Some awkwardness, some ground rules.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Christmas (Baby Please Let'S Go To My Dad's Home)

Éowyn smiled a little.

"Coffee machine is behind you. I believe you know how to use one?" She raised an eyebrow, "or is his Lordship being used to being catered to from hand to foot?"

Faramir huffed and he wondered whether he could get away with swatting his new fake-girlfriend on her butt. Probably not. So he turned around towards said coffee machine - and his own eyebrow rised up.

"Well, I know how to use a coffee machine. But this is a barista's dream and I won't touch THAT with a stick. And I get the feeling," he moved back towards her to tap her on the nose, "that you yourself are used to being pampered head to toe. Am I right, or am I right?"
"Maybe?" She grinned impishly, "but maybe I should probably sort-of get dressed for this discussion. If you want to, you can jump in the shower and I throw your stuff into the wash, I am pretty sure I left lipstick stains on your shirt somewhere last night. If you play nice I will even throw in your underwear and make coffee."

For a moment, Faramir wondered why she was being so nice. Then he remembered that - contrary to his father - there were people in this world that didn't generally treat him like garbage.

"What about you?"
"I can be quick in the shower, besides I washed my hair yesterday and I couldn't do that now anyway - it would take ages to dry. Now, get lost before I change my mind! Towels are in the little chest next to the window, and there should be a toothbrush somewhere in the mirrored cabinet."

Éowyn pushed him out of the kitchen, and he sighed theatrically before he slipped into her bathroom and dropped his clothes in front of the door. Faramir had suspected it the night before, but now that he had a thorough look around, it was confirmed - his host's bathroom was certainly very stylish. Everything was colour-coded in greens and blues with wooden elements and the odd sea-shell here and there. A couple of watercolours hung framed on the wall, somehow he had the feeling they weren't just cheap prints.
Her rainshower was as big as half of his whole bathroom in Edinburgh, rather the sort of shower they had at his father's place, but with white tiles and less chrome. Faramir studied the labels on her body wash - something organic but allegedly fresh and minty. Good, at least he wouldn't smell like a rose-bush later. It was harder with the hair shampoo, she had one of these pressed bars without a label or any direction on how to use it. As he smelled on it, he thought there was the light hint of cinnamon and honey - it would do, he supposed.

The water was warm and calming on his body, and for the first time the man started to wonder what exactly they were doing here. Faking a relationship?! Stupid idea! Especially with a woman like her, who could have any guy she wanted with a snap of her fingers. It would all end in a mess, he could see it now. But well, now he had already driven head-first into this chaos, and there was no way he could tell his father (and likely his whole family at this point) that it had just been a mistake. They would never let him live that down. So, it seems as if the charade would have to go on, for now.

With a nodd to himself he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, due to a lack of clothing he decided to stay wrapped in the very fluffy towel. He quickly brushed his teeth and stole her comb to run it through his hair before he opened the door to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Éowyn danced down the hallway towards him, obviously in a bit of a surprisingly giddy mood, and Faramir didn't miss her amused grin as she pushed past him. Then she closed the door and he heard water being turned on.
What could he say, she had been right, she was actually super quick in getting ready, or at least in taking a shower. When she came back into the kitchen - where he had set up camp in the meantime - she was already dressed quite casually in middle-blue jeans and a white wollen sweater, a little bit like Arwen's the night before. A sweater with Prada plastered all over the front. He grinned.

"The 'cheap' really pissed you off, didn't it?"

She shrugged, but the twinkle in her eyes told him that he was on the right track.

"If it's any consolation, the jeans are from a thriftshop. But your dad doesn't need to know."

Éowyn squeezed next to him to help herself to a coffee as well, and he certainly didn't miss the not-so-subtle way in which she checked him out. Her own hair was still piled on top of her head in an adorable messy beehive and her face was bare of make-up - she looked beautiful, real, and he leaned foreward to peck her on the lips. She responded as if she had only waited for him to do exactly that, and then continued to pepper kisses all over his shoulders, almost insistently enough to make him forget about the brunch all together and simply stay here, with her. Then she leaned back against the counter.

"I'll just quickly put your stuff in the dryer, then we can make a plan!"

She disappeared and he could hear her rummage in another room further down the hallway. Then she was back, but she suddenly seemed much less confident than earlier.

"Éowyn, what's the matter?"

Something odd flickered over her face and she started to chew on her lips. When she sighed, it sounded as if something was weighing on her chest.

"Alright, I'll be honest with you - I told you, I looked up your company before - but I didn't just look, I actually researched it. Thing is, I already know most things that are publicly known about your family and you can basically assume I know anything about Gondor Investments that is somehow mostly legally accessible. Stocks, markets, and so on."
She flinched.
"I get it if you think that's creepy."

Well, it was, truth be told, but it was the business-world and besides, he didn't have time for these considerations right now.

"I thought we had established it won't get us into trouble."

Éowyn nodded.

"Sure. If it's any consolation, I know nothing about you aside from the fact that you are the second son of Denethor Steward, the Earl of Minas Tirith - Faramir, Lord Emyn Arnen. You went to Cambridge, you do archery, you hold the Edinburgh branch of the family business. And since last night I know you like whisky, your mum's dead and you have daddy issues. And no offence but you have brother-issues as well. Oh, and you have a very wicked mouth on you."

"Seems like quite a bit to me," he remarked. She had been right in all points, not that he had doubted her qualifications in research. More the public relations dudes of Gondor Investments.
"And I seem to be at quite a disadvantage."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest in an almost haughty gesture.

"Please, you know where I live and what colour my bedsheets have. I would consider that rather intimate, don't you think?"
"Well, mine are blue, in case you wanted to know. But now, my turn. What about you? What's your full name? Your job? Your favourite hobby?"
"Oh," she seemed surprised, as if she had forgotten she hadn't told him, "it's Eorl."
"Eorl like in...?" he tested the waters.
"Eorl like in 'niece-to-Théoden-Duke-of-Edoras-but-doesn't-have-a-title-because-of-patriarchy'. I went to UCL and then to the University of St Andrews. I'm a lawyer, but I have a second degree in business. I don't do archery, but I play polo, my horses are my hobby. Arwen is my best friend, also I like whisky and mum AND dad are dead, but you knew this already. I have an older brother as well, you heard me talking to him on the phone yesterday. We both work for Rohan Industries."

Talking was not what he would have called that, but it certainly told him one or two things about the tone. The relationship to nobility also partly explained her obviously rather affluent lifestyle, though he had the feeling that her own ambition and wits also made up a huge chunk of it.

"Horses, as in, plural?" he wanted to know.

She nodded.
"Three, I don't have time for more."
Éowyn smiled a bit bashful.
"This sounds so excessive, but I am from a horse-family. We are basically put on horses before we can walk. One of my horses, Maid Marian, she was my first pony. Now she is almost thirty, and I have promised her she can stay with me, in her home, as long as she lives. Of course, nobody rides her anymore, but she loves being cuddled and she is an excellent model, if you ever need one for a photo project. She will let you do just about everything. Then I have Windfola, my polo horse. But she also loves cross-country. And then Witch Queen, that's her daughter. I'll probably break her in next spring. But I am so sorry, I am rambling!"

He laughed.
"No no, it's good to know these things. So, three horses, Maid Marian, Windfola, Witch Queen. I've got two cats, by the way. Minny and Mory, and my dad hates them."
"That's a shame, I am sure they are cute."
"I think they are, objectively they are rather not, I am afraid," he admitted, "I got them from a rescue."
"I am sure they are glad to have you," Éowyn answered sincerely.
"Well, I hope so. Anyway, how old are you?" he finally asked.
"Shouldn't you have asked me that before going home with me?" she teased him.
"Well, I was fairly certain you were over eighteen," he argued, "especially after the whisky."

Truth be told, he had thought about that for a moment, but her looks and behaviour had screamed 'adult'.

"Fair enough. So, what's your guess?"
"I would guess around 22, but that might be off," he told her.

Actually, the question had bothered him quite a bit, especially since he usually got these numbers rather precisely. She shook her head and came closer, until she was leaning into his personal space.

"Wrong. What about you? I would guess maybe scratching the 30? Or am I not allowed to say that lest I trigger a midlife crisis?"

He huffed. Her assessment was correct, as much as he hated it most days. It made him feel old, and useless, as if he hadn't done enough and should do so much more – but didn't know what. Maybe this was a side-effect of his father's continuous needling, at least that was what his psychologist had carefully suggested. Well, even if it were, there wasn't much he could do about, right?

"Glad to know you assume I will die at 60," he answered dryly, "but yes, you're right."

Éowyn frowned and he didn't quite understand why.

"Wait - so if you are 30, and you thought I was 22, you were full-on willing to cradle-snatch me!"

Faramir blushed scarlet red.

"Maybe not my proudest moment. But, in my defence, I didn't plan that when we joined you, which was never my intention to begin with. Even though I might or might not have admired you from across the room. Where the lighting made it absolutely impossible to assume your age. And if I am not mistaken, you were very willing to be cradle-snatched-up, even though I guess you know you look young and you were guessing my age correctly!"
"Indeed, it seems like it," she murmured against his lips, before she leaned back. "Also, I'm 25, so I guess that's fine. On paper at least."
"Do you really want to argue the morality of it right now? I believe we are a couple of steps too late for that!"

He rolled his eyes, just as the dryer beeped in the background.

"And I guess, that's my cue to finally get dressed."
When he had just left, he stopped at the door.
"Oh, and Éowyn? Thank you for the five-star review you gave Arwen about me."

Éowyn's face went through the five stages of confusion until it was finally her who blushed bright red - well, knowing Gaelic sometimes came with advantages, apparently. It was true though, what she had said to Arwen about him, had been nice in the widest sense of the term, but that didn't mean he couldn't mess with her a little. HE could almost hear her gape behind him as he sauntered off to get his clothes - one point for him.

When he came back, Faramir found her in the bathroom, just doing her make-up.

"I was thinking nice, soft-girl-next-door aesthetic? What do you think?"
"Not too nice," he told her, and watched with amusement as she deftly dunked her brush in dark eyeshadow and started to add it to the colour that was already on her eyes. It looked good, but he had maybe liked her even more without make-up on.

He stole her hairspray and got his hair at least in something resembling an order, at the end he had to admit the two of them didn't look half bad standing next to each other in front of the mirror. Faramir could see she had raided her safe in the meantime and was now wearing jewellery, the same silver ring she had worn the night before, but now combined with golden earrings, and a necklace. The man didn't believe for a second that the stones on it were fake, and he knew his father wouldn't either.

"Ready?"

She threw a couple of things including her phone into a handbag, then nodded.

"Yes, let's do this."