Like To The Lark
Éowyn seemed glad to be home on the whole, Faramir thought, though she kept shooting him worried glances. He knew why - he had not been himself on the road to Rohan. He was grateful that the King had granted him the chance to see Éowyn, but a week's solid journey on horseback was not his idea of a holiday. Though that, the thought with a grin, was something he would definitely be hiding from his betrothed. According to the King, and a slight irony curled Faramir's mouth, Éowyn missed him so much it was painful to watch. And well might the King know.
He cut himself off, for his exhaustion was making his thoughts uncharitable. The months spent chasing the sad remainders of orc bands across Ithilien had yielded results - none now were left - but the spring rains had not made for easy travel for the White Company. He was glad to see that Éowyn was in good health and spirits - she had explained about the Queen's treatment for nightmares (which she herself did not seem to entirely understand) on the first night of the journey - but was too tired to celebrate it properly. He longed to hold her in his arms, and bury his head in her hair, and lose himself in her scent, her touch, her feel, as he sometimes had before. However he was spending two nights in Edoras, and he doubted Éomer King would appreciate him acting on such ideas.
Not that Éomer was a fearsome brother - he was simply protective of Éowyn, which Faramir could certainly understand. In all other respects he was completely cordial - or rather on the first night of Faramir's stay this time round, he had persuaded the Steward to stay up and get drunk with him, at which point they had recounted stories of - well Faramir couldn't remember what exactly, but there had been much laughter and back slapping and he supposed that was the right thing after all. The next morning he had presented Faramir with a magnificent horse - explaining that it was the horse they had lent Boromir, which had returned riderless. It was a thoughtful gift, and Éomer had shown himself to be cannier than normally assumed in the giving of it.
Now Faramir was having dinner alone with Éowyn and he could feel a headache pounding behind his eyes. His silver ring of office seemed to be constantly catching the light, and the heavy wine that went with the meal made him sleepy. He was, he realised, in a foul mood - longing for nothing more than a chance to go to bed and to sleep. But it was his last chance to see Éowyn in private, and the candlelight illuminated her face so well that he thought he would forego sleep for a while.
She spoke little and softly, but one sentence caught his attention, "Éomer regrets not giving you the horse before you know.". He nodded to show his understanding, and suddenly the words seemed almost pushed out of his mouth, "Do you have any regrets?", she looked up at him curiously, with that swift tilt of head that still entranced him, and some voice told him to cease, not to continue with this line of questioning, but his mouth seemed to have run away with him. She said lightly, but with a fearful look in her eye, "What kind of regrets Faramir?"
He said it as quickly and coldly as he could, "About the King? Now that you see what kind of man he is? Now that he is half-smitten with you, so they say?", she laughed out loud at that, not intentionally he could tell, "They say his wife is jealous". She interrupted, "Who is this they of whom you speak?".
"They say he thinks to make you a symbol of peace for Gondor". She went white, "That is what Grima used to call me. A symbol of 'Rohirric valour' with no place outside the city walls". He closed his eyes, he had never meant to echo that excuse for a piece of excrement.
She was angry now, but a cold freezing anger such as he had never seen in her before, "Do you think so little of me, that you suspect that after pledging my troth to you, my heart, I would fall for another man? Do you think I would ever have agreed to be your love, your wife, if I had feelings for another man? That I would betray you thus? Have I ever given you reason to suspect me of such double dealing?"
Yet that evil disposition still controlled his words, and he said, "Why, what woman would not prefer to be the dupe of the King of Gondor and Arnor, than only the wife of the Steward?". She crumpled up her napkin and threw it on the table. Leaning forward she said in a very low voice, "Never speak of yourself like that. Not to me. You are never an only! Never. You are not", and she stopped incapable of further speech.
She stood and her hands trembled, and he saw tears in her eyes, and he knew that she hurt. She hurt because of him. He started to say that he was sorry, but she curtsied and said, "Goodnight my lord". Never before had she been so cold to him, and he knew that right now he deserved nothing less.
She was gone, and he stared at his plate cursing inwardly. How could he have allowed such venom infect his conversation with her? He was a fool, to throw such taunts at her. He thought of her face, glowing in the candlelight, turning to him with that open look he alone received, and knew he was even more of a fool than he thought.
He ought to go after her, but now, when he was so tired, he feared he would say something even worse. He would sleep and find her in the morning and apologise on bended knee. That is if the sight of her set face would leave his mind that night.
* * *
Éowyn wept. He should not be able to hurt her this much. He ought not to. How different this visit was to his last. During that summer things had been golden, and they had wondered, alone and joyous, in the fields surrounding Edoras, and they had ridden together, and never had she felt more joy.
Yet the look on his face this night - he had been so harsh, his meaning hidden in his eyes. He did not truly think she loved Aragorn did he? How could he? For a moment she wished Arwen were there, for the Queen would have soothed her so that she might think clearly, and then she laughed at the irony of her wish.
She paced to and fro in her room. The moon shone through her window, illuminating everything. She wore a white nightgown and her hair hung in a heavy plait down her back. How could he think that she loved another? Had she given him reason to? When all she thought about was he, and how she wanted to be near him and see him and talk with him? She could not even contemplate the thought of a life with someone else - nor did she wish to. When his voice filled her dreams and his touch made her shiver - she would never be able to stand the thought of another man's.
Realising she had been pacing for almost two hours, she decided to go to him. It was near midnight, none would be up, and she knew where his room lay. As soon as the idea occurred to her she was off like an elven arrow - without even a thought to her appearance.
She burst through his door a moment after knocking. He sat on a low chair, his shirt half open and his head leaning back. When she entered he looked up. Slowly he stood as she came towards him. She started to speak, all a gabble, "I can't pretend to sleep and think of this all night. I love you, I love you more than anything. I don't know why you could think otherwise - there's no one but you, no one has your heart or your soul, and I just, I can't."
She started to gasp and tried to restrain her tears as she spoke - how could he not understand? She reached a hand out to his cheek and said, "You're everything, and I thought you understood, and." He pulled her towards him, and held her tightly in his arms. She wanted to push him away and make him understand, but as he cradled her she had not the strength. She drank in the sensation of nearness, as she heard him whisper into her hair, "I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot, I'm so sorry".
He rocked her back and forth, and slowly she calmed. Somehow they had weathered the storm. Tilting her head upwards she looked at him. He stroked her cheek and said, "What blessing was given me that you should love me?". She looked into his eyes, the ones she loved so much, the eyes that saw and understood everything in the world and her most of all, and said, "You're the best man I've ever known".
And then they were kissing, and she was locked tight against him, and she could only think dizzily that she never wanted him to let go of her. And she shivered as his lips met the skin of her neck, and suddenly he pulled away from her. For a moment he looked the other direction, and then he met her eyes and said "Éowyn I think you should go."
She didn't understand and said desperately, "You are not angry at me, are you? For coming?", before she could continue he put a hand over her mouth. He spoke very softly, "I am not angry, it is that I think I may enjoy you too much right now." Her mouth made an 'O' of surprise against his hand, and he said, "We are not yet wed Lady Éowyn". She blushed scarlet against his hand, and his mouth twitched, and suddenly she started to giggle. Helplessly she laughed, though softly, and he had to hold her up, though as for that he was in similar convulsions.
Finally, when she was sober, she decided to say goodnight. As she left she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, "I like your hands on me my lord", and walked away hoping that the thought would torture him for the rest of the night. From the simultaneous looks of pleasure and shock that crossed his face she rather thought it would.
Author's Note
I've never been able to make up my own mind as to whether the Rohirrim would be very liberal or conservative in their sexual modes of behaviour. However I am fairly sure that a woman with an introduction to sexuality as god awful as Éowyn's and her background (medieval) would be unlikely to have sex before marriage (I'm not saying it's wrong, or any such fundamentalist nonsense, just that I think it's unlikely for the character)
Éowyn seemed glad to be home on the whole, Faramir thought, though she kept shooting him worried glances. He knew why - he had not been himself on the road to Rohan. He was grateful that the King had granted him the chance to see Éowyn, but a week's solid journey on horseback was not his idea of a holiday. Though that, the thought with a grin, was something he would definitely be hiding from his betrothed. According to the King, and a slight irony curled Faramir's mouth, Éowyn missed him so much it was painful to watch. And well might the King know.
He cut himself off, for his exhaustion was making his thoughts uncharitable. The months spent chasing the sad remainders of orc bands across Ithilien had yielded results - none now were left - but the spring rains had not made for easy travel for the White Company. He was glad to see that Éowyn was in good health and spirits - she had explained about the Queen's treatment for nightmares (which she herself did not seem to entirely understand) on the first night of the journey - but was too tired to celebrate it properly. He longed to hold her in his arms, and bury his head in her hair, and lose himself in her scent, her touch, her feel, as he sometimes had before. However he was spending two nights in Edoras, and he doubted Éomer King would appreciate him acting on such ideas.
Not that Éomer was a fearsome brother - he was simply protective of Éowyn, which Faramir could certainly understand. In all other respects he was completely cordial - or rather on the first night of Faramir's stay this time round, he had persuaded the Steward to stay up and get drunk with him, at which point they had recounted stories of - well Faramir couldn't remember what exactly, but there had been much laughter and back slapping and he supposed that was the right thing after all. The next morning he had presented Faramir with a magnificent horse - explaining that it was the horse they had lent Boromir, which had returned riderless. It was a thoughtful gift, and Éomer had shown himself to be cannier than normally assumed in the giving of it.
Now Faramir was having dinner alone with Éowyn and he could feel a headache pounding behind his eyes. His silver ring of office seemed to be constantly catching the light, and the heavy wine that went with the meal made him sleepy. He was, he realised, in a foul mood - longing for nothing more than a chance to go to bed and to sleep. But it was his last chance to see Éowyn in private, and the candlelight illuminated her face so well that he thought he would forego sleep for a while.
She spoke little and softly, but one sentence caught his attention, "Éomer regrets not giving you the horse before you know.". He nodded to show his understanding, and suddenly the words seemed almost pushed out of his mouth, "Do you have any regrets?", she looked up at him curiously, with that swift tilt of head that still entranced him, and some voice told him to cease, not to continue with this line of questioning, but his mouth seemed to have run away with him. She said lightly, but with a fearful look in her eye, "What kind of regrets Faramir?"
He said it as quickly and coldly as he could, "About the King? Now that you see what kind of man he is? Now that he is half-smitten with you, so they say?", she laughed out loud at that, not intentionally he could tell, "They say his wife is jealous". She interrupted, "Who is this they of whom you speak?".
"They say he thinks to make you a symbol of peace for Gondor". She went white, "That is what Grima used to call me. A symbol of 'Rohirric valour' with no place outside the city walls". He closed his eyes, he had never meant to echo that excuse for a piece of excrement.
She was angry now, but a cold freezing anger such as he had never seen in her before, "Do you think so little of me, that you suspect that after pledging my troth to you, my heart, I would fall for another man? Do you think I would ever have agreed to be your love, your wife, if I had feelings for another man? That I would betray you thus? Have I ever given you reason to suspect me of such double dealing?"
Yet that evil disposition still controlled his words, and he said, "Why, what woman would not prefer to be the dupe of the King of Gondor and Arnor, than only the wife of the Steward?". She crumpled up her napkin and threw it on the table. Leaning forward she said in a very low voice, "Never speak of yourself like that. Not to me. You are never an only! Never. You are not", and she stopped incapable of further speech.
She stood and her hands trembled, and he saw tears in her eyes, and he knew that she hurt. She hurt because of him. He started to say that he was sorry, but she curtsied and said, "Goodnight my lord". Never before had she been so cold to him, and he knew that right now he deserved nothing less.
She was gone, and he stared at his plate cursing inwardly. How could he have allowed such venom infect his conversation with her? He was a fool, to throw such taunts at her. He thought of her face, glowing in the candlelight, turning to him with that open look he alone received, and knew he was even more of a fool than he thought.
He ought to go after her, but now, when he was so tired, he feared he would say something even worse. He would sleep and find her in the morning and apologise on bended knee. That is if the sight of her set face would leave his mind that night.
* * *
Éowyn wept. He should not be able to hurt her this much. He ought not to. How different this visit was to his last. During that summer things had been golden, and they had wondered, alone and joyous, in the fields surrounding Edoras, and they had ridden together, and never had she felt more joy.
Yet the look on his face this night - he had been so harsh, his meaning hidden in his eyes. He did not truly think she loved Aragorn did he? How could he? For a moment she wished Arwen were there, for the Queen would have soothed her so that she might think clearly, and then she laughed at the irony of her wish.
She paced to and fro in her room. The moon shone through her window, illuminating everything. She wore a white nightgown and her hair hung in a heavy plait down her back. How could he think that she loved another? Had she given him reason to? When all she thought about was he, and how she wanted to be near him and see him and talk with him? She could not even contemplate the thought of a life with someone else - nor did she wish to. When his voice filled her dreams and his touch made her shiver - she would never be able to stand the thought of another man's.
Realising she had been pacing for almost two hours, she decided to go to him. It was near midnight, none would be up, and she knew where his room lay. As soon as the idea occurred to her she was off like an elven arrow - without even a thought to her appearance.
She burst through his door a moment after knocking. He sat on a low chair, his shirt half open and his head leaning back. When she entered he looked up. Slowly he stood as she came towards him. She started to speak, all a gabble, "I can't pretend to sleep and think of this all night. I love you, I love you more than anything. I don't know why you could think otherwise - there's no one but you, no one has your heart or your soul, and I just, I can't."
She started to gasp and tried to restrain her tears as she spoke - how could he not understand? She reached a hand out to his cheek and said, "You're everything, and I thought you understood, and." He pulled her towards him, and held her tightly in his arms. She wanted to push him away and make him understand, but as he cradled her she had not the strength. She drank in the sensation of nearness, as she heard him whisper into her hair, "I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot, I'm so sorry".
He rocked her back and forth, and slowly she calmed. Somehow they had weathered the storm. Tilting her head upwards she looked at him. He stroked her cheek and said, "What blessing was given me that you should love me?". She looked into his eyes, the ones she loved so much, the eyes that saw and understood everything in the world and her most of all, and said, "You're the best man I've ever known".
And then they were kissing, and she was locked tight against him, and she could only think dizzily that she never wanted him to let go of her. And she shivered as his lips met the skin of her neck, and suddenly he pulled away from her. For a moment he looked the other direction, and then he met her eyes and said "Éowyn I think you should go."
She didn't understand and said desperately, "You are not angry at me, are you? For coming?", before she could continue he put a hand over her mouth. He spoke very softly, "I am not angry, it is that I think I may enjoy you too much right now." Her mouth made an 'O' of surprise against his hand, and he said, "We are not yet wed Lady Éowyn". She blushed scarlet against his hand, and his mouth twitched, and suddenly she started to giggle. Helplessly she laughed, though softly, and he had to hold her up, though as for that he was in similar convulsions.
Finally, when she was sober, she decided to say goodnight. As she left she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear, "I like your hands on me my lord", and walked away hoping that the thought would torture him for the rest of the night. From the simultaneous looks of pleasure and shock that crossed his face she rather thought it would.
Author's Note
I've never been able to make up my own mind as to whether the Rohirrim would be very liberal or conservative in their sexual modes of behaviour. However I am fairly sure that a woman with an introduction to sexuality as god awful as Éowyn's and her background (medieval) would be unlikely to have sex before marriage (I'm not saying it's wrong, or any such fundamentalist nonsense, just that I think it's unlikely for the character)