Fight for Her Honor
Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Disclaimer: We all know I don't own it, so I'll just leave it at that.
Note: This is my first LOTR fanfic, so please be nice. Even if you want to flame, be polite. Please.
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Faramir was a soldier. A fighting man of Gondor. When you are a soldier, there are certain traits that come with the job. One of these is the urge to fight. Another is to be the best. Yet another is to be cool-headed and calm. Collected. And possibly the most important trait is to be a usual at the local tavern.
Faramir was all of these, including a regular at The Silver Tree, the tavern at which most of the Gondorian soldiers were usuals. Being a well- known face there, Faramir was well trained not only in the proper way to kill an orc, but the proper way to, for lack of a more sophisticated expression, get drunk with your soldier buddies.
One evening, two months after the defeat of Sauron and a mere month after his marriage to Eowyn, Faramir was at The Silver Tree. His marriage to the White Lady of Rohan had not ended his visits to his old haunt. No, Eowyn understood that a man's wife cannot change who his is, nor who he drinks with or when.
Most of the time.
So she allowed his weekly visits to the tavern. Truth be told, sometimes she preferred Faramir drunk. He was definitely funnier, and a more energetic. . . partner.
On this night, Faramir was laughing and drinking with his comrades, and generally enjoying himself. Through some unknown means that could later only be remembered by the only sober man in the room, the barkeep Math, the conversation turned to the men's wives.
"My woman," slurred one soldier, "is faaaaaaaantasic. She gives me pleasure whenever I want. Yessir. Anytime at all."
The men all laughed uproariously, even though there was very little funny about the drunk soldier's statement. A great many more things are humorous when one is tanked.
Faramir, however, did not laugh. He simply grinned and finished his pint. "Math," he called, "Another."
"And you, Faramir. How does your new wife treat you? Is she as strong in bed as she is on the battlefield?" the soldier asked with a drunken chuckle.
Faramir smiled secretively and said, "That is for me to know, and you to imagine."
The men laughed. All except a young soldier named Gwydon.
He stood and walked over to Faramir, unable to keep a straight line. "I bet," he said, his voice filled with malice, "Your wife ignores you."
Faramir looked up at him. "You're drunk."
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that your wife is a dirty Rohirrim."
"You don't even have a girl, Gwydon."
"I'd prefer that to a foreigner. Especially one who doesn't know her place. Women belong in the kitchen, not on the field of battle."
Faramir stood up. "Watch it, scum."
Faramir was sobering rapidly. The other men were silent. They could tell when he was angry. He wasn't angry now, he was livid.
"I'm not the scum. That thing that has the audacity to call herself a woman is." Faramir's hand clenched into a fist. "You know what I think? I think that your wife is a foul, sullied, putrid, stupid, whore."
Gwydon never got another chance to insult Eowyn. Faramir, driven by a fury he'd never experienced before, pulled his fist back, and punched Gwydon square on the jaw as hard at he could. Gwydon stumbled, and fell to the floor. Faramir jumped on him. Gwydon could not fight against the stronger man, who threw punch after punch into his face.
"NEVER," Faramir yelled as he slammed his fist into the other man's face, "CALL," he punched again. "HER," the other soldiers, still drunk, had finally realized that if they didn't do something, Gwydon would be killed. One tried to pull Faramir away, but even his stronger build could not fight the Steward's rage. "A WHORE!" Faramir hit again and then once more before the six men who had come to Gwydon's aid finally managed to pull Faramir off the fallen soldier.
Faramir kicked Gwydon one last time before pulling away from the men who had succeeded in preventing a death. His furious rage was lost now to a deadly calm demeanor. For a minute there was no sound but that of Gwydon's whimpering and Faramir's heavy breathing. Finally, Faramir spoke, his voice laced with poison.
"You had better hope that I never see you again, filth."
Faramir spat on the bloody man, and walked out of the tavern with his head held high. He mounted his horse, and with a word from the Steward of Gondor, the fine animal took off for Faramir's home, and his waiting wife.
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Eowyn had just sat down with a book to await Faramir's return when she heard his horse canter into the courtyard. She toyed with the thought that it was someone else, but quickly dismissed the idea. Eowyn was Rohirrim, and, because of the blood that flowed in her veins, could distinguish the sound of one horse from another. No, that was Faramir's steed.
The reason she had doubted her senses was that it was so early. It was dark, but she did not expect her husband home for a few more hours, at least. Curious, she stood when she heard his familiar footsteps echo quickly down that hall. He burst into the room, grabbed her around the waist, and pressed his lips to hers.
After a while, Eowyn pulled away, and looked into Faramir's eyes. Instantly, she could tell something was bothering him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He kissed her again, but she pulled away swiftly.
"Don't lie to me, Faramir. I know you better than that." She reached behind her and took his hands in hers. They felt wet and sticky, and when she looked down she saw what was making that feeling: blood.
"Faramir, you are hurt," she said. He pulled away from her and walked to the nightstand, where he poured water from a filled china jug into a matching basin. Eowyn followed him. "Beloved, let me bandage your wounds."
"It's not my blood," Faramir said quietly as he washed the blood from his hands and into the basin.
"Then who's? How did it get there?" Faramir didn't answer. "Faramir! Why is another man's blood on your hands?"
Faramir didn't turn around to answer her. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I do!"
Faramir spun around. "WELL I DON'T!" Eowyn backed up a step in shock and fear. Her husband had never before raised his voice to her. Faramir saw her hurt and frightened expression and sighed, his anger leaving him. He sat down on the bed beside him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's not your fault."
She sat next to him. "I know. You are forgiven." She kissed his cheek. "It's all right. I understand. Everyone gets angry sometimes. I should not have pressed."
Faramir wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close and resting his temple against hers. "Thank you, Eowyn. You are wonderful, no matter what anyone else says."
Eowyn pulled away just enough to see clearly into his eyes. "Faramir, what are you talking about?" He was silent. She lowered her voice. "You can tell me."
For a minute Faramir said nothing. "I almost killed a man tonight at the tavern. A drunken soldier."
"What? Why? You are not a rash man, Faramir; there must have been a reason."
"He was insulting you. He called you a foul whore."
"Oh."
"I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to hurt him. I've never felt that enraged before. It was. . . disturbing. I'm not typically a hostile or violent man, Eowyn. You know that."
Eowyn smiled. "I know, my love. But this has nothing to do with hostility. This has to do with love."
"What?"
"You fought to protect my honor. That is what people do for the ones they love. If anyone ever insulted you, I'd probably give them more than a few bruises." Faramir chuckled softly. "It's okay for you to have felt the way you did."
"Eowyn, what I did was not something the man you love would have done. I almost killed him."
"Yes, it is the kind of thing you would do. You are the kind of man who wants to defend your wife. That is nothing to be ashamed of. If it changes my love for you at all, it only makes it stronger."
"Truly?"
"Yes. I love you, now and forever. No matter what happens."
Faramir's eyes finally softened, showing her the depth of his love for the white beauty in front of him. "I love you too, my Shieldmaiden." There lips met, and Faramir pushed Eowyn down, to lie on top of her in their marriage bed, and to seal their love with the union of their bodies.
Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Disclaimer: We all know I don't own it, so I'll just leave it at that.
Note: This is my first LOTR fanfic, so please be nice. Even if you want to flame, be polite. Please.
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Faramir was a soldier. A fighting man of Gondor. When you are a soldier, there are certain traits that come with the job. One of these is the urge to fight. Another is to be the best. Yet another is to be cool-headed and calm. Collected. And possibly the most important trait is to be a usual at the local tavern.
Faramir was all of these, including a regular at The Silver Tree, the tavern at which most of the Gondorian soldiers were usuals. Being a well- known face there, Faramir was well trained not only in the proper way to kill an orc, but the proper way to, for lack of a more sophisticated expression, get drunk with your soldier buddies.
One evening, two months after the defeat of Sauron and a mere month after his marriage to Eowyn, Faramir was at The Silver Tree. His marriage to the White Lady of Rohan had not ended his visits to his old haunt. No, Eowyn understood that a man's wife cannot change who his is, nor who he drinks with or when.
Most of the time.
So she allowed his weekly visits to the tavern. Truth be told, sometimes she preferred Faramir drunk. He was definitely funnier, and a more energetic. . . partner.
On this night, Faramir was laughing and drinking with his comrades, and generally enjoying himself. Through some unknown means that could later only be remembered by the only sober man in the room, the barkeep Math, the conversation turned to the men's wives.
"My woman," slurred one soldier, "is faaaaaaaantasic. She gives me pleasure whenever I want. Yessir. Anytime at all."
The men all laughed uproariously, even though there was very little funny about the drunk soldier's statement. A great many more things are humorous when one is tanked.
Faramir, however, did not laugh. He simply grinned and finished his pint. "Math," he called, "Another."
"And you, Faramir. How does your new wife treat you? Is she as strong in bed as she is on the battlefield?" the soldier asked with a drunken chuckle.
Faramir smiled secretively and said, "That is for me to know, and you to imagine."
The men laughed. All except a young soldier named Gwydon.
He stood and walked over to Faramir, unable to keep a straight line. "I bet," he said, his voice filled with malice, "Your wife ignores you."
Faramir looked up at him. "You're drunk."
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that your wife is a dirty Rohirrim."
"You don't even have a girl, Gwydon."
"I'd prefer that to a foreigner. Especially one who doesn't know her place. Women belong in the kitchen, not on the field of battle."
Faramir stood up. "Watch it, scum."
Faramir was sobering rapidly. The other men were silent. They could tell when he was angry. He wasn't angry now, he was livid.
"I'm not the scum. That thing that has the audacity to call herself a woman is." Faramir's hand clenched into a fist. "You know what I think? I think that your wife is a foul, sullied, putrid, stupid, whore."
Gwydon never got another chance to insult Eowyn. Faramir, driven by a fury he'd never experienced before, pulled his fist back, and punched Gwydon square on the jaw as hard at he could. Gwydon stumbled, and fell to the floor. Faramir jumped on him. Gwydon could not fight against the stronger man, who threw punch after punch into his face.
"NEVER," Faramir yelled as he slammed his fist into the other man's face, "CALL," he punched again. "HER," the other soldiers, still drunk, had finally realized that if they didn't do something, Gwydon would be killed. One tried to pull Faramir away, but even his stronger build could not fight the Steward's rage. "A WHORE!" Faramir hit again and then once more before the six men who had come to Gwydon's aid finally managed to pull Faramir off the fallen soldier.
Faramir kicked Gwydon one last time before pulling away from the men who had succeeded in preventing a death. His furious rage was lost now to a deadly calm demeanor. For a minute there was no sound but that of Gwydon's whimpering and Faramir's heavy breathing. Finally, Faramir spoke, his voice laced with poison.
"You had better hope that I never see you again, filth."
Faramir spat on the bloody man, and walked out of the tavern with his head held high. He mounted his horse, and with a word from the Steward of Gondor, the fine animal took off for Faramir's home, and his waiting wife.
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Eowyn had just sat down with a book to await Faramir's return when she heard his horse canter into the courtyard. She toyed with the thought that it was someone else, but quickly dismissed the idea. Eowyn was Rohirrim, and, because of the blood that flowed in her veins, could distinguish the sound of one horse from another. No, that was Faramir's steed.
The reason she had doubted her senses was that it was so early. It was dark, but she did not expect her husband home for a few more hours, at least. Curious, she stood when she heard his familiar footsteps echo quickly down that hall. He burst into the room, grabbed her around the waist, and pressed his lips to hers.
After a while, Eowyn pulled away, and looked into Faramir's eyes. Instantly, she could tell something was bothering him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." He kissed her again, but she pulled away swiftly.
"Don't lie to me, Faramir. I know you better than that." She reached behind her and took his hands in hers. They felt wet and sticky, and when she looked down she saw what was making that feeling: blood.
"Faramir, you are hurt," she said. He pulled away from her and walked to the nightstand, where he poured water from a filled china jug into a matching basin. Eowyn followed him. "Beloved, let me bandage your wounds."
"It's not my blood," Faramir said quietly as he washed the blood from his hands and into the basin.
"Then who's? How did it get there?" Faramir didn't answer. "Faramir! Why is another man's blood on your hands?"
Faramir didn't turn around to answer her. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I do!"
Faramir spun around. "WELL I DON'T!" Eowyn backed up a step in shock and fear. Her husband had never before raised his voice to her. Faramir saw her hurt and frightened expression and sighed, his anger leaving him. He sat down on the bed beside him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's not your fault."
She sat next to him. "I know. You are forgiven." She kissed his cheek. "It's all right. I understand. Everyone gets angry sometimes. I should not have pressed."
Faramir wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close and resting his temple against hers. "Thank you, Eowyn. You are wonderful, no matter what anyone else says."
Eowyn pulled away just enough to see clearly into his eyes. "Faramir, what are you talking about?" He was silent. She lowered her voice. "You can tell me."
For a minute Faramir said nothing. "I almost killed a man tonight at the tavern. A drunken soldier."
"What? Why? You are not a rash man, Faramir; there must have been a reason."
"He was insulting you. He called you a foul whore."
"Oh."
"I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to hurt him. I've never felt that enraged before. It was. . . disturbing. I'm not typically a hostile or violent man, Eowyn. You know that."
Eowyn smiled. "I know, my love. But this has nothing to do with hostility. This has to do with love."
"What?"
"You fought to protect my honor. That is what people do for the ones they love. If anyone ever insulted you, I'd probably give them more than a few bruises." Faramir chuckled softly. "It's okay for you to have felt the way you did."
"Eowyn, what I did was not something the man you love would have done. I almost killed him."
"Yes, it is the kind of thing you would do. You are the kind of man who wants to defend your wife. That is nothing to be ashamed of. If it changes my love for you at all, it only makes it stronger."
"Truly?"
"Yes. I love you, now and forever. No matter what happens."
Faramir's eyes finally softened, showing her the depth of his love for the white beauty in front of him. "I love you too, my Shieldmaiden." There lips met, and Faramir pushed Eowyn down, to lie on top of her in their marriage bed, and to seal their love with the union of their bodies.