VI. The Bower
I awaken slowly, my body tired and aching and - not alone! There is a man in my bed, his arm wound tight around me, pinning me against him. I freeze in terror at the sight of his dark hair. It cannot be Grima; he is gone, he is dead.
Then I remember, and see more clearly in the dawn's pale light. The man is my husband. My lord. My Faramir. We lie in my bed, in my flower-bedecked bower in the Golden Hall, on the morning after our wedding. I remember how he took me in his arms when at last we were left alone here.
I had never thought to find such joy in giving my body to a man. I had never thought to lie worn but happy in his arms as he caressed me, murmuring my name. I fear almost that I dream, that I will wake again to find my bower dark and chill, while Grima stalks outside my door. I cannot help but shudder at the memory of being pent, a prize for men to covet and use.
Faramir awakens, feeling my unease in the sudden coldness of my skin. He draws the coverlets up around my bare shoulders, and pulls me close again. I look at his face. Even half-sleeping, his raven hair tousled on the white pillow, Faramir is pleasing to my eyes; his features proud and noble. And I see for the first time how long his eyelashes are, how dark. I reach out to touch them.
He seizes my finger lightly, then holds it against his mouth. I am willingly caught, but I can catch too! I kiss the warm flesh below Faramir's neck, moving my mouth upward, and run my hands down his body. I sense the power there, the clean lines of shoulders and chest and the wondrous strength of his thighs. It is all mine to command, mine to love. My husband stirs. A deep sound, like a great cat purring, swells in his throat under my lips; then turns to a low chuckle.
He shifts and kisses me. I lift my mouth to his, answering without words. We separate briefly, and I am warmed by the tenderness in Faramir's eyes as well as the shared heat of our bodies. For the first time in many years, my bower is truly a home instead of a cage.