Faramir sat at the small writing desk in his quarters. He desperately wanted to see Éowyn, but he wasn't so much of a fool to interfere with Damrod's discipline. Well, not a complete fool, anyway. Interference would be madness: this balancing act between having her in his quarters at last and maintaining discipline would only work if there was no show of favouritism. So, after she'd moved her meagre possessions into his quarters, she'd promptly disappeared again, back to whatever duties it was Damrod had assigned her to. But gods, he wanted to see her, wanted to hold her, wanted... to explain what had happened in Minas Tirith. He gave his head a sudden shake, taken aback at the thought that much as he wanted to take her to bed as soon as he could, he wanted to talk to her even more.
She had looked stunned by his reappearance, and he didn't blame her. When he'd said goodbye, he'd been convinced his father would send him to search for this strange place, this... Imladris. But...
The latch on the door lifted, and Éowyn slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. She smiled, and it was as if the whole room was filled with sunshine. Gods, my brother would have a field day if he knew how I thought about her... sunshine indeed. He could almost hear his brother's affectionately mocking tone of voice. Nonetheless he couldn't help his answering smile. She is sunshine, and starlight, and all good things...
"Working hard?" Éowyn gestured towards the writing desk.
"Trying to." Faramir gave a wry grin. "In truth, though, thinking of you instead of working..."
To his delight, Éowyn walked purposefully across the room, then sat astride his lap, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.
"So, you haven't ridden off on a dangerous quest to goodness knows where..." Éowyn murmured her words against Faramir's neck, snuggling in close against him. In response, he wrapped his arms around her back and buried his face in her hair.
"No. Boromir and I went to my father, and told him of the dream. He said that his considered opinion was that it was some vision sent by the enemy to corrupt my mind..." Faramir's voice trailed off. His father had said, or at least implied, considerably more than that, hinting that Faramir was weak minded for succumbing to such a dream, and weak willed for suggesting destroying the bridge. He swallowed.
It seemed that Éowyn picked up on his mood, for she shifted on his lap, leaning back so she could look at his face. It seemed to him that she was searching, looking to see why he was troubled. With a sigh, she leant forward slightly, resting her forehead against his.
"You don't talk much about your father. But I hear the soldiers' gossip. He doesn't take you seriously, doesn't rate your abilities." She paused, and looked at him again, blue eyes steady. "More fool him... Is that why he ignored the dream?"
"In part. But he was right too. There's no clear way of knowing whether the dream was a vision of the truth, or a ruse of the enemy's."
"You don't have to think him right about everything. He's certainly not right in the estimation he places on you." Once more, Éowyn's face was buried in his hair, her nose rubbing against his neck.
"I don't think him right about everything. He was certainly wrong when he thought that we could have defended the bridge without destroying it."
"He thought that? He's an idiot." Éowyn snorted in disgust.
"No, not an idiot. He is many things – strong willed, opinionated, difficult. But not an idiot. Not by any stretch of the imagination. His shrewdness and knowledge of lore and military strategy have helped to defend our realm for many tens of years."
"I still don't like the way he favours Boromir and dismisses you."
"Nor do I – but do hold to the fact that this is some blindness in my father, not my brother's fault." Faramir was silent for a few moments. "It has been said to me that the problem is that I favour my mother too much – that every time he looks at me, he sees the woman he lost."
"Then he's a fool – a clever fool perhaps, but a fool nonetheless. Surely he should value you all the more if you remind him of her."
"Perhaps. The human heart does not work in predictable ways." Idly, Faramir caught a strand of pale golden hair and wound it round his fingers, then leaned in and kissed Éowyn's jaw. Slowly, his mouth moved across her skin, eventually brushing against hers, softly, tantalisingly. With gentle insistence he sucked and teased at her lips, then with more urgency their mouths met, lips parted, tongues making darting sallies and then long, languid strokes.
Eowyn's fingers moved to the laces on Faramir's shirt, undoing them. She kissed him again, setting a fire racing through his blood, as she ran her palms across his chest, fingertips tracing patterns on his skin.
"Oh thank the gods you have come back to me," she whispered. Then with a fluid grace, she pulled her own shirt over her head. Faramir's mouth went dry as he gazed at her, sliding his hands slowly down her sides to rest on her hips, pulling her close against him so she could feel the way he hardened beneath her. She leaned forward, hardened nipples brushing against his chest through the fabric of his shirt, and ground herself down against him, giving a low moan of need. Faramir broke off from the kiss long enough to dip his head to her breast. He ran his tongue slowly round the rosy, puckered skin, then took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and stroking it until he heard Eowyn give another moan, and start to rock against his cock.
"Too many bloody clothes." She slid from his lap, and stood before him, pulling off first one boot then the other, and casually casting them to one side, before shimmying out of her breeches and standing, naked, before him.
"Oh, my beautiful, bold shieldmaiden," Faramir whispered, reaching a hand to grasp her arse and pulling her back towards him. He made as if to stand, but she laid a hand on his shoulder.
"No, stay there." With nimble fingers, she unlaced his breeches and slid them down, then allowed her hand to run back up the inside of his thigh, running her fingers over his balls and along the length of his cock. Faramir's hips moved helplessly, trying to push himself against her hand. But teasingly, she took her hands and placed them on his shoulders, sliding her fingers under the cloth of his shirt. Then she stepped forward, thighs straddling his legs, and kissed him again, tongue thrusting into his mouth.
"Oh, Tulkas..." Faramir gave a hoarse groan. He felt his cock twitch, saw Éowyn glance down and give a triumphant smile. "Don't you want to undress me?"
Again, Eowyn smiled, her face suffused with a mixture of lust and mischief. "No, for I find the idea of being naked while you are dressed – partly, but improperly dressed... I find..." She moved down, her entrance slick and moist against the tip of his cock. "It makes me wet for you. Makes me feel like I'm on fire. Makes me need to feel you fill me..." She laid her cheek against his, and her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Makes me want to fuck you." Slipping her hand between them, she wrapped her hand round his shaft and held him steady while slowly, oh so slowly, she slid down his length, at last taking her hand away to allow all of him inside her.
"Gods, you're so thick, so wonderfully thick." She started to rock against him, kissing him deeply. Then whispered, "Do you want to watch me frig myself while we fuck?"
"Nienna, I'm going to spend myself on the spot if you say things like that." Faramir's voice was a strangled groan.
"Mmm, so long as you take me with you."
Faramir looked on, enraptured, his hands splayed across Éowyn's hips, thrusting into her, trying to stay in control. Her eyes never left his face – she seemed to him to drink in every reaction she caused in him, and he in turn felt his desperate need grow as he watched her. Her face grew flushed, her eyelids fluttered closed, long lashes brushing her cheeks. He felt her hot, smooth skin, felt the liquid warmth of her around him. Her breathing came ever more rapidly. Then with a series of soft cries, gasping as if there was not enough air in the room, she came, lips parted, eyes screwed tightly shut, body shuddering and pitching forward against him. It was enough to bring the blinding white heat of his own release cascading over him.
Afterwards (having finally shed his own clothes) they lay together under the blankets in his narrow bed. Sated, Éowyn drifted off to sleep almost immediately. Faramir lay awake slightly longer, luxuriating in the warmth of her body, and in the comfort of her slow breathing. He found himself carried away by an immense wave of tenderness at the feel of her slender frame tucked against his. As he drifted off to sleep, almost his last thought was to wonder how soundproof his door was; Éowyn was, he realised, not exactly quiet. Then he decided he didn't really care, and with that, sleep took him.
~o~O~o~
Eowyn paused for a moment, resting the heavy bucket of crap and piss on a tree stump. Mablung stopped too, and lowered his bucket to the ground.
"Job getting to you already?" he asked with a chuckle. Today was the day Eowyn's double duties came to an end, to be replaced instead with what Mablung called "shit-shovelling duty." He was showing her the track through the forest, cunningly picked out to follow exposed bedrock as much as possible so as to avoid leaving a trail. It led, some quarter of a league or so away, to a waterfall which eventually fed a stream over the watershed from where they collected their drinking water – a safe place to wash away the waste, with the bonus that it stood an outside chance of poisoning water supplies for the Southrons and Easterlings if they happened to drink from the water.
"No, it's the job I dreamed of all those years ago as a little girl when I got my first practice sword." Éowyn added an obscene gesture to her answer, just in case her sarcastic tone wasn't clear.
"Save that one for the captain, love. I doubt he'd want you going round giving that sort of invitation to mere sergeants."
"The invitation was for you to do it to yourself."
"Oh, I do," said Mablung. "Every night. My favourite part of the day."
Éowyn gave a grunt and flicked a pine cone at Mablung.
"Come on then," said Mablung. "These buckets won't empty themselves." He picked his own one up and started to lead the way through the trees.
They eventually made it back to the caves in time for the evening meal. Freed at last from her double duties, for the first time in weeks Éowyn had a chance to sit down after the meal and take her time over a tankard of ale. The only shame was that Faramir wasn't there to keep her company; he'd gone to the crossing at Cair Andros to discuss the latest troop movements with his brother's captain who commanded the fort there. Still, not having to scrub pots or hammer dents out of armour was a pretty good deal as far as she was concerned. Mablung settled down on the bench beside her, and sat with his elbows resting on the table before him.
"So, you never did tell me how you got the money to repay the pot." Mablung grinned, then his face clouded slightly, and he continued with considerable embarrassment. "You didn't get it off the captain, did you?"
"Gods, of course not!" Éowyn looked quite shocked. "I borrowed it from his brother."
"His brother!" Mablung sounded stunned. "What did you tell him you needed it for?"
Éowyn grinned. "I told him the truth."
"What? About the pot? And about what the bet was about?"
"Yeah, he thought it was hilarious. I like Boromir." Éowyn paused, then added reflectively, "I think him and me... we're quite alike in a lot of ways. Action first, words a long way last. Makes it easy to talk to him."
"So, does that mean you're wondering if you've got the right brother?" Mablung gave a wicked grin.
"Bloody hell no! We're too alike – we'd end up killing each other. Besides, I need..." Éowyn blushed slightly. "I need F... the captain's gentleness." She looked down at her hands, prodding at a hangnail absently in embarrassment. "I need him to be gentle and kind and stupidly noble and all the things he is, and I think he needs me to be forthright and blunt and stupidly bold and all the things I am..."
"You can call him by his name, you know," said Mablung. Again, that wicked grin. "I mean, surely you don't call him 'captain' in bed." He took a pull of his beer.
This time it was Éowyn's turn to give a wicked grin. "What makes you so sure? Maybe he likes that sort of thing." She let her voice dropped to a husky, sultry whisper. "Oh captain, my captain."
Her timing was perfect. Mablung's beer sprayed all over the table. Then both of them collapsed into the sort of snorting, snotty, hysterical laughter that left them unable to speak for several minutes.
~o~O~o~
The next few weeks were busy. The enemy seemed to have drawn back his main force after the destruction of the bridge, but there were still constant sorties by orcs and troops of men allied to the dark one. Many of them seemed aimed at the outpost at Cair Andros, probing its strength. If that were to fall, Gondor would have no easy crossing to Ithilien, and its position would be severely weakened. Yet, as Boromir had said on Faramir's last visit, really it was only a question of when, not if.
Faramir had taken to asking Éowyn to go with him on these visits. To her delight, it seemed to be as much because he and his brother valued her thoughts on defensive strategy. Though undoubtedly he valued her company in his bed, too. But Éowyn thought she had noticed a shift even in that. Not that there was any lessening of their physical pleasure in one another, and if anything, their fondness for one another (she insisted on calling it that in her mind) seemed to grow with time. But Faramir seemed to need her. His nights were increasingly plagued with dreams, and he would wake from fitful sleep in the middle of the night. As far as she could tell, only her presence was able to fill him with the peace he needed to go back to sleep.
This night they'd got back to the fastness of the caves late. A full moon had allowed them to go scouting late into the night, but then they'd been caught in a rainstorm. Shivering, they'd eaten the half-cold remains of the stew sitting in the embers of the fire, then dived beneath the covers of Faramir's bed, too tired to do anything but sleep.
Éowyn was awakened by a low groan. Then muttered words. "Imladris... sword... Isildur..." Then with a start, Faramir sat up. Éowyn rested her hand in the small of his back, and he seemed to realise where he was, settling back down and resting his head on her chest.
"That's the second time this week you've had the dream." In Eowyn's mind, The Dream now came with definite article and capital letters. "And you had it last week too."
Faramir's voice was muffled by her breasts, but she heard him murmur, "I didn't tell you this, but last time we saw him... Boromir's had the same dream. We think we're going to have to go to see our father again, get him to reconsider."
Cold fear clutched at Éowyn's heart. She tried to keep her voice level. "I suppose if you persuade him you'll have to ride to Imladris."
"Yes, I think I will. At least last time we consulted father we found out more about it. It is a valley far to the north, on the western side of the Misty Mountains. The home of Elrond Half-Elven, who was once Gil Galad's herald."
As with the last time they had talked of this, Éowyn felt her world shift on its axis at the thought of figures from myth and legend, lost in the mists of time before the founding of the Mark, somehow come to life and walking the earth in these latter days. But her wonder was tempered by the fear of losing Faramir. She wrapped her arms round his shoulders, drawing him close.
"Come with me to Minas Tirith," Faramir said, suddenly. "I would have you meet my father. I don't want to skulk in corners. I want to hold my head up high and tell him you are the woman I love."
Éowyn dropped a gentle kiss on his brow. As she did so, she couldn't help but think that it was unlikely Denethor would welcome her as warmly as Boromir had. And more to the point, there was the cold fear that this meeting was merely the precursor to losing Faramir, possibly for good. And however often she told herself this was just a fling, she wasn't at all sure she could cope without him.
Thanks again for the reviews, and thank you to my guest reviewer (who I can't pm in person).