The embroidered curtains had been drawn aside, and a shaft of sunlight fell across the empty bed. The coverlets had been straightened, smoothing away the tangle of sheets where they had sweated and coupled the night before. On the neatly stacked pillows, a white cat dozed, paws outstretched. Éowyn ran a hand up one of the tall posts, fingers tracing the carved designs. The winding ivy for wedded love, the many-seeded apple for fertility. The wood was chipped and darkened with age. This bed keeps its secrets, like an old and loyal retainer. She frowned slightly as she reached down to stroke the sleeping cat. More is the pity. I could use its wise counsel.
Éowyn had seen how the stallion rode the mare, and she had cared for wounded men until their hairy nakedness no longer brought a blush to her cheeks. Still, when she had first lain with her husband, she had known little of the way of a man with a maid.
The kinswomen who should have given her counsel had long since been laid in the earth, and her own proud manner had set her apart from the women at Edoras. She had turned away from their lively gossip about the weaponed sex; such churlish talk did not befit a daughter of the House of Eorl. Later, sleepless in her bower, she had stared at the darkness, trying to piece together the fragments she had overheard. But what little she learned had left her only more bewildered.
On her wedding night, four noblewomen had unlaced the outer robes and lifted the cloth of gold from her shoulders. Then they had loosened the ties of the velvet gown and helped her pull its heavy folds over her head, until she stood before the marriage bed wearing naught but her shift. Queen Arwen herself had unpinned her hair, lifting away the garland of daisies. Soon a maid no more, Éowyn had thought; dimly, she heard the ladies arguing how best to dry the flowers. The queen had embraced her and told her firmly that she had no need to worry. No doubt the elven woman had guessed her unease.
"As fair as a lily," the ladies murmured as they seated Éowyn on the bed and drew the coverlets up to her waist. After whispering that all would be well, the queen kissed her on the brow. Then Éowyn was left to wait for her husband. Why am I skittish? There never was wife who was not first maid, she chided herself. Yet to have her body breached by a man still sounded very strange.
From the passageway, she heard the heavy tread of booted feet and men's shouted laughter. The door swung open, and Faramir darted in, his face as red as beets. He slammed it shut then quickly shot the bolt. "At last I have escaped them," he choked, gasping for breath. As was the custom in the Mark, her husband had been stripped by his guard of honor until he wore naught but his boots and breeches. Outside the door, Éomer was bellowing a love song.
"When my brother is wed in the spring, you will have ample chance for revenge," Éowyn reassured him. "Though I doubt you can match that singing."
With a laugh, Faramir leaned down to kiss her on the top of the head. The revelers hammered on the door and sang another song before they wandered away, no doubt to find more ale. Through the high windows, the summer evening was fading to grey. Faramir lit the lamps, the light flaring between his fingers, and then he swung the tall shutters closed. She hid a smile as her husband turned away modestly before taking off his clothing. The muscles of his back and shoulders shifted as he reached to draw off his boots. He has the body of an archer, she thought. Lean sinews drawn tight. She stared at his narrow hips and strong legs as he stepped out of his breeches, but when he turned around, she blushed and lowered her gaze. At that moment, he seemed to her both dearest friend and stranger; for even in the Houses of Healing, she had never seen him unclothed.
He slid under the coverlets and, taking her hand, gently pressed her fingers. "Your hands are made of ice!" He stroked her hair then lightly kissed the side of her face. In reply, she raised her lips to his, but she could not keep herself from trembling. A calloused hand stroked her cheek. "Éowyn, my shining star. I think this long day has left you weary."
Already, the heat of his body warmed the bed like a brazier. She turned on her side, drawing closer to him. Shyly, she ran a hand across his shoulder and back. The soft skin was ridged with scars, some old and smooth, others still jagged. She could feel the hard courses of muscle underneath. The bed had become very warm; she wondered if all men threw off the heat of a glowing forge. She did not pull away as he stroked the curves of her breasts, cupping the flesh in his hands. Then his arms, heavy and warm, slid around her waist and pressed her against him. She started in surprise when he bent down to nuzzle at her breasts through the shift. He glanced up at her face--a quick, uncertain look--before he loosened the ties at the neck and slid the cloth from her shoulders. Her body tightened with yearning as he slowly sucked in turn on each breast.
They kissed again, but this time she pressed herself against him, flesh on warm flesh, and she opened her lips wide as he bent his face to meet hers. Making a low sound in his throat, he drew back and looked at her. His eyes were wide, and a sheen of sweat gleamed on his face and shoulders. His hands fumbled at the ties as he pushed aside her shift, leaving her naked.
"So lovely," he murmured, as he ran his hands from her shoulders down to her breasts. "I have traveled far, but never in my travels have I seen a sight so lovely. White like the petals of a woodland flower, as soft as the breast of a dove. So soft and warm..." His hands trailed across her belly, until his strong hands came to rest on either side of her hips. When he gently stroked her thighs, she willingly parted her knees to gain him entry. For a moment, she was afraid as he covered her with his body and she could not move her chest to breathe, but he quickly shifted his weight onto his arms. Again he gave her that uncertain glance, and then he slowly sank into her. He took care to move at a measured pace, yet still she had to stifle a cry when at last he drove in to the hilt.
Afterwards, spent and sweating, he drew back from her. His breath still uneven, he rolled onto his side and sat up. "I fear I was less than gentle," he murmured. "Forgive me if I hurt you. This seems poor payment for the pleasure that you gave me."
"I have ridden horses who caused me more pain. I deem you forget whom you married, man of Gondor, for I have not proven so frail," Éowyn told him. She reached up to touch his face in the curtained twilight of the bed.
Leaning over her, he smoothed the sweaty tangle of hair from her brow. "Frail? I never thought it, Éowyn of Rohan." That night, she had slept close against his breast, encircled by the weight of his arm while the steadfast beat of his heart had lulled her to dreamless rest.
Since their wedding night, the moon had waned and grown full again. Yet still he warily studied her face, searching for she knew not what, as he stroked her hair and held her close after their coupling. Did she somehow disappoint him? Often, she felt left behind, a slow and clumsy partner in this, the oldest dance. With use, the new sheath will stretch to fit the weapon, and indeed she no longer felt any pain, yet she deemed that her husband still felt the greater pleasure. Mayhap this was the lot of a wife? Yet why did he watch her with such ill-disguised concern?
No doubt the healers could answer her questions. Dame Ioreth was learned in the secrets of getting children; it was said that even the Warden turned to her for advice. The old healer was wise and kind-hearted…But her tongue runs faster than one of the Mearas, Éowyn reminded herself. She would never knowingly do me harm, but I dare not trust in her silence.
During her stay in the Houses, she had seen the Warden reading texts about surgery and herblore. Mayhap there were books on the getting of children? She thought of Old Ioreth again. Books to teach midwives? Faramir had shown her the great library of Mundberg. Thousands of books and scrolls—they must hold all the learning of MiddleEarth; surely the answer was there.
Trailed by her bodyguard, she went to the library. She had told her maidens that they need not wait on her, but this man had refused to be left behind and now he followed her at a courteous distance.
"My lady, we are honored by this visit," Master Eradan said with a bow as she and her guardian entered the reading room. "You just missed meeting your lord husband; he was here this hour past. And in what way may I help you, my lady?"
"I--I would see the books about healing," she stammered, adding quickly, "I would learn the uses of the simples of Gondor. In the gardens of the Houses, I see many strange herbs which do not grow in my land. Yet I do not wish to trouble the healers with so slight a matter." This was not without some truth; for Faramir was trying to teach her the names of the healing herbs.
"Then like your lord husband, you are a master of herblore?"
"No master but merely a student." Éowyn gave him what she hoped was a fetching smile. Well she could wield a sword, but she was poorly trained in the weapons used by women.
"There is no master who was not once a student, my lady," the loremaster replied with a grave nod, "And both are likewise welcome here."
Master Eradan led Éowyn to a long table by a window and offered her a chair. He left and returned with a leather-bound book.
"I would not keep you from your other duties," Éowyn told him. "This task will take some time." I beg you go away, she prayed silently. Now.
"It is no trouble, my lady." The loremaster spread open the book. Tattered pages were covered with tiny script and brightly-painted images. "This is the 'Treatises on the Art of Healing;' it is the best place to begin your study of the herbs of Gondor. The first chapter covers herblore, but the text deals also with other matters of healing." He leafed through the book, past pages of blood-red hearts and purple spleens and…was that what she thought it was?
Closing the book, Master Eradan said, "I will leave you to your studies, my lady. Give my regards to your lord husband." His face was as blank as a piece of new parchment, but one of his eyebrows gave a sudden twitch.
After the old loremaster had bowed and walked away, Éowyn opened the well-worn book. She turned past the chapters about "The Heart," "The Lungs," and "The Bowels," until she found "The Secret Parts." She stared at the painted images. The men bore huge members, worthy of a studhorse, and the smiling women had breasts like great, round cheeses. Her cheeks reddened to see their shameless stances, but she also wondered what they were doing. She tried to read the written text, but some of these words were strange to her. "Yet since the woman is by nature modest and shy," the book said, "her husband must know how to kindle her desire. Place your hand gently but firmly on her—
What means that word? Éowyn wondered. Perhaps these were names used only by the healers? Moving her lips silently, she formed the empty sounds. This might as well be written in Dwarvish, she thought with a sigh. I am a poor scholar, so this book must keep its secrets.
As she left the library and walked slowly toward the Citadel, Éowyn told herself, I need the counsel of another wedded woman.
Yet pride kept her from going to Queen Arwen or to the women of Mundberg. They would think she complained, deem that she found some fault with her husband, when nothing could be farther from the truth! Éowyn needed a woman of her own people. Faithful to the House of Eorl, a steadfast wife who would not betray her secrets. And how much easier to speak of these worries in her own tongue. A band of noblewomen had traveled with her from Edoras, but the married ones had gone back to their homes soon after the wedding. Since the end of the War, a few soldiers had returned to Mundberg with fair-haired wives, yet Éowyn scarcely knew these women. Must she journey to the Mark in search of close counsel?
Éowyn stopped suddenly. Freydis Fréawine's daughter!
"Forgive me, my lady!" a farmer sputtered as his basket of turnips slammed into her back.
After she and the bodyguard had helped him pick up his wares, Éowyn turned about and set a fast pace toward the second circle.
To be continued…
