Oh gosh. No. Please no!
This had been the only though in Éowyn's mind as soon as the suit guy had introduced the two of them. Because at that point, she had already figured out where she knew him from - The website of Gondor Investments, the company she would have sort-of fucked over if her uncle had granted her green light for her own project. He was Boromir Steward, heir of the finance empire, and, to make matters worse, additionally part of English aristocracy. (Just like herself, but that was beside the point).
Faramir - leather jacket guy - was therefore the brother she had tried to research for weeks and found literally nothing about. The only thing she knew was that he was leading the Edinburgh branch of the company, and that was why he had become so important for her plans. In response, Éowyn had turned around every stone to find information and preferably some kind of dirt on him, but there hadn't been the tiniest crumb. The man had no apparent social media aside from a very boring LinkedIn account, no Facebook, no Instagram, nor X. No questionable comments, no affairs, no pictures of him puking after a college party. Only a couple of mentionings about successes in archery competitions for Cambrige University, a comment about excellency in his studies, and one about his generous financial contribution to a children's hospital. Her own brother looked like a heathen in comparison! There hadn't been any photos, not even on his LinkedIn. At that point, Éowyn had started to wonder whether he either hated people that much, was super shy, or whether he was too ugly for society's standards. The last thought had made her unexplicably angry - while she wasn't a stranger to physical attraction, she very much hated discrimination of any kind.
Now he was suddenly standing in front of her, and no, there was certainly nothing wrong with his face. Or the rest of his body, as far as she could tell from first glance. Damn it, the man was hot, even hotter than she had assumed earlier. He seemed broader built than Legolas, but less so than his brother next to him, maybe a bit like Aragorn. He held himself very upright, which made him look taller than he probably was, still the space seemed dominated by the man in front of him. Right away Éowyn was reminded of Éomer and herself, where one sibling took the limelight, while the other one had to fight to carve out a space for oneself. Then, sharp greenish eyes flickert towards her face, and right then Éowyn didn't know what to do.
So, naturally, she had tried to scare him away with one of her dry comments. The next second, she could have hit herself - of course he had a dead mother, after all, she had read about that during her research. Éowyn might want him to go away, but she ahdn't intended to be excessively mean, after all, he hadn't done anything to her aside from existing. It hadn't worked, obviously, and had only led to embarassment, but he had handled it with much more grace than she ever be told, she still wasn't sure whether he actually had daddy issues, but judging by the flash of panic in his eyes, she had at least hit a nerve somewhere there.
The woman was fairly certain Faramir had no clue who she was, or rather, who anyone of the group was. His brother seemed to be a bit better informed, he knew Arwen, at least by name, through ehr relationship with Aragorn. A bit of a weird coincident, but whatever. It was no wonder he hadn't heard of Tauriel before - unfortunately, most people hadn't until she crushed them in court - but it surprised her that Legolas didn't ring a bell. After all, they must run in the same circles. Well, didn't they all. British high society often felt slightly incestuous. When he had started to play at Aragorn's ex (read: herself), she had known there was no way she would tell them her real name. Let them think whatever, she had no interest in discussing old stories, especially after the day she had had. They had eaten up her nickname well enough, which made her just a little bit proud about her ability of keeping a low profile.
Now, she was squished against Faramir on the bench, cursing the fact that she knew he was wearing Sauvage by Dior and she would likely never again be able to smell that perfume without thinking about leather jackets and grey-green eyes. She appreciated he wasn't turning towards her fully, because that would have meant almost kissing her, but somehow she regretted slightly that she couldn't have a good look at him in return.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! she scolded herself. He shouldn't be of anything but professional interest to her, and the swooping notion in her belly was certainly not professional.
She found herself wondering what he thought about her, about her perfume and her thick braid that kept brushing his shoulder whenever she leaned forward to take up her glass. Then she tried to push these thoughts as soon as they had come, but it wouldn't quite work. Éowyn tried to distract herself by listening to the ongoing conversation, but unfortunately Faramir was contributing far too much. Still, he had a very nice voice and she found she loathed and liked listening to him equally, which was a grudging advantage, since she didn't quite know what to say herself.
She wasn't a quiet person by any means, neither in her job nor in private company, but he made her unsure where to start.
What do you say to a person you have online-stalked for days to try and mess with later, just to find out they are actually apparently pretty nice, pretty decent (at least in private company) and very very much your type?
Faramir was an interesting case, he was open and guarded at the same time. Open in the way that he shared stories - stories about his home in Edinburgh, about streets she knew, places she had been. Guarded in the way that while these tales were entertaining, they didn't really reveal anything personal aside from his love for the city, whiskey, and Scottish country dance, and that he would have liked the sea to be warmer and the weather to be sunnier.
Only when he started to praise the Echtelion, Éowyn couldn't hold back any longer. After the food poisoning incident, there was no way she would endorse such blatant heresy!
And really, it wasn't her fault that he had never gotten into Mith & Ril while she had sort of a standing reservation - after all, she had connections as well!
When their eyes locked for a moment, grey into grey, her heart literally stumbled. Maybe that was what a heart attack felt like. For a moment, the world was full of possibilities, pathways in which she was braver and bolder, until Boromir coughed and the illusion shattered to sharp, glittering pieces. She was sure she was blushing, a hot, uncomfortable feeling, only increased by the even more uncomfortable feeling of being , Arwen came to her rescue with a story of her latest trip to France and the local cuisine, giving her time to compose herself. Which was very difficult with a warm body pressed against her side, close enough to touch.
After a while Pippin appeared at their table to bring drinks for another round, a service he offered since they had become sort-of friends over the years, and certainly also because he was inherently curious what was going on. It appeared he knew Boromir as well, and Éowyn wondered how that had never come up in conversation. Next time, she would squeeze it out of him, she promised herself. The barkeeper seemed to have a certain sixth sense when it came to drinks - of course he knew what they were usually having, but nonetheless he had a talent for picking the right thing at the right moment.
Éowyn was fairly certain he had given Legolas the fizzy girly drink with umbrellas just to mess with Boromir, and judging by the look, it worked. When she risked a glance at Faramir next to her, a small smile played around his lips as he traded a look with the man across the table. Legolas winked back and he laughed, a rich, full sound, though somehow a bit quiet as if he was used to be seen but not to be heard. Éowyn could relate. For a moment she wondered whetehr he was rather playing for Legolas' team as well - that would be a relife, wouldn't it? If only some traiterous feelings weren't so annoyed at that thought...
His eyebrows shot up though as he considered Éowyn's own drink, whiskey neat, in a pretty crystal tumbler.
"For my resident snob."
Then he turned towards Tauriel.
"I somehow had the feeling you wouldn't appreciate the gesture."
Éowyn could see Tauriel was frowning from across the table, but she knew it had very little to do with the drink itself and much with the memories associated with it.
"No, thank you Pippin, I think I prefer whatever you put in my glass here."
The redhead took a big sip of the concoction that Pippin had served her.
"What do you have, gentlemen?" Pippin asked the two Stewards.
While Boromir ordered another beer, Faramir turned to the blond woman next to him.
"Any good?"
She smiled.
"If it is the one I had last time, then yes."
"It is lassie," Pippin confirmed, and she beamed at him.
"Then I'll have what the lady is having," Faramir told him, "but on the rocks, please."
Éowyn scoffed before hissing through her teeth as a very well situated kick hit her leg.
"Legolas, what the fuck?"
She bit her lip, blushing again.
"Just wanted to make sure you don't start ranting," he answered without remorse. "You know, she can rant about whiskey without end," he explained with a wistful air, "and she considers water or ice in whiskey to be the ultimate sin."
"Look who's talking. The man with the private wine cellar who will only drink the bordeaux at a certain temperature," she bit back.
"Jealous much?"
"Not particularly."
"I see this seems to be a topic of frequent debate," Faramir interfered.
Arwen laughed.
"Quite so. But don't fret, they have spilt enough blood about it, they won't tonight."
She looked at both her friends sternly while Pippin returned with another ale for Boromir and another tumbler for Faramir. The young man took it with a polite smile, and if Éowyn's eyes lingered just a little bit longer on his elegant fingers, who was she to blame.
He seems to be using hand lotion.
The random thought crept into her mind and she smiled down at her drink. He certainly wasn't wearing a ring either, though the way his hand curled around the tumbler was highly distracting. It made her think about what else he could do with said hand if he -
As if he had felt her look, he turned towards her and smiled, almost shyly.
"A toast!" Boromir suddenly declared, and got up, saving her from any furtehr awkwardness. "To lying, cheating, stealing and drinking: May you lie in the arms of the one you love, may you cheat death, may you steal away from bad company, and may you drink with me."
Tauriel was the first to clink her glass against his.
"Sláinte!" It sounded a little bit sad, but she was still smiling.
Éowyn lifted her glass as well.
"Sláinte!"
She took a sip of her whiskey, enjoying the way the way the drink filled her mouth and flowed down her throat. Woodsy and sweet, just as she liked it. Not too much smoke, more honey and maybe even a bit of fruit. Next to her, Faramir hummed as he tried his drink. Something tingled across her scalp and she almost flinched. That wasn't possible, right? Humans didn't work as ASMR.
"It's exceptional, you've got good taste," he told her seriously.
"I know."
It came out less playful and more breathless than she had planned, but he didn't seem to mind., Instead, he chuckled lowly.
"So whiskey is your thing?"
"Well, yes, in a way. More than any other drink at least. But it's not life-determining or anything."
"Even though it is the water of life?"
"Even so."
Just as she wanted to add more, the phone in her pocket started to ring. It made her jump a little and bump against Faramir who only chuckled again and calmly set down his tumbler. With a slight frown Éowyn pulled out her phone and silently cursed as she saw the caller ID. Éomer, of course. What did he want now? In retrospect, she should have let it go on voice mail and turned off her phone. Just let it be, die another day. But after all it was Christmas the next day and she didn't want to ruin it in advance. So, she sighed.
"I'm so sorry Faramir, but I need to take this. Would you please let me squeeze through?"
"Sure."
Nobody stopped her as the man obligingly got up and she quickly drowned the rest of the whiskey before exiting their booth. Éowyn knew that she didn't have to tell the others who it was and what she was doing, they could read it on her face. Without another comment she turned around and walked straight to the exit. No way she was having any sort of discussion inside the bar, she didn't need an audience. It was silent and very cold outside and Éowyn hated that she had forgotten to take her coat - well, so this better be quick. Maybe, she wondered, maybe he even wanted to apologize?
Éomer picked up as soon as she called him back, but apparenly his sister had hoped in vain: Instead of the direly needed apology, he started to lecture her again, mostly about ignoring his calls in the afternoon. She sighed, letting him talk her ear off for a couple of minutes. His complaints were slowly becoming a background noise while she rather watched the slowly falling snow than listen to a word he was saying.
Finally she started to pace slightly, , drawing circles in the snow, round and around like a caged tiger. Damn it, her feet were starting to freeze again and Éomer was still not done with ridiculous and unnecessary tirade. Just as she had decided to politely tell him to shut up, her ears harpened - it was at the simple mentioning of the word "incompetent". From one moment to the other the woman felt her heckles rise,going from annoyed to downright furious. Before she could stop herself, she was salmost shouting into the phone, slipping into her familiar childhood dialect with ease.
Later, Éowyn wasn't really able to recount what she had said - it had been quite a lot - she only knew it had felt right. Then, there was finally only silence on the line. She could hear him breathing, a low sound, and she sighed.
"Good night."
Then she disconnected the call.