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"You wished to see me, my king?"

Aragorn was seated at his desk, looking out of place. Faramir had heard a detailed account from Pippin of their journey, how the Hobbits had initially taken him for merely the Ranger Strider, not the king. Faramir could see how one could take that impression and suspected the king missed his old life.

"Yes." Aragorn looked unexpectedly grave for one who had just won a war. "I would not ask this of you if I did not feel it truly benefited the realm. Even then I will not demand it of you—I will ask it of you."

Faramir lowered his head. "Anything, my king."

"You may not be so quick to agree to it once you hear what it is."

Faramir allowed himself a smile. "Tell me, then, so that I may judge for myself."

"Will you meet with the king of the Rohirrim?"

"Of course." He sensed, however, there was more to it than that. "For what point?"

"For the point of a possible marriage alliance."

"I'm not unwilling." Faramir had never had the expectation that he could be wed to someone of his own choosing and thus had not thought much of it. When the time came, his father would choose someone for the strength and benefit of their line. His own desires and inclinations had been given little thought. That his king sought to do what his father had been unable to was only right.

Aragorn was still looking at him suspiciously. "There is no one you esteem? No man or woman who carries your heart?"

"No." He had not meant to answer as bluntly as he did, but it was the truth. He could not cover it in poetry. He was the best choice to send into a marriage abroad; he had no position beyond that which Aragorn created for him, and while he would gladly have served the king in any capacity, the restoration of Isildur's heir to the throne had left Faramir in an awkward position. He knew Aragorn would never force him to leave his home, but he could see the convenience of his volunteering to go. He had no desire to usurp Aragorn's throne, but he was also aware there were those in the bowels of the city who might rather follow a son of Denethor than a seeming foreigner. He did not himself want to be used for such purposes and if he removed himself entirely from Gondor, he would cut off any plot.

Aragorn nodded. "Shall I at least give you time to decide, though?"

"I need no time." Faramir was quite prepared already to do as he'd been asked, especially if it was only a meeting.

Aragorn nodded. "Then I will inform the king you are willing to see him."

Faramir nodded, a knot of nerves beginning to form in his stomach. Perhaps he had agreed too readily.

"I think he will be pleased," Aragorn added. "He said he had his eye on you." He smiled for a moment, then looked serious. "I thank you for this, Faramir. We need the Mark as an ally, and a strong marriage alliance will seal the bond between our two kingdoms." He paused. "And you aren't agreeing to wed him just yet. Right now, you are only agreeing to meet with him."

"Of course, my king." Faramir bowed. He knew this was a better marriage than he'd hoped for from his father; he'd expected to wed a high-ranking knight or noble of Gondor, not from so far away as the Mark and certainly not a king. The prospect of leaving home was daunting one, but it did pique his curiosity.

If only to discover why, curiously, the Lord of the Mark should have taken an interest in him.

**

Éomer waited in the entrance chamber to the king's hall to be introduced to the man he thought he might like to marry. Not for the first time, he cursed the curious Gondoran customs that bound him to undergo a formal introduction. To his chagrin, he could not stop pacing. He was nervous.

"Do not fidget," Éowyn said. "It is unbecoming for kings to fidget."

"I am certain I saw our uncle fidget once or twice."

"But he would not do it when he was about to first be seen by his betrothed."

"Lord Faramir has seen me."

"And you must wish for him to enjoy further sight of you." She tugged on his cloak to straighten it and pushed one of his braids back over his shoulder. Éomer allowed this without protest, knowing Éowyn merely shared his nerves. Though he had known since Théodred's death that he would one day rule the Eorlingas, he hadn't imagined it would be quite so soon. Éowyn seemed to take the business of getting on with his kingship in stride.

"It ought to be you," he said. "You ought to be queen."

Éowyn laughed. "I am ill-suited for that. Perhaps for being a queen of war, but not for a peaceful kingdom. And Lord Faramir will suit you well for that, too."

Éomer felt his cheeks flush at that. It had been Éowyn who had first noticed the steward's son and befriended him in the House of Healing. And, upon her release, she had informed him she had met a man who would be very much to his liking.

And from what he had seen of Faramir, she was right.

His cheeks burned again. His little sister ought not to know him so well.

The large oak doors at the end of the hall opened and Faramir entered with the king, the queen, and their companions. The Hobbit Merry immediately ran forward to greet Éowyn and Éomer smiled. He enjoyed her new friend's company and was grateful for his helping her slay the Witch-king. Merry also seemed to have a talent for dissipating all the tension Éomer had built up and he welcomed that.

Éowyn and Éomer both bowed as the king and queen approached. Éomer reached for Faramir's hand.

"Well met, my lord. Will you allow me to accompany you to dinner?"

This raised the color on Faramir's cheeks, and he accepted Éomer's hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his sister's smile as she accepted Merry for an escort.

As they walked to their places at the high table, it was Faramir who spoke first. "The king has told me of your offer of marriage."

Éomer felt his stomach flip flop, though this was the point of their dinner together. There was no way Faramir had not been told. "And what did you think of it?"

"I thought it worth considering."

Éomer smiled. "I suppose I am pleased to have been thought worth considering."

That brought the blush again which did please him. "An alliance between our houses will do much to strengthen the bond between our two kingdoms."

"Aye, it will," Éomer agreed, thought he tried not to do it too readily. Faramir smiled knowingly at him, a slight twist of the corner of his lips that Éomer thought he could get quite used to.

Lord Faramir proved to be a clever dinner companion, curious about life in the Mark. He seemed interested in Éomer's tales, which gave him hope that Faramir would not mind coming to live in Edoras. There were times, though, that he seemed to know more than Éomer.

"My sister said you have a head for lore," Éomer said. "I'm afraid my head is too full of holes to hold much in it."

Faramir smiled that same half smirk again. "Since the king told me we would be dining together, I did spend some time in the library. We don't have very many books on Rohan, but I read what I could."

"If you like libraries, you will be quite pleased by the one in Edoras. I have visited it seldom, but those who do tell me it is wonderful."

Faramir laughed, putting Éomer in mind of the wind rushing through tall grass. He truly hoped he would be willing to wed him and come north.

**

Faramir did not indulge in much wine that evening, as he wanted to keep a clear head. This would be his last chance to decide, if he saw anything in Éomer's manner that gave him pause, he could reject the match. But he saw nothing that would give him pause.

At the end of the meal, Faramir offered him his hand and he took it. The terrace was along the hall, beyond the wide windows. They were in view of the whole company, but Faramir still felt a thrill of nerves to be alone with him.

"I hope I have made a good impression of the Eorlingas on you." Éomer's hair looked even lighter in the moonlight, almost silver. Faramir found he wanted to know what it looked like when it was loose from its two plaits.

"You have," Faramir agreed. "And your sister has as well."

Éomer smiled. "Aye, Éowyn is a fine representative of our people." He paused, as though he was about to say something else and then thought better of it. "Have you made up your mind, my lord?"

"Yes." Faramir was unused to taking any great chance—it was Boromir who had always been blundering into things and having adventures, not he. But now, Boromir was gone, and Faramir had to take chances for both of them. "We may announce our betrothal when we go back in there."

Éomer's smile was bright enough to match the moon.

"May I kiss you?" he asked, barely knowing what he said as the words tumbled out.

Éomer's smiled widened. "Of course. You will find the Rohirrim are not so stiff about that." He bent his head and brushed his lips over Faramir's. Faramir returned the kiss, hoping he made his intentions clear. It was a chaste kiss, for they could be looked upon by any of their dinner companions who cared to turn their heads. But Faramir knew one thing. He was certain he would like very much to see what Éomer was capable of when they were alone.

**

It did not even seem real that Faramir was leaving his home forever. Of course, he knew he would visit, but that certainly would not be the same. He was going to live somewhere he had never even been to before. With his new husband-to-be. At least when his father had been steward, Faramir had expected to be betrothed to someone who lived elsewhere in Gondor or even in Minas Tirith itself.

This was an adventure, he told himself. He tried to see himself as someone from a song or a history text. Faramir of Gondor who wed the Lord of the Mark to forge an alliance between the two great kingdoms of Man. He supposed it would be set down that way, with no indication of how he had felt to actually go and do it.

The wedding party rode out from Gondor with banners flying and far more guards than Faramir thought could ever be needed just for him, but the king and queen and all their guests were to come as well. Faramir was glad to see Pippin, Frodo, and Sam among them, and it was the Hobbits he found himself conversing with more than men he'd known all his life who rode in his honor guard. He liked hearing the Hobbits' talk of their home, and they seemed to recognize how much they put him at ease.

The party from Rohan met them when they were a few days' ride from Meduseld. Faramir's stomach clenched with nerves as he watched them approach. He knew it was tradition, though, so he lifted his head and awaited his fate. He had not read about this, as the books in the library at Minas Tirith had said little about the wedding rituals of the Rohirrim. He would have to learn as he went along.

Éowyn was the one to ride up to him. She bowed in the saddle, and Faramir supposed he ought to do the same.

"My brother charges me to ride as your escort from here," she said. Faramir searched her companions for Éomer, but he was not among them. Éowyn must have noticed this, for she said, "He waits for you in Meduseld. You will see him for the wedding."

Faramir nodded. "Then let us ride for Meduseld," he said, "so that I may behold the face of my betrothed."

**

Éomer had tried to work out how long it would take the party to reach Meduseld. It seemed that Éowyn and her riders had left weeks ago, but the marks on his parchment told him it had been just three days. He tried to imagine Faramir making his way slowly across the plain from his great white city. How he longed to see him again, talk to him, get to know him better. He spent much of his time in the training yard, sparring with men who seemed surprised to see the king work himself into such a fervor. Other times, he would ride hard across the plain, pushing himself and his mount until he could think of nothing else.

He did not dare ride out to meet the wedding party, though. He knew the traditional rituals were paramount to those who already disapproved of Éomer wedding someone from Gondor. The old men would have a fit, he reminded himself. Bad enough to bring here a stone man from the horseless city. I must make every step in the proper order. He forced himself to go inside, satisfied with just a glimpse of Faramir's dark hair riding beside Éowyn.

He waited, as patiently as possible, which was not very, on the throne, until Éowyn came into the hall. "I have brought him, my king," she said, her eyes glittering with mischief, as she spoke the ancient words. "Your betrothed will be presented to you tonight."

Éomer's heart beat faster at the prospect. "Thank you, sister." He smiled. Tonight he would see Faramir again. The small dose he'd gotten of the man had been intoxicating; he longed for more.

**

Faramir was allowed to rest after his arrival, but it seemed like he'd only just lain down before he found himself awakened so he could be prepared to "presented" to the king. This had been a mistake, he decided, as his hair was combed and he was given new clothes to wear in the style of the Rohirrim. He ought not to have come to this place where he knew no one, knew nothing…

It was only the appearance of Éowyn to escort him to the hall that he remembered he did not know no one.

He felt himself relax instantly in her presence. She smiled. "Someone is waiting to see you."

Faramir tried to dismiss his apprehension as he followed Éowyn to the great hall. He was not used to being the center of attention; he was a second son and would never be anyone's focus. Now, though, he would be husband to Éomer king. The Eorlingas would look to him as his consort, and he would have to be up to the task.

When he stepped into the hall, the room fell silent. Faramir swallowed hard. The eyes of what seemed like every inhabitant of the Mark was on him, many disapproving. This did not bode well.

But he had eyes for only one man, whose golden hair now lay loose across his shoulders. Faramir remembered how he had longed to see this, and it was a site he rather enjoyed.

Éomer rose to greet his soon-to-be-husband and Faramir went forward without fear.

"King." Faramir bowed. Éowyn had coached him on what to say, and he found he was no longer nervous. It felt like a recitation, something he'd always excelled at when doing his lessons for Father. "I present myself to you and propose we wed on the morrow."

Éomer smiled. "Faramir of Gondor, I accept your proposal. We shall be wed on the morrow. Now, sup with me so that we might seal our bond."

Faramir ascended the dais and settled in his seat next to Éomer. They did not get a chance to talk, but Éomer whispered comments in his ear as each dish was brought and each courtier was introduced to him. He knew he would not remember all the names, but he completed all the ritual greetings, largely doing as Éomer did.

It did not seem real, none of it did, which perhaps made it easier. He would be married the next day. That seemed unfathomable. He glanced at Éomer. Unfathomable but not unwelcome.

**

Éomer regretted that there was no time to talk privately with Faramir before custom again dictated that they be parted. He did manage to take his hand, squeezing his fingers before they went their separate ways to bed.

"I look forward to tomorrow," he murmured.

"So do I," Faramir said with a smile. He brought Faramir's hand to his lips and kissed it, pleased at Faramir's reaction, which would certainly fuel his imagination for the rest of the evening.

Once in his bedchamber, Éomer's thoughts did not stray far from his betrothed but they were not quite so lurid. Faramir would be moving in here with him two nights from now, provided he did not wish to maintain separate chambers. That, Éomer knew, was the custom of Gondor, and there were chambers nearby for his use, though it would be considered a poor omen by the advisors if Faramir wanted them to sleep apart.

He would not pressure him, though. Tomorrow night would surely be unusual enough for Faramir of Gondor.

Éomer was outside the city before dawn with his attendants. He had ridden out so early mostly because he could not remain indoors and not ahorse. Now, though, he had to wait for Faramir, and the fresh air and wind in his hair did little to calm the impulse that had driven him out of his bed before the sun had mounted Starkhorn.

At long last, though, he heard the sound of hooves which heralded the arrival of the rest of those who would witness him married, and with them, Faramir.

Éomer's heart soared at the sight of him, just as the sun flooded the valley. Faramir looked as confident as though he'd been born one of the Eorlingas. He dismounted, without even accepting Éowyn's hand, which she had offered because the saddles of Rohan did not offer the convenient stirrups he was used to.

"I have brought him again, brother," she said, her lips quirked in a smile as she led Faramir forward. Éomer was not looking at her—he was looking at his betrothed who did not even flinch as he passed the rows of strangers. Those who had accompanied Faramir stood behind him, symbolically surrendering him, and he walked away from them without looking back. "Will you take him to husband now?"

Éomer grinned. "I suppose, sister, if you insist."

Éowyn stepped aside and Éomer stepped up to him, his hand extended. She must have coached Faramir, for he bent his knees in the right spot, and then reached for Éomer's other hand.

Éomer lowered his head. "Will you ride with me, Faramir of Gondor? For as long as our mounts may last?"

"I will ride with you, Éomer king. That far and longer."

Faramir's smile was sly and made Éomer's spirits rise to think on how he must have made sure with Éowyn that he would know all the words and motions. He could detect no trace of hesitation; this was the calm, forthright man Éomer had wanted for a consort.

Éomer smiled. "Then let us do exactly that."

He swung onto his horse, and for the first time, Faramir looked uncertain, but he mounted his own horse, for Éowyn had brought it forward. Éomer did not want to outpace his new husband right away, but he also could not very well leave the assemblage at a trot.

He took the chance and pressed his heels into his mount's sides. To his pleasure, Faramir matched his pace. They rode hard until the residents of Edoras were far behind them.

**

Éowyn had not even alluded to this, but Faramir had sense to know he could not be left in the dust. He was being watched and judged by the people he was to help rule, and he had to prove himself worthy in their eyes.

He didn't know how long they rode for, only that he was holding tight to his horse, who obviously knew what she was supposed to be doing.

At long last, Éomer's mount slowed and Faramir's mare followed suit.

"This should be far enough." Éomer said, looking about him. Grass stretched out as far as the eye could see, the mountains just vague shapes in the distance.

"Far enough for what?" Faramir had no inkling of what they were supposed to do next.

"Our wedding."

Faramir paused. "Wasn't that our wedding?"

Éomer grinned. "It was, in a way. But if you could not ride with me, all in Rohan agree, we should not be wed."

"I didn't know that." Faramir was suddenly glad he'd followed his instinct to keep up as best he could—and that his horse had seemed more ready for the occasion than he had been.

"I know. That is our custom. We cannot share this custom with outsiders, but I knew you would be able to keep up."

"How?"

Éomer smiled. "Because I have chosen you for my husband. And I know I chose wisely. Besides," he added, "my sister approved of the choice, and she would not have chosen someone who could not ride."

Faramir smiled, feeling relieved. "I am glad I was up to the challenge."

Éomer looked at him for what felt like a rather long time. At last, he said, "We will camp here and that will be our wedding. Our first night together will be spent truly alone."

It proved to be easier to keep his mind from dwelling on what was to come when they had work to do. He certainly had enough experience making camp and it was easy to fall back into the familiar rhythms of ranging. Before long, he had shed his fine cloak to make his movements easier and tied his hair back. Éomer did the same, he noticed, and he paused a moment in gathering wood to watch as his husband braided his hair, his fingers flying over the strands.

Faramir built the fire while Éomer removed the food from their saddlebags. Faramir had not even known his had been full of supplies, though he hadn't questioned the bags' presence on the horse he'd been given for the day.

"So," he said, once their meal was cooking, "when are we said to be married?"

"After tonight. If we don't kill each other tonight, we are considered bound for life."

Faramir felt his lips twitch in a smile, though he wasn't sure Éomer was joking. This was nothing like the books but he supposed it made sense. "Do people kill each other?"

"Not recently."

Éomer's attempt at a deadly serious tone could not stave off Faramir's laugh. "Let us not let that fate befall us, then."

They succeeded in surviving the preparation of dinner and the sun sank behind the mountains as they ate, sharing stories of their childhoods. It was easy to talk with Éomer in the growing dark and as the sky turned to purple and then black, his attentions drifted to the sky.

"How do they say in Gondor that the Mare reached the heavens?" Éomer asked suddenly.

"The Mare?"

"The brightest stars." In the moonlight, Faramir could see where Éomer was pointing, to the collection of five stars directly above their heads.

"Oh," Faramir said, "you mean the King's Crown."

Éomer smirked. "No, I mean the Mare."

Faramir settled beside him as he began to relate the tale of how the Mare had pointed her people to the valley, raising herself into the stars to point the way.

"It is a fine tale," Faramir murmured. By the end of it, he found he was pressed against Éomer's side, half wrapped in his cloak.

Éomer looked down at him, close enough for a kiss. "Shall we retire?"

"Right here?" Faramir was no stranger to camping, naturally, but he had misgivings about complereing what was done on wedding nights out in the open.

Éomer took his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist. "We needn't if you do not wish it."

Faramir watched his new husband whose hair glowed golden in the firelight and felt shivers run up his arm from each light touch of Éomer's lips. Suddenly, the blanket spread out on the grass seemed perfectly adequate.

"I wish it," he said. He took cupped Faramir's face in both his hands and kissed him, long and slow, wanting to savor their first proper, private kiss.

This would work; he was determined. They would return, married, to Edoras, and then they could set about the business of ruling together, their two kingdoms linked. What could be more natural, now, than himself and his husband, together under the stars, and the Mare's watchful gaze?