light was reflecting on her skin. Still, she was smiling, a little bit wryly but certainly not unhappily.

Boromir followed his eyes.

"A girl?"

He quickly shook his head, but apparently not quickly enough to convince him.

"Which one, there are three!"

"None!" he told him firmly, but his brother almost smirked.

"Arwen is off the market," the barkeeper suddenly remarked dryly next to them, "Tauriel, the red-haired lassie, might be, too. Just for your information."

"Which one is Arwen?"

"The dark-haired lass."

"Great. Faramir likes blondes," Boromir declared shamelessly, not at all impressed when his little brother slapped him on the arm, "anyway, I think I might know her. So we have to introduce ourselves."

He stood up from his chair and started to make a beeline towards the table. There was nothing to do for Faramir but follow, which he did with much reluctance. Whether Boromir actually knew said Arwen or whether he was making it up just to annoy his brother was a mystery to him. They noticed their approach fairly quickly, while the woman he supposed was called Arwen gave them both a friendly smile, the man looked mostly intrigued and the red-haired woman like the cat who got the cream. Only the blond woman seemed a little bit insecure, but not unfriendly.

"Good evening," Boromir started, "may we join you?"

The red-haired woman looked him up and down.

"Maybe. Do you have any good stories to contribute to our evening?"

"We also accept work trouble, daddy issues, or dead mothers," the blond woman told the two.

Faramir startled at the delivery, so deadly serious that he couldn't quite say whether she was trying to scare them away or whether this was her sense of humour. He also kind of felt called out by her, as if she had looked through him with one glance and presented all his problems on a plate. Suddenly she flinched, he had the vague impression someone had kicked her against the shin.

"Well, I've got all three, is there still space next to you?" he asked her calmly, trying not to show that he was actually serious.

He could hear Boromir cough next to him, at the same time, the woman blanched.

"Oh my goodness I'm so so sorry, I didn't want to insult you!"

The woman sounded honestly close to a panic, it made him think that maybe she wasn't a people person or maybe a little bit shy. Still, she moved to the side, while the others put the jackets from the chair. He gave her a smile as he slid in next to her.

"Well, I'm Boromir, this is Faramir," his brother interrupted, " and I think I know you, right?"
He turned towards the dark-haired woman.

"I am not sure, to be completely honest," she answered, "I am Arwen. But we certainly might have met."

"Oh, aren't you Aragorn Telcontar's new girlfriend?" Boromir wanted to know.

Faramir looked at the woman with interest. Of course he knew Aragorn vaguely, a splendid guy, but somehow they always seemed to pass each other by without ever getting closer acquainted. Arwen looked like the picture of classiness and poise in a caramel-coloured woolen sweater (likely cashmere, he supposed), little make-up and dainty but expensive jewlery. If there was one thing Faramir was good at than it was reading people - and she was certainly from money. He probably should have known who she was related to, but truth be told, these kinds of politics were something he didn't really care about. Which was funny, since he was a huge history nerd otherwise. His cousin Lotty surely would know though, he might simply text her later.

"Indeed, I am," she confirmed with a smile that one could only call loving, "how do you know him?"

"Oxford," Boromir told her, "and I saw a picture of the two of you online somewhere I believe. Please, give him all my best!"

Faramir wondered whether now the 'where are you from - who are your parents' questioning would start, but Arwen only nodded happily.

"I will, of course, and I know he will be delighted. But say, what do you mean with 'newest girlfriend'? We have been together for more than five years."

"Well, apparently I mixed it up then," Boromir laughed, "but I feel I heard about a pretty weird story about her but what I can't recall."

He shrugged and Arwen frowned, for the first time looking less than pleased. The woman next to him had stiffened as well, apparently in solidarity with her friend, and Faramir cursed his brother's big mouth.

"Anyway," Arwen finally went on, "by way of introduction - these are Tauriel -" the redhead gave a little wave, "Legolas, and -"

"I'm Winnie," the blonde woman interrupted her, "and again, very sorry for earlier."

"No harm done," Faramir told her, finding himself more nd more curious about the stranger. From near she was even prettier than he had first thought. She had big eyes of a colour he couldn't quite describe in a slightly pale face and lips he tried hard not to stare at. Her perfume was swirling around him, nothing too painfully sweet, but fresh like a clear morning in the Highlands. Since they had to squeeze together in the booth, he couldn't really look at her directly without almost kissing her cheek, but he got a very good look of her hands. Hands could tell a lot about people, he thought, and hers were certainly mysterious. They looked well-cared for, her nails professionally done but not long, with only tiny white stripes on the tip. However, there were silvery scars scattered all over them, not unlike on his own. She wasn't wearing anything reassembling a wedding ring, but there was a band on her finger - silver with what he supposed was little thistles and horses engraved in it. Faramir smiled to himself - apparently he had found another Scotland fan. The jewlery didn't look too expensive, which surprised him a bit, but well, taste and income could vary even in a friend group. He himself was proof that money didn't exactly equal a taste for flashy clothing.

Tauriel sort of matched her the best, just like Winnie she was wearing a dark blazer and a blouse, though hers seemed a lot lower cut. A pendant was nestled between her collar bones, but the man didn't dare to look more closely. Legolas was just as carefully dressed as Arwen, just like her in an understatedly fancy way. While Faramir didn't care much for fashion, he recognised it when he saw it. The man across from him certainly had a thing for it.

Once again, he felt he stuck out, but the others didn't seem to bother. Over the next hour they included him in their conversation as if they had known each other for ages. Tauriel and Legolas were mostly running the show, he wondred whether the dynamic was always like that. Still, it reminded him of his friends in Edinburgh, uncomplicated, homey, even though he could feel they were careful about the information they were sharing.

He found out that everyone had had a mostly bad day, that Legolas and Tauriel worked together, that Winnie and Arwen both had brothers, and that Tauriel had gone to Cambridge just like himself well but he somehow had never met her. However, they both had done competitive archery, so they had had the same instructors, only with a couple of years in between. Legolas seemed to have a puppy and Winnie had a horse, an information he filed away for later. She really was more on the calmer side, he found, a little bit brooding maybe. He didn't made it, but it was also slightly frustrating, since he would have liked to know more about her.

In return he told them about his life in Edinburgh, about the places he liked to go - some recommendations, if they ever went to visit. He was just telling them about his favourite restaurant, the Echtelion, when the woman next to him scoffed. He turned to look at her, while the others laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Last time I went there I got food poisoning and was throwing up all weekend. So the Echtelion and I aren't friends any longer."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I am sad to hear that."

"Are you sure it wasn't the drinks?" Boromir, blunt as usually, asked.

More laughter, and a small sardonic smirk by Winnie.

"I am fairly certain I can hold my drink, but thank you for the consideration."

The tone suggested that she hadn't heard the comment for the first time.

"What would you recommend, then?" Faramir wanted to know.

"The Green Dragon for a pub and Mith & Ril if you want to be really fancy," she answered without missing a beat.

"Mith & Ril has half a year waiting list, minimum," he argued.

It was true, the Scottish-Japanese fusion restaurant was one of the society hotspots in Edinburgh, but he hadn't managed to visit yet, despite his connections. Unfortunately, his father had been unwilling to help, so he was waiting for his table until today. Besides, who would he take? Lotty, most likely. Who for some reason had already been there, and hadn't shut up about it for weeks.

"Indeed, it has," the woman now confirmed with a small smile.

"You've been there?" Faramir asked, just to be sure.

"Yes. I wouldn't recommend it if I hadn't."

"How did you get in?"

She only smiled enigmatically, a really really pretty smile that made something in his belly flutter.

"No, seriously," he pushed.

Then he his ears got hot. He wasn't usually foreward like that, but he was curious by nature, especially if things didn't make sense. She still didn't say anything, but also didn't look away. Their eyes caught, and something zinged through him, unfamiliar and strong. After a moment, Boromir, the brute, loudly cleared his throat, breaking the connection. She looked away, a blush on her cheeks. Faramir could hear her murmur something to herself but couldn't quite catch it, but it didn't sound English. Another thing to be surious about, though he still didn't know how she had gotten that table!