Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything. I own nothing.
Notes: I know, I know, I suck. I've really lost my way with this story, hence the simple task of writing a whole chapter takes an excruciatingly long time. Not helped by real life getting in the way of course, but it's never good to dwell on that whole business. Anyway, sorry for being an unreliable author, and I hope this chapter isn't too much of a disappointment after the long wait. It's a bit of a strange one, sorry if it seems disjointed. I just wanted to get it up in the end. As ever, thanks for all your reviews, and I hope you keep reading.
Dedication: To quillon, and anyone else who's ever e-mailed me about the story. I appreciate it.
The Patient
Chapter 7: Over the Threshold
Eowyn swam to consciousness as the morning sun dappled her hunched form.
Before she even opened her eyes, she knew there was something wrong.
She was in an upright position, with her back propped against something hard and uncomfortable.
She wasn't in her bed…
This wasn't even her room.
Her brain was still thick with sleep and confusion, but there was a deep uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that was waking her up quickly.
She snapped to full attention at the sound of movement by the window, and turned to see a figure outlined by daylight.
Standing bolt upright, facing away from her, hands clenched behind his back. The patient.
Damn.
She could tell by his posture that he knew she was awake.
Damn.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus on thinking up any reason she could offer as to why she was here, in his room, on the floor at the foot of his bed, having just woken up. It was essential that she think up some excuse…
Even as she cursed herself she felt anger at him rise deep within her.
She knew that he was entirely within his rights to stand there with his back to her and be furious. He had woken from a long, feverish night to find her, an intruder, asleep inches away from his bed. She had invaded his privacy with no good reason.
She knew she would be furious, had he intruded upon her.
Eowyn felt her stomach lurch uneasily as she searched her thoughts.
Why had she stayed here?
She had been… worried about him. He had looked so desperately ill last night. The healers hushed tones had been under laid with deep fear for him.
And she had been tired, upset and confused…
Last nights mindset, the one which had led her in here and left her stranded, seemed foreign to her now, and incomprehensible.
Eowyn couldn't quite believe her own foolishness.
It was almost a relief when his voice tore her from her dismay.
"I can only assume that the lady of Rohan believes it her right to wander wherever she wishes in another's city. Even when that leads her into the private rooms of sick men." His voice was like the crack of a whip. He was so naturally articulate that his speech could sound like a weapon.
She could hear his fists clenching.
So he was angry.
Of course he was angry.
"But why, I wonder, should you want to come all the way up here to these quarters? What peace could you find here, that you could not have found in your own room? I confess myself to be at a loss."
He turned around, visibly seething, yet she was amazed to find herself relieved at his appearance. He looked steadier somehow, his skin was less clammy and his eyes were focused. Even his anger was a good sign. He had regained enough of his strength to be angry. His condition was improving again.
"But then, perhaps the lady of Rohan isn't to be questioned about such things. Perhaps she doesn't have to explain herself."
Eowyn knew she didn't have a leg to stand on, but she could still feel her own temper coil at his words.
"I'm surprised that you do not wish to defend yourself."
He was trying to get a rise out of her, to get her to say something – anything – to explain herself.
And so she found her voice.
"I'm sorry." The rage within her had no direction, no way to manifest itself save in the shaking of her hands.
"I am sorry for the intrusion. I assure you, it will not happen again."
Eowyn was standing now, smoothing down her clothing stiffly. Her movements had become regimented, the soldier in her taking control of her body, so that she might escape the room unscathed.
Faramir's lip curled almost imperceptively, and she understood why. He was searching for an explanation, and all she had offered was an apology.
Unable to bear his scrutiny any longer, she found herself crossing to the door, painfully slowly. Even now, she could not give him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat hastily.
She made it to the stairs, still cursing herself. She was out of his view now, free of him.
One at a time, she descended the stairs, deliberate and careful, not wanting to jar herself from the numbing fog that had enveloped her brain.
Eowyn wanted nothing more than to lie down for a further few hours of sleep. She was so tired, and she definitely didn't want to think.
All she ever did now was fret and sleep.
It seemed an age since she had been a warrior, and constantly occupied. In reality, it was no time at all…
How long had she been here?
Was it days? Weeks?
She honestly didn't know.
Lucia was always telling her that she needed lots of bed rest in order to fully recover her strength. It suddenly seemed like excellent advice, as she lowered herself into her bed and let her mind drift into nothingness.
That evening, as the sun sank lower in the sky, Eowyn had a strong sense of a clock, ticking. She had spent the day resting, for once a model patient, and was still unable to make any sense of her actions the night before. She had grown increasingly weary of cursing herself for her behaviour, and now she peeled off her single layer of clothing in frustration.
She stood there in the windows waning light, naked and still, looking out on the world.
Then Eowyn lay down on her white bed, not bothering to cover herself with the sheets, enjoying the sudden evening breeze on her bare skin.
She closed her eyes, and covered them with her hand.
No. She couldn't bear it.
In one fluid motion Eowyn sprang from the bed and hastily took a cotton nightshirt from her dresser.
She buttoned it so quickly and clumsily that her fingers stumbled over one another, trembling. She hardly knew what she was doing.
Crossing swiftly to the door, Eowyn slipped through it and ran to the stairs.
Faramir stood in his breeches, resting his head against the pillar of one of his grand windows, not really looking at the view.
All day he had rocked violently back and forth between being infuriated and being intrigued. He couldn't set his mind on anything but her.
Her eyes had been so wide with shock and dismay when he'd turned to face her.
Why had she come?
Had she been before?
When the healers had arrived to tend to him that morning he had sent them away in a fierce bout of irritation, probably not the wisest course of action, considering his poor health of late.
At that moment, every single one of his muscles was tensed, coiled, ready.
Ready for what?
She won't come again tonight.
She won't.
Still, he knew he'd never get to sleep that night.
He felt too alert, too charged.
A jolt ran through him as he heard the faint sound of bare feet on the stairs below. His fingers gripped at the stone pillar so tightly as to turn his knuckles white, and with baited breath, he waited.
Then a prickly sensation crept up his spine.
He knew without turning that she would be in the doorway.
His gut was on fire.
Her ragged breathing from across the room matched his own.
When he turned to look at her he felt intoxicated.
He saw her stood there, unsure of herself, bare feet, uneven nightshirt, hugely dilated pupils.
His throat was dry, and, worse, he could feel his nipples stiffen at the sight of her.
In an instant he was striding across the room at a pace which clearly alarmed her, he heard her sharp intake of breath.
Impossibly, her eyes widened further as he neared her.
He dropped to his knees before her, and directly pressed his face against a large chink in the fabric of her nightshirt, where her hands had moved so rapidly they had missed out several buttons at once.
She gasped violently at the feel of his hot cheek against the cool, smooth marble of her belly.
But she did not recoil.
She couldn't move, she was frozen to the spot.
Her every nerve-end tingled with sensation as the warmth of his rough face spread across her middle.
Her thighs involuntarily slackened.
He seemed to be breathing her in. His arms sprang up around her waist to steady himself.
She found her own hands gripping his shoulders.
Her perception had narrowed to one single point.
The point where his cheek touched her bare skin.
For a time it was all she could feel.
Then everything else came creeping back in on her.
She opened her eyes and pushed at his shoulders, making him look up at her with a puzzled expression, as though he'd just woken up. She pushed him away from her roughly, and left the room as abruptly as she'd entered it.
She did not remember the journey back to her own room. It seemed to pass by in an instant. She closed the door behind her and tore off her nightshirt immediately.
She moved to the cabinet which held a basin of water and she began to bathe herself, slowly, deliberately drawing the damp cloth over her tingling skin. The cool, dark night air surrounded her as she drew the cloth across the pert, heavy bulk of her breasts, strange sensations coiling and writhing between her thighs.
The cloth now rested tenderly on her stomach where he had touched her,and her breathing became laboured. Such things he had awoken in her…
She didn't want to feel them.
Eowyn hadn't known it was possible to feel this sort of intensity throughout her body, her bowels quivering with the fire of his touch, the memory of his arms about her waist…