Yes, it's been forever since I updated this story. But I still like it and eventually I'm going to finish it. I have so many other stories, but I will finish them too. Thanks to whoever is still reading this story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing.

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"They're coming," Eowyn exclaimed as she rushed into her bedroom chamber. "They're coming today!"

"Eh?" Faramir lifted his head out of the soft bed cushions. "What are you . . . it's still dark out."

"I heard they might arrive today," Eowyn hurried over to the bed, her dark golden hair falling in waves at she went. "So I rose early and found a rider coming from the north, and he said that Greyburd's caravan was but a handful of miles from here. That means they will be here near noon or shortly afterwards."

"Good," Faramir nodded. "Glad they made it. Wake me when they get here." He slumped back on the bed, ready to fall asleep again.

"You can't sleep," Eowyn protested. "You can't lie there like a rock when Merry and Pippin are on their way here. My dearest little friends are coming, and you bury your head in bed?"

"I'll be awake when they arrive," Faramir mumbled into his pillow.

"You'll be awake now," Eowyn decided. She grabbed the top cover, a warm woolen blanket with an embroidered edge, and yanked it off him.

"Ai!" he lifted his head to glare at her. "Take care, woman. I've but my long shirt on."

"And it's about to come off," she announced tossing aside the cover. "The maids are drawing a bath, and you're going to get cleaned and in your new clothes I had made, all before you breakfast."

Faramir grumpily sat up, his little brown hair stick up at odd angles. "I need no bath. I had one – well . . ."

"Days ago," she said, pulling the undercovers straight with him still on top of them. "And you went riding last night. I won't have you smelling like a stable with such important guests arriving."

"You never minded my riding before," he protested, watching as she flew about the room, tidying.

"I'm a good wife," she snapped. "I understand that my husband won't always be as clean and sweet-smelling as on our wedding night –"

"Sweet-smelling?" Faramir looked horrified. "Have a thought never to say that again, especially not in front of anyone!"

"But you're getting clean today," Eowyn went on, ignoring his exclamation. "The entire town will want to greet the Hobbits, and I won't have anyone saying I'm neglecting my wifely duties to you."

"And those duties include dragging me out of bed ere sunrise and forcing a cleaning? You're worse than my old nurse."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Eowyn marched over to the bed and grabbed his hand. "Up, up!"

She had strength, but Faramir was sure she could not pull him out of bed. However, she yanked hard at his arm, and he obligingly rose out of bed. She tugged him into the next room, a spacious bathing chamber.

Two maids were in there, pouring hot water into the bathing tub. One maid was yawning, and the other seemed asleep on her feet. Yet, when they saw Eowyn, both began to move a little faster. Faramir was glad his nightshirt reached his knees, but he turned to his wife and demanded,

"Did you get all the servants up?"

"Yes, I did," she announced, grabbing a pitcher of hot water and pouring it into the tub. "They all have their assignments. I know Millimon usually helps you bathe, but I told him to go help butcher the hogs."

Faramir wanted to object, but he supposed that it was just as well. Millimon was only sixteen and not the best of valets or footmen, and given the choice he would much rather watch a hog slaughtering than help my lord prepare for guests.

"I will assist you in the bath," Eowyn announced. "You two go see if the cooks need aid. And eat something – there will be no time later."

The two maids took off, ready to leave my lady and all her demands. Eowyn turned towards her husband.

"Arms up," she ordered and pulled up the nightshirt even before he could comply.

For the first time in his life, Faramir felt embarrassed to stand before his wife naked. He had been so before, but usually she was nude as well, and they were headed for bed, and he would carry her there. Now, he could barely resist the urge not to cover himself, but Eowyn didn't seem to notice.

"Into the bath," she pointed. When he didn't jump to it, she brought her hand down on his bare bottom, striking his right cheek. "Move!"

Amazed, he looked at her. "Did you just –"

"Yes, and you have another one coming if you don't move," she threatened.

He looked down at her, and for a moment, he considered picking her up and dumping her into the bath. But then he saw the worry lines on her forehead, the concern in her eyes, and he got into the tub without another word.

The water felt good, but he didn't dare lean back to enjoy it. Instead, he reached for the soap. Her fingers slipped under his, and she snatched the trough of soap away.

"I'll do it," Eowyn announced. "You'll take too long."

"I'll take too – ah!" Faramir sputtered as she ran the wet rag over his face and he got a mouthful of soap.

Normally, the idea of his wife bathing him would have filled Faramir with excitement, especially the thought of her leaning over the tub and her long tresses dipping into the water where he could grab them and wrap them around his fingers and maybe coax her to join him though the tub wasn't really big enough. But this bath made him feel as if he were eight years old, and his stern nanny were washing him after he had disobeyed and played in the mud.

Eowym washed his face, his arms, torso, back, feet, and legs, and was about to reach down into the water when he grabbed her arm.

"If you ever want children, you best let me wash down there," he advised. "In your present state, I doubt very much if you would be gentle enough to ensure our family line."

She looked into his eyes, annoyed for a moment. But her eyes softened, and he thought she might lean in to kiss him. However, she straightened, dropping the rag into his hand. "You better do it well, or I'll come do it myself. But I'll wash your hair in the mean time."

Her hands were firm, but surprisingly gentle as she wet, soaped, and then washed out his hair. He kept it shorter now, hanging a couple inches from his shoulders, and she combed it back with her fingers to keep the soap out of his eyes while she rinsed it out.

"There – you're clean," Eowyn announced. "Let's get you dried and dressed quickly."

Faramir reflected that he had not been subjected to this kind of treatment since he had been fifteen and drank too much one night. Boromir had dragged him out of bed and got him dressed and to his lessons before their father realized anything was wrong, but even his tough older brother had not been as insistent as his wife. And none of the clothes, all new and never worn before, pleased Eowyn.

"Look at these breeches," she fussed. "Why did I ever say dark brown? You should wear dark green or black, not this drab color." She held the breeches up and he stepped into them and she pulled them up, still scolding.

"Oh, the hips look a little loose. And the waist is a bit snug. For the love of Gondor, what have you been eating?"

Faramir tried to look at her, shocked that she would actually say something like that.

"Never mind, the tunic should be long enough to cover," she decided. "Look, the gold stitching is already starting to fray. That horrid servant girl – she should be horse whipped. If she cut the cording too short –" Eowyn looked so foreboding that Faramir felt a moment of worry about their servants.

Fortunately, the new clothes fit, and Faramir found he could walk easily though the new cloth felt a bit stiff.

"Good – and your hair will do," Eowyn noted. "Though it will part on the wrong side. Sit and don't spoil your clothes while I fix my hair."

His self-pride stinging a bit, Faramir sat down in a large wooden chair and watched as Eowyn began to comb her long dark blond tresses. Faramir had given her the comb for her last birthday, but he usually saw her sitting at a stool with a servant girl arranging those gorgeous locks. Today Eowyn's brushing seemed erratic, her hands jerking over her hair in short yanks.

"Eowyn?" Faramir started to rise from his chair.

"Don't move!" she ordered, not looking at him. "Don't ruin it."

"Ruin it?" Faramir said, bewildered.

"Yes, it has to be perfect," Eowyn declared. Suddenly, she clasped the comb with both hands and lowered her head. A sob caught in her throat, and she dropped the comb in her lap to cover her face.

Faramir would not have stayed still, even if King Aragorn had given the order. In a second, he stood by his wife's side. "Eowyn, what is it? Are you ill?"

"No," she shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. "No, I'm perfectly well."

"Nonsense," Faramir decided. He put both hands around her slim waist and pulled her up. "You're going straight to bed until you calm down."

"Oh, Faramir I'm fine. I'm – Faramir, put me down!" Eowyn gasped as he scooped her up in his strong arms. "Put me down now!"

"Not until you tell me why you're so upset," he insisted. "If you refuse, it's straight to bed, and you can see the hobbits tomorrow."

She could see the resolution in his eyes, and she sighed in agreement. He sat down in the big chair, keeping her on his lap with his hands around her waist protectively.

"I'm only wanted everything to be right," she gazed down at her hands. "The last time the hobbits came to visit me, my – my uncle was still alive." She broke into tears again, rasping in air through trembling lips.

"Ah, my love," Faramir whispered. He drew her close, kissing the top of her soft hair, wishing he could hold her like that forever.

"I thought maybe if they came and I did all of it right, I could stop feeling so . . ." she took a deep breath. Then she sat up, and Faramir knew the moment was over. For a moment there, she had been vulnerable and scared, and he could play her warrior, her protector. But the moment had passed, and she returned to her strength, her position as Lady Eowyn.

"Enough of this," Eowyn stood, quickly wiping her eyes. "My hair must be an absolute mess. Oh, and I mussed up your clothes."

"Not another word about my clothes," Faramir said, kindly but firmly. "And if you don't stop fussing, you'll find just how much of a husband I can be to you. So you do what you like with those beautiful locks, and we're going to breakfast before the little ones arrive."

"I'm not hungry," Eowyn grabbed the comb and began dragging it through her hair.

"Eowyn, you will eat," Faramir announced quietly.

"Very well," she agreed. "But promise me you'll keep those new clothes clean."

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The sun had climbed high in the sky and looked about ready to start its descend. Eowyn looked ready to send an army out to look for the caravan, and Faramir was about to interfere for the fifth time that morning when a call came out.

"My lady," a guard bellowed from a high tower. "My lady, I see them drawing near."

Eowyn dropped the flowers she was arranging into a tall urn at the side of the great hall. She turned to Faramir, who had stood the whole time so as to not mess up his clothes, and he put out a hand for her.

"Shall we, my lady?"

Eowyn took his hand, and together they moved towards the double entrance doors. On the broad steps outside, the servants lined themselves up and the townsfolk began to arrange themselves so the special guest would have a grand welcome.

Eowyn tried to stand proud and dignified, her arm still on her husbands as the caravan drove up. But she could barely keep from smiling in anticipation.

The caravan pulled to a stop, and she could see Greyburd tying the reins from his perch. But before he could jump down, the side door of the caravan flew open, and a blur of hobbit clothes and curls dashed out. A second later, Merry got out of the caravan in a much more dignified fashion, but Pippin had already started up the stairs.

"Eowyn! Eowyn!" he called, waving and grinning as he mounted the steps, going faster and faster.

Merry broke into a run as well, following his cousin up the stairs, only a step or tow behind.

Eowyn abandoned her stately pose, and she rushed down the steps, holding up the train of her long gown with one hand and outstretching the other hand towards the dearest creatures in the entire Middle Earth.

They met on the middle of the stairs, and Eowyn knelt with out-stretched arms. Pippin flung himself into her embrace. Merry hit her a second later, and the impact caused her to fall back into a sitting position on the stairs, both arms around the dear hobbits.

"Oh, you sweetest things," she cried, kissing their warm cheeks and soft hair over and over again as they clung to her. "My darling friends, my wonderful Merry and dearest Pippin! How I've missed you. But you're here, oh, you're here, my sweetest hobbits."

Merry felt tears crowd his eyes, but he blinked them away as he held onto Eowyn. Finally, finally, they had arrived.