(for Elena Tiriel)

On the other side of the door, Éomer could hear chattering, laughter, and a voice raised in occasaional irritation.

He did not want to go in there. There were a hundred -- nay, a thousand-- other things he would rather do.

But a man could not always do what he wanted.

Éomer squared his shoulders, and bravely opened the door.

“Éomer !” Éowyn squealed. “You came!”

He looked at the dolls that encircled the table, then at his small delighted sister, sighing internally as he gave her a warm smile.

“My lady sister,” he said, bowing low, causing Eowyn’s grin to broaden. “Where shall I sit?”

“Here.” Éowyn led him to a chair that was as battered as the dolls. “You are the guest of honour -- now you ladies behave,” she frowned, pointing a finger at her other guests.

Éomer sat gingerly in the tiny chair, and accepted his cup of stone-cold tea.