(for Nasira)

“Forth Eorlingas!”

At the shout, Éowyn looked up just in time to see her brother go sailing past the open door and down the corridor, hair streaming out behind him like a golden banner.

She ran out into the hallway. “Éomer son of Éomund!” Éowyn exclaimed, fixing her brother with a stern eye. “What do you think you are doing?!”

Éomer was doing his best to look abashed, and failing miserably, for he could not hide the sparkle in his eyes, nor the grin that was doing its best to take over his face.

“Er --- sliding down the hallway?” he hazarded.

Éowyn raised an eyebrow at him. “With your 9-months-old son?”

The grin would not be restrained any longer. “But look at him!” Éomer pointed out delightedly, angling Elfwine toward Éowyn . “He loves it!”

Sure enough, Elfwine was waving his chubby arms and making the breathless burbling that passed for laughter, his expression an exact mirror of his father’s.

Éowyn could not help but smile at her brother-son, even while she glowered at the unrepentant Éomer .

“What if you fall?” she wanted to know. “How will you explain to Lothíriel that her great oaf of a husband has smashed her son?”

Éomer rolled his eyes at his sister. “Have I ever fallen while doing this?’ he asked as he tickled Elfwine’s belly.

“Yes,” Éowyn answered immediately.

“Perhaps I should restate the question,” Éomer said, narrowing his eyes at her . “Have I ever fallen while doing this when you weren't trying to make me fall?”

Now it was Éowyn’s turn to attempt to repress a grin; Éomer’s balance was uncanny, and, when they were younger, she had many times tried to make him fall while doing this very thing in the halls of the Meduseld.

“Ithilien!” a voice yelled, and this sentiment was echoed by a much higher, much younger voice.

“ ‘thilen!”

“Best get out of the way,” Éomer warned, laughing at his sister’s dropped jaw.

The siblings moved back to the doorway, and a moment later, a wildly-grinning Faramir came flying past them, Elboron clinging to his back like a burr, shrieking with laughter.

“Éowyn!” Once they’d come to a stop, Faramir greeted his wife with beautiful nonchalance. “You’re back early -- I thought you were meant to be at the Houses for another hour -- what a nice surprise!”

Éomer made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a swallowed chuckle.

Éowyn stared at her husband in disbelief, then shot the smirking King of Rohan an accusatory glare. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Elboron leaned over his father’s shoulder, piping, “Slide, modor, slide!”

He held his arms out to her, beaming with excitement, eyes dancing much as Faramir was trying to keep his from doing.

“Come, Éowyn,” Éomer coaxed, and she could hear the challenge in his voice, “your marble floors here are so much better than the ones at home!”

Éowyn hesitated.

Faramir and Éomer exchanged a quick glance, neither quite certain that she wasn’t going to put an end to the game.

Then a gleeful smile broke across her face. “Just give me a moment to change out of these skirts."