Disclaimer: if I made up this world or these characters I'd be a millionaire so clearly I didn't; all praise to Tolkien even though he shorted us on Farawyn
Éowyn did not listen closely to the words of her betrothed as he spoke them. Standing hand in hand on this day of celebration, they were to make solemn vows to each other as countless others had done before, for countless reasons invariably lost to history. Though she could not deny the significance of the moment in the abstract, she knew also that Faramir was but dutifully repeating the words as bidden, an arcane and dusty incantation that must nonetheless be uttered to summon forth the future. Lacking as they did any skeleton of logic or emotion, the words served only to bind them at last by the cords of the law; tighter and truer bindings they had already woven for themselves in days gone by. For this reason, Éowyn thought then only of the vow he had offered months before and many leagues away, a promise breathed into the summer wind as it stirred the grass seas of her homeland.
It was in the gray mist of morning that she went down from Meduseld to receive the entourage. Their restraint had worn thin in the long months of waiting, and in an instant they were in each others' arms-though he had, remarkably, the wherewithal to refrain from kissing her in sight of so many a second time. From the stillness of that embrace she had raised her head to hold his gaze a moment before declaring matter-of-factly, "I would not be parted again."
"Nor would I," he had answered.
As she witnessed her uncle's body borne to its final resting place, again she had melted into him. This time she wept, openly and for the first time since she awoke from living death to the realization that Théoden had passed and she, against both chance and intent, yet lived. She thought not on that day that she would ever again find joy in life. Now, her tears falling abundantly as rain in a summer storm, she had the sense that she was waking a second time and that, in the blinding light of day, her bleary eyes could no longer discern grief from joy. She decided that Faramir's nearness had opened her heart, and she felt all things with an almost unbearable sharpness. He stood utterly without sound or motion, his head bowed so that his steady breathing lightly stirred her hair, until the last of her tears had dried upon her face in the afternoon heat. Sensing that the corners of her mouth were creeping, unbidden, to a smile, she broke the silence.
"I love you so very much." She relished the proud plainness of her own voice. He had begun to respond when something over her shoulder caught his attention, and at once she felt his arms loosen around her.
"Here comes your brother," he whispered with a conspiratorial gleam in his gray eyes that almost masked his momentary panic.
"I have spoken with him already," she informed him, smiling. "He will not oppose our engagement, although for his own sport he may try to convince you otherwise, for a while." Then she turned to stand at his side, clasping his hand almost unconsciously as Éomer approached. The two men bowed to each other.
"Lord Faramir. Though this be a day of sorrow, we are not wholly without cause for celebration. Truly I say that I have never seen my sister so happy as when she told me she would be wed to you. You are known across this realm and mine as a man of great valor and greater wisdom, but nonetheless I would have you answer me one question to set my mind at ease. What do you offer my sister?"
In her periphery she saw that Faramir held her brother's gaze steadily, and his voice was mild and clear and reminded her of the cool waters of the Snowbourn rolling gaily along beneath the sun.
"I will not speak of the love in my heart, for I believe you know of that already, and maybe also are unmoved by such declarations before they are proven true through action. Therefore, let me say to you only that I would not be your sister's protector or provider, for she needs neither from any man, but I would be, above all, her companion. Ever shall I be at her side, and ever shall I endeavor to bring her happiness and share in her sorrow, for as long as she will have me. And should a day come when she will have me no longer, I will not keep her, though my own heart be sundered at that parting; for I would sooner lay down my own life than have my love become a cage for a lady so noble and so free."
All of this he said with his usual air of keen wit and grim humor, a buoyant weightiness at once stern and delicate; it was the cadence of one recounting the fine details of an interesting historical anecdote he had read. As he spoke, though, Éowyn was distantly aware that his hand was ever-tightening in hers until they gripped each other with white knuckles, and she wondered at the sensation of their blood beating strongly even through to the tips of their fingers. The King of Rohan regarded Faramir a moment longer, eyes twinkling inscrutably. Then he turned to look Éowyn in the face, offering a brusque nod and a soft, "He will serve," before departing past her shoulder.
All of this Éowyn remembered as she carried on the recitation, and though she looked straight ahead she could feel that Faramir's gaze was on her and that his eyes were laughing—for her rehearsed promises to be a demure and subservient wife to him, delivered in the hard-edged northern accent that she swore she would never shake, was most amusing.
Then he kissed her to the raucous cheers of their guests, and the day became a blur of fevered merriment which stretched through the afternoon and into the evening. Many toasted to their union, including the King and Queen of Gondor and the marshals of the Mark and many odd friends from distant corners of the world. By the end of the toasting, they were both thoroughly drunk. Wheeling from the lively spectacle of two young halflings leading her cousins in a drinking song, Éowyn shoved recklessly past a certain elf-lord and his dwarf companion, who raised their glasses a final time to Faramir before hastily withdrawing as he caught her in an embrace. Together they dissolved for a moment into giddy laughter as he scrambled with uncharacteristic clumsiness to keep her from falling, and once she was steadied she rose on her toes to slur happily into his ear.
"It is too hot. Will my lord not accompany me to take the brisk air of this night?"
Without another word he surrendered his hands into hers as she led him, half walking and half falling, into the garden. There she kissed him with an open mouth, shivering with anticipation as his hands traveled up her arms and came to rest where her shoulders met her neck. Without breaking the kiss she advanced, pressing closer to him. His heartbeat reverberated through her breastbone and from there she felt a tingling warmth spread thrillingly throughout her body, collecting between her legs.
She thought of the last time they had held each other so, when summer had drawn to a close at Edoras and, following the departure of their friends, they had luxuriated in an unprecedented amount of time to themselves. Spurred, perhaps, by the unabashedness which pervaded the very air of that place, she had pulled him closer and kissed him more deeply than she had ever yet dared. In time he drew back, caressing her face with both hands and pressing his lips chastely to her forehead. For a span of seconds she wavered, and then the words tumbled from her lips of their own accord: "I am in agony from wanting you. Do you not want me?"
"More than you can possibly know," came the reply as he held her hand to his chest. Delighting in the pounding of his heart, she perceived also a dark fire in his eyes that excited her in a way that she did not fully understand.
Now, between the crisp chill of the air and the sweat and drunkenness of the day which clung to them both as they clung to each other, Éowyn felt more intoxicated than she ever had before. She made up her mind to suggest, in the sultriest voice she could muster, that it was about time to retire. Before she could speak, though, they were beset by a sudden cacophony.
"That is my sister you would corrupt under cover of darkness, Steward! Not until we've finished our merriment shall you lay a hand on her!" Éomer, who was very drunk and had several men at his back, gave them no time to marshal a defense before he pulled her new husband into a rough embrace, fixing him with a gaze that shone, miraculously, with both fraternal love and murderous intent, and every emotion in between. Even through her frustration, Éowyn cackled at the sight of Faramir being led, bewildered, back indoors, obviously caught as she was between irritation, gentle good-humor, and the undeniable fun of havoc for havoc's sake. Now alone under the chill light of the moon, she giggled to herself a moment longer before a gentle hand upon her shoulder signaled the arrival of the Queen, who by then had become a friend and trusted confidante. Her musical voice shimmered with mirth as it swelled to fill the silence.
"He may be gone a while. If you wish, I will accompany you to make ready for his return."
In the cozy quiet of the bedchamber, Arwen sang softly as she helped Éowyn remove the pins from her hair and change out of her gown. They did not speak of what was to come, for Éowyn knew well enough already, bred as she was among uncultivated men who sought not to shield her from the ways of the world, recognizing that she must learn sooner or later. Watching her friend's kind eyes and deft fingers as they unwrapped her with care, Éowyn thought with a touch of sadness that it would have been lovely to have a sister. Then she allowed herself to be sat upon the bed, where she settled almost immediately into deep contemplation, scarcely hearing Arwen's parting words of congratulations. Alone for the first time that day, she found herself again on the edge of some abyss, unable for the moment to turn and see what was behind her. She shivered, and it occurred to her how vulnerable she looked and felt in her shear dress.
To her surprise, she thought little of the immense pain that the women of her country told her to expect on this night. Instead, she found herself musing on death, and whether she went now to a kind of death heretofore unknown to her. Death in battle, she imagined, was sudden obliteration: to see one moment and then not again. A lifetime ago, she had thought long about what that kind of death would mean and decided she was not afraid. Now, she felt old fears surface as her mind's eye conjured an image of dissolving, perhaps happily but nonetheless outside her own will, absorbed into the will of another most dear to her. She had seen the care he took with her heart and mind, never attempting to insinuate himself into her thoughts even as he read them easily from her eyes. What, though, of her body? Abruptly she decided she disliked the way she sunk into the softness of the bed and, feeling a sudden need for solid ground, she rose and went to sit on the floor with her back against the wall. Her eyes were drawn upwards to the ceiling, regarding with muted curiosity the long shadows of the dancing fire.
"Must Éowyn of Rohan die tonight, after all?" She did not know that she now spoke in a low voice to the empty room. "He who called my soul back from the shadows to live anew, must he now take possession of my body? Must my very flesh become an instrument of service only? Shall my love and his be the death of what I now am?"
She did not stir again until she heard the door open. Faramir entered warily as one pursued—hounded still, she guessed, by her brother and his band of revelers. After casting a final glance down the empty corridor, he locked the door and heaved a dramatic sigh. "I have eluded them, for a time," he remarked flatly, turning from the door to meet her gaze with a bright smile, one dark eyebrow elegantly arched. For an instant she was self-conscious—what would he think of her sprawled ungracefully upon the ground, startled at last out of her dread by his arrival? Her insecurity evaporated when, without word or hesitation, he crossed the room unhurriedly to sit beside her on the floor, regarding her with great sympathy. Then he spoke again:
"But alas that my worries are come to pass: my beloved has jolted from her drunken reverie and trembles with fear at the pain she must now endure." He spoke with exaggerated seriousness, and his eyes were both playful and kind. Heartened, she continued the jest:
"You are wrong, man of Gondor. I fear neither pain nor death," she answered gravely, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her and she was unable to keep a smile from breaking upon her lips. He began to laugh softly as he put his arms around her, and Éowyn thought it strange but not unwelcome that his touch was now devoid of romantic wistfulness or erotic urgency; he held her as she would be held by an old friend. She felt the fluttering nervousness in her body subside as she rested her head gratefully upon his shoulder. After a moment, he spoke again.
"Well, were I in your position I would see much to fear on the road ahead. Not least of all, from this day onward, you shall not easily be rid of me, and you shall not know a moment of peace while you must yet suffer my voice always in your ear." As he tousled her hair affectionately, Éowyn considered his words, and then she raised her head to look into his eyes.
"Again you are wrong. All my life I knew no peace ere I first heard your voice."
She saw that this declaration had stirred him to unexpected emotion, and he moved as if to kiss her lips but stopped short of contact. Eagerly, she closed the distance. Shifting onto her knees, she drew nearer to him, and soon she felt her body again suffused with the same pulsing heat that had burned within her earlier that evening and many times before.
After a few moments of this, she found herself lying back with her fingers tangled in his dark hair, panting as he kissed her throat and stroked her lovingly between her legs. Already she was very wet, and she felt that his touch would soon render her incapable of speech.
"I shall die if you continue, and I shall die if you stop," she declared almost soundlessly.
Suddenly the relentless sensation ceased and she found her eyes caught again in his searching gaze. His whisper was hoarse and utterly serious.
"Do not speak of death in this hour."
By way of response, she kissed him again on the mouth, inhaling his breath as a draught of fresh autumn air after the stifling heat of summer.
"As for pain," he continued into the skin of her neck, resuming his maddening manipulations of the slick warmth between her thighs, "you should not feel much. If you do, you must tell me." Tenderness softened this second entreaty, though his voice was still grave. Were she more present of mind, she would have wondered at his words, running counter as they did to everything she had heard before. At the moment, though, she was so overcome with the rawness of her feelings and the completeness of her trust in him that reason seemed to vanish from her mind. All the muscles of her body tightened of their own accord, and when at last she felt she might break in two under the tension, she again spoke.
"I will not wait any longer." Her own voice sounded strange to her ears, as if it originated from somewhere other than her lungs.
With this he took her hands and drew her to her feet, and in the same unbroken motion he loosened the ties of her dress, allowing it to fall back to the ground. For an instant he hovered between actions, regarding her with an intensity which affected her in a way she could not put to words. Then he was kissing her with renewed fervor, burning a slow trail over her breasts and down to the vulnerable stretch of white skin in the center of her rib cage. As he did so, he knelt before her in a gesture that called to mind some solemn, devotional rite. Éowyn slipped in and out of thought, attuned only to where he touched her and what he was doing, and she did not know how many excruciating seconds or minutes of fumbling it took her to free him of his clothing.
"Come here," he bade her softly as he lay back on the bed and positioned her on top of him. This was another unexpected turn, though the surprise scarcely registered in her mind. Bracing her hands against his chest, she gasped at a sharp ache which suddenly pierced her somewhere deep within, though at the same time she felt overwhelmingly pleased with how his breath hitched sharply and his eyelids fluttered closed. The pain ebbed quickly from her body, but nonetheless she felt tears well in her eyes as she lowered herself to rest her cheek against his, and the reason for these was not at all clear to her.
"Are you alright?" he murmured breathlessly into her ear, gathering her hair from her face with exquisite care. She nodded silently in answer, sinking her nails into his burning skin as she remembered how to exhale. Allowing him to guide her, she fell into a rhythm which seemed emanate from within her body. For a time, she was aware only of the sound of their breaths drawing together and the unendurable heat that she felt would consume her from the inside out.
Then there was a change. Not the dissolution to nothingness she had anticipated, but the sudden pulling back of a shroud to reveal that everything ordinary was, in fact, almost too beautiful to bear. To the sound of a choked and halting release of breath—was that him or her?—she shut her eyes, dizzy with the sudden brilliance of every sensation which her waking mind momentarily could not or would not set in order. Then the moment passed, and again she was herself, though a profound contentment now lay heavily upon her. She was unable to keep from grinning.
"Do I yet live, Faramir?"
"Yes, my love."
"Good."
Feeling not quite sleepy but rather like she was already dreaming, she twined her fingers in his and allowed her thoughts to wander. In her mind's eye she saw pictures of her life both as it had been and as she hoped it would be, and before long she found herself back in the present moment, marveling at the warmth and light she now felt enveloping her even as the world outside, she knew, grew chill and dark at the turning of the season. It would be many years before she again heeded the coming of winter.