A/N: Many thanks to FriendLey for pulling me back from the writer's block abyss! I am proud of all the different states, up and downs and revelations this story has brought out. I realize that while frustrating at times, I'll be sad when this is over, but no worries for now! We still have a ways to go! ;0 ;) Tiny bit of M going on in here. I can't help myself with some of these guys! . . . So just be aware! Happy Holidays/New Year . . . almost!
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The days following that pronouncement in the glade had left them reeling and yet imposed with such a sense of urgency that hadn't slackened in the least, mused Eowyn, eyes flickering to the ceiling. Even now, as she woke in the soft stillness of her bedroom, "orc activity" hummed through her brain and all the ramifications and preparations stemming from this, threatened to overwhelm her day. Faramir and Beregond had been scouting for days along their borders, and while their findings weren't conclusive, it still had everyone on edge, the mere idea of an orc force venturing so near to the Sun Palace, leaving the remnants of their poaching and encampment so casually.
She wanted to forget it. Eowyn looked at Faramir beside her, so deeply enveloped in sleep that he could have easily blended in with the room's grey shadows. She resisted the urge to smooth hair off his brow. Even now, Eowyn loathed the thought of them being disturbed early, as Faramir had returned late last night. Someone among their household, (who hadn't been soothed by her attempts to organize the defense of the keep) might bother them, she mused distractedly. The pale, cool light of the morning was no cover; in fact they probably wanted Faramir to 'check' her handiwork. Either way at least something good had come out of the absence of Faramir and Beregond: Eowyn had taken matters into her own hands at the Sun Palace. Ruthlessly gathering the supplies and delegating tasks that had been put off for far too long, she felt in control.
Faramir had left her behind in a way that made her angry. Saying their their scouting was 'a trip into the unknown.' Needless to say she wasn't included. He had been concerned about the danger of course, but she was fully capable of taking care of herself as she'd reminded him last night. Eowyn hadn't wasted anytime in seeking an audience with her husband as soon as supper ended in the raucous hall. Dragging him away from their anxious courtiers, she had slammed the doors of their private quarters and whirled upon him. "I'm glad I got the opportunity to tighten our defenses here, " she said cooly "but before you leave me again for days on end, you should know that my brother is en-route and your lady-cousin Lothiriel, the bright Numenorean, (as you usually are), is most concerned. She has had acute premonitions about him coming to the Sun Palace."
Faramir raised an eyebrow. "My lady-cousin, Numenorean? My, my, you must be mad and angry with me to use those terms," he said with the merest touch of impatience seeping into his tone.
Eowyn's voice shook. "I am. You weren't left among people who questioned your decisions at every turn."
"They were probably trying to help."
"I think I know what the difference is between help and interference."
Faramir just shook his head. "There were reasons to keep you safe here."
"You don't think I'm safe, or can be?" What Lothiriel wrote about our sanctuary here . . ."
"Yes about Lothiriel," he said pensively, "she probably senses the 'orc activity' that I was seeking, with her Numenorean intuition; is that what you mean by premonition?" Faramir glowered at her glare and looked at her sharply to answer him.
"If you Numenoreans are so intuitive, why didn't you sense this earlier to destroy this horrid mess . . . a peril that threatens to embroil my brother in this trouble we've been skirting . . ." Eowyn's voice was low and fraught.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"My brother is traveling back to Rohan from Dol Amroth; but according to Lothiriel he is stopping here instead of staying to the main roads."
"Orcs may still be in the area from what we discovered scouting . . ." mused Faramir, eyes distant.
"Exactly my point! Why don't you understand me?" Eowyn questioned, her eyes firing like bolts, her hand gesturing abruptly in his face.
"Damn your brother and his own foolhardy traveling," Faramir cut in corrodingly. "Where's that letter that's causing so much trouble? You think anything is really in our control, Eowyn? But you're right; we've luckily 'skirted' any conflict."
"You can't sound so defeated . . . not while we must still avert . . . a conflict."
"I'm not! I am averting one."
"I feel you're using your words against me."
"No, I'm no Eowynt, I only feel that I can't help your brother avoid any of this chaos if its just beyond our border's security . . ." He shrugged. 'We're stretched too thin against this threat and he should know that Middle-earth is still a perilous place."
"What then was your point in leaving the Sun Palace?" Eowyn was terse. "Faramir, I believe we're giving up our level-headedness by scattering our energies and becoming frazzled."
Faramir sighed. "Clearly. You are the one that is frazzled tonight. Just give me that letter to read," he said, sharply countering the steely fight brewing in her eyes.
Eowyn rolled her shoulders and glanced about, her eyes sliding to a stop at the word 'frazzled,' and then she whirled to him. "What letter?" she hissed. "You shouldn't be so short with me, Faramir."
"The letter Lothi wrote! Where she's concerned! As we all are! Goodness Eowyn . . . can you just show me that missive?"
"Its irrelevant. She says my brother must be looked after, she had this . . ." Eowyn paused with a ragged, furious breath, but she slowed her countenance. "She gave me a lot to think about, it's no simple missive I would say . . ."
"No doubt."
"If you could stop your sarcasm . . ."
"Now you're making me angry."
In response Eowyn cursed him colorfully in Rohirric, quickly and in a thick accent, but leaving little doubt of the meaning. "Really? You're angry? I'm concerned."
"Concerned? Forget your hysterics, Eowyn, I'm going to read this letter because if Lothiriel is having such . . . "
"Faramir, I know." Eowyn swallowed. "She says she's having 'death dreams' of Eomer . . . I fear for him when she writes me thus . . . she says it means he's in danger." Watching as Eowyn's eyes grew larger and glossy, Faramir pushed aside his feelings about Eowyn's hysteria, for in his mind Lothiriel should have simply been more prudent. Tossing about that Amroth saying . . . Numenorean he was, but still cynical . . . and superstitious. An uneasy mix. Why did he have this tumultuous legacy from Denethor? He still needed to see that letter to clarify his honest opinion . . .
"Eowyn, please, by all the spirits, give me that letter so I can help you. I'm sure its contents aren't irrelevant. Forgive me . . . for my earlier impatience."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Yes, husband." She brushed her hand over his gently as he smiled. She pulled out a drawer from a nearby desk and handed him a folded parchment from its dark recesses.
Faramir quickly scanned Lothiriel's scrawled, curving handwriting. "Lothiriel says the dreams are intense but vague. Eowyn, you shouldn't worry. She even says they are unconclusive. Yes we should look out for your brother and his retinue in a few days. However, in invoking the superstitious 'death dreams' terminology she says . . . you should burn this letter to eliminate the shadow elements of these words . . . she doesn't want to cause fear."
"Isn't that superstitious?" Eowyn looked irritated again, like she was trying very hard to understand him.
"I know it should be simpler. I don't know if Lothi should have written at all."
"I'm glad she did. My brother encompassed by shadows? You have to know, I need to protect him somehow . . ."
"Even from superstition?"
"Even from superstitious Numenoreans." Eowyn finally smiled.
"I understand . . . that deep uncanny bond of siblings, for if I could have just protected Boromir . . . from himself . . . I would have." There was pain in Farmir's eyes as he spoke. I had a 'death dream' about Boromir. . . but Lothiriel . . . never has."
"Do you doubt her?"
"I desperately want to, really for Eomer's sake."
"So do I," Eowyn's voice was hoarse, soft and Faramir touched her cheek.
"I'll just burn this then," Faramir made a move towards the glittering fire in the mantel.
"No, Faramir, you can't destroy that letter, it is still an important document to me!" Faramir!?" Eowyn followed him and her eyebrows shot up as the parchment fell from his fingers towards the fireplace. Eowyn swooped down and snatched the parchment floating midair. In the same instant she whirled and pushed her legs against Faramir's and dove her elbow into his collarbone pushing his head into the wall next to the mantel.
"How can you ignore me, treat me so? My letter! I didn't want it destroyed!" her voice reverberated through the air. Faramir shouted something but she didn't hear anything over the pounding in her ears and limbs.
He finally pushed her away, reeling in her stress and anxiety. "Eowyn?!" The voice was threatening not concerned. She caught his hand and twisted the wrist. He cried out and only then did she see the strength of her rage, what she had built to . . .
Faramir couldn't reach her, or it least he didn't think he could. When he grabbed her shoulders he felt she was beyond comprehension, but then her arms were around him in the same crushing embrace, her teeth were bared in their now physical contest of wills.
"Eowyn!" Faramir finally heard himself saying (or shouting), "It was a mistake for me to drop your letter . . . you need to calm down." He released his grip on one of her upheld arms.
"Was . . . it really!?" Eowyn's voice had slowed incrementally and she found herself an inch from Faramir's face.
"Yes . . ." They heard crunching noises and looked down. The letter had been torn apart by their trampling feet. They laughed together at the ironic sight, a mad, shared sound.
"It doesn't matter anymore . . . we dropped it." Eowyn looked into Faramir's swirling grey eyes.
"We?"
"We." Eowyn wrapped her shield-arm about Faramir's neck and kissed him hard, wildly. He groaned and kicked aside the remnants of the letter, unbuttoning her bodice, tearing her sleeve, his fingers swift.
"I missed this," he whispered.
"I just needed to have you," Eowyn answered in the only moment of calm for the next sequence of time. As she tore off his shirt he had pushed her on the bed, his hand running along the contours of her thigh, her naked hip beneath her dress. Their hands and bodies grappled dangerously, their breaths never slowed. They circled each other, Eowyn evading and persisting, fulfilling those lonely weeks without him as her red lips criss-crossed his abdomen, his face.
Everything he saw was her, as his hands tangled in her shimmering hair and her lips uttered release in his ear. Faramir felt anger, pain, joy . . . so blindingly he almost blacked out until her hands found his heartbeat again and he pulled Eowyn ever closer, nearer to him.
She seemed to go deeper and call for more in the deepening shadows until she pulled her thick, unruly hair from his eyes and said: "I'm not mad at you anymore."
Faramir laughed for the second time and kissed her intensely with the edge of his teeth from her wrist bones all the way to her collarbone. "You've certainly taken my rage away," his voice sounded drowsy, and for once that day he felt his age.
"I'd call it 'collision intimacy,' Eowyn sounded wry. "You think they . . . anybody heard us, Faramir?"
"Now you're guilty and sorry for terrorizing me, my little shieldmaiden?"
"Oh no, never," she growled . . . "what about your own actions my lord? I'd say they were hardly polite . . ."
"Oh really?"
"Really . . ." she pinched his arm but Faramir thought he heard a blush in her voice.
"Now you sound young."
"Not really young . . ." Eowyn couldn't remember the last time she'd felt truly 'young.'
Faramir nodded his head in the dark, lifting it briefly. "But Eowyn . . . feel how fast your heart is still beating." His fingers brushed her bare chest.
It was the last thing he said before he fell fast asleep, and Eowyn kissed him one more time on the lips before kicking their discarded clothes to the floor in the glow of the fire in the dark mantel, the only light in the room, her room. There were no dreams that disturbed them that night.
In this morning, Faramir opened his eyes to her remembering ones and took Eowyn's ivory pink-tinged face in his hands. "Finally my love." she breathed.
"Its late, isn't it?"
"All we have to do is blame it on Eomer."
"And Lothiriel."
"And Lothiriel," Eowyn found herself repeating, but both their faces grew tense as they listened for the sounds of the day, the wind whistling over the battlements, the sounds of their guards.
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Lothiriel wanted to scream as she opened her gilt window and felt the sea breeze on her face and hair. Her mind felt overused, sludgy, confined to the forest she saw Eomer riding through from her dream the night before. She hated herself for her dreams. They did nothing useful. She could only hope . . . they would stop and that her letter could avert possible trouble. If anything her newfound confidence with Eomer was rattled and shaken more profoundly then before. Because why did her dreams seem to fortell his death . . . or hers . . . their inevitable separation? Why did there have to be this reckoning?
Maybe she was not destined to marry Eomer king.
Yet all she wanted was to feel him again, the way his voice rushed through her, the depth finding resonance in her core, his laugh so surprisingly warm, hearty and joyous, like the younger members of his eored. Lothiriel wanted to believe in hope, the hope that everyone thought she had in gathering up her bridal trousseau. it seemed to be the only task set to her and it was driving Lothiriel mad. Maybe that was why she was going crazy with these dreams . . . they wouldn't let her attend in the local healing houses or study lore in the harbor library no matter how often she'd cajoled, begged.
Imrahil said that she had returned to her 'princess' status, and Ceril said they didn't want anyone uneasy about an alliance with Rohan and the Northern Horselord to get too close to her person. In other words she was isolated in her own homeland among her own people. Edoras's ghosts seemed an easy task in light of these pounding thoughts that confined her to her 'small world'. 'The princesses ivory sea tower', Lothiriel thought bitterly, angry at herself that she had come to despise her childhood rooms of fancy and imagination.
Whatever was afoot out there she had to face it, even her own consciousness, no matter the veil her father literally . . . wanted to put on things.
Lothiriel had enjoyed returning to Dol Amroth to show Eomer her home, her place of birth. Yet the day-to-day realities of Dol Amroth removed some of the glitter of her early happy years, those days before her mother's passing. Dol Amroth seemed backwards and impoverished when she considered the facilities of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. There were no proper storerooms here for rare herbs and commodities, and if nothing else Lothiriel endeavored to write letters of recommendation to the officials who oversaw the healing houses to set up new systems. Maybe they would listen to her, maybe they wouldn't, but Lothiriel had the time to sneakily write letters if nothing else, so she endeavored to use the time wisely in that respect.
Her hopes for her and Eomer's future rode in a letter . . . Lothiriel sighed. Why was she being so morbid? Did all prospective brides feel this way? She was grateful for her new desire and attachment to Eomer even if it hurt her heart, for she wanted to help in the Mark more than ever . . . in his keep, his bed . . . Her fingers played with his bracelet as the breeze twisted tiny stinging threads of her hair before her eyes and Lothiriel let herself smile without guilt, when she remembered the way Eomer had removed her hair veil one day in an alcove and kissed these feathery dark strands. "It smells like perfume and it's so soft . . . how come it tastes like blossoms?" he'd questioned her.
Lothiriel had tried out a flirtatious glance, her lips twitching. "Don't you know my lord-king?" she'd whispered low in his ear. "Its a Southron secret, perilous, intoxicating, bewitching . . ."
"I already feel the spell . . ." Eomer said, his mouth finding the indent of her throat as his hand pressed the wall behind her.
Lothiriel's breath rose and she gasped a little, not from her tight dress. "Please stop now, if anyone saw us . . ." Her hand stroked his beard as he pulled away.
"I know," Eomer had frowned in acute disappointment. "They'll throw us in the sea to those slimy monsters you eat."
Lothiriel giggled."Or you'll wish to be in the sea after my fathers done with you!" she laughed, feeling the tiniest bit smug that she was betrothed to this man and no one could gainsay her like before. There were benefits to an engagement . . .
Lothiriel wished she was laughing now. She set her brow against the wall and tried to send prayers of protection Eomer's way on the incoming breeze. Maybe he would hear her, maybe he would know how much she wanted him to tell . . . of Brynna, his past . . . their future. She curled her palm in a ball and stared at the flecks of paint peeling from the walls. She hated not knowing . . .
But there was work to be done.
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Eomer listened to the wind through the grass of the clearing and stared at the arrow in Elfhelm's hand. "It's an orc-arrow . . . Eomer-king."
"I know . . ." Eomer said, swallowing hard, thinking of the arrow found in his path as they'd ridden through the forest. It lay as though it was waiting for him.
"Be careful in your travels home, Eomer." Lothiriel's face swam before him. "I have so much to learn about you."
"And I you . . ." The voice of his departure from Dol Amroth was not the voice he used now. It had faded.
"We ride. Swiftly," he said.
"To the Sun Place."
"Yes."
To my sister.
Eomer turned Firefoot's head towards the mountains on his right and kneed him forward, his eored fanning out in his wake.
