Faramir heard Éowyn’s laughter and felt her happy amusement long before he saw her.  An unfamiliar elf’s voice rose, deep and sure in the hazy, humid morning air, thick with the threat of rain, “We could be kin, my Lady.”

She laughed again; sounding both delighted and embarrassed.  She hadn’t been in her room, but he’d dropped off another gift, as he’d said he would, in hopes she would find it later.  Faramir saw Éowyn standing in the main hall with a tall, broad-shouldered elf who’s hair shone just as gold as hers.  The stranger’s will was unusually strong and resonant; he glanced at him with keen eyes and Faramir instinctively withdrew his mind to keep his abilities secret.  Making his way to her side, he watched, slightly jealous and wary of the tall elf.  Éowyn covered her mouth to silence her laughter and shook her head lowering her eyes as she replied, “No, I think not…”

            “Nay?  But look!”  The stranger held up one of the two slender braids in his hair and bade her to do the same.  “See?  Gold purer than that which the dwarves mine...and far rarer.”  The elf winked and Faramir wondered, coming closer.  Is he flirting with her…?  Surely not.

“Faramir.”  Éowyn had seen him and she smiled in warm welcome.  The elf turned and he felt his brief scrutiny staggered him mentally, though outwardly Faramir was sure to appear unaffected.  Withdrawing his mind still further, he smiled in return.  She was wearing a softly peach-colored gown with a slightly darker colored design on her bodice, filigree in the shape of tiny spirals and longer, twisting lines.  A thin, creamy lace on the sleeves and across the top only highlighted the healthy tone of her skin.  It was surprisingly feminine.  She is so beautiful in any color; I think even mud would enhance the loveliness of her…  Éowyn’s flaxen hair fell over on her shoulder, braided at the front and plaited together into a longer, thick braid hanging down the back.  Extending a hand for him, as was a completely proper gesture of affection in public, she said, “Good morning…” Then, as though to test him, she added with a more mischievous glint to her eyes, “Ic grete þe, min deore.”

Pleased, he smiled back wishing he dared touch her mind in front of the elf to let her feel how her calling him dear gave him joy.  Searching for the words, Faramir paused, then said, delicately framing the more difficult sounds, “Ond Ic, ge, min deore…se dæg is eall se ma freolic mid ge in hit.”

Éowyn’s smile widened in surprise and pleasure, answering, “Ful god, Faramir…ge eart betera ælc dæg.”

He kissed her hand.  “Ic þancie þe.”

The elf looked back and forth between them; Faramir was uncertain if he understood, but the gist was unmistakable.  As they fell silent, he held up his braid again, eyes twinkling.  “What is your opinion, Lord Faramir?”

“What are you talking about?” 

She interrupted, “Lord Glorfindel is being far too flattering.”

So this is he…he was in Minas Tirith, I saw him a few times with Elrond’s sons, but I did not meet him there.  Faramir understood the strength of the elf’s mind now.  I stand before an elven lord like a housecat before a lion.  “About what?”

“I simply remarked upon the color of the Lady Éowyn’s hair and its noticeable resemblance to my own.”

Éowyn said quickly, biting her lip to contain her smile.  “He lies.”  To his delight she stepped closer, almost leaning against him.  Faramir wished he could put his arm around her but he wasn’t sure it would be proper.  Several Rohirrim soldiers walked by; he felt their cool scrutiny and held himself back.  Glorfindel shook his head, expression dismayed, though his eyes still sparked in light-hearted amusement. 

“No, my Lady, I do not…” She laughed and her arm went around him, hugging closely and Faramir was content.  Looking down at her pretty head, he smiled as she cried in vexation,

“You do and you know it!”  Glorfindel turned to him and Faramir straightened under the clear gaze. 

“Well, Lord Faramir has not given us his opinion yet.”  Glorfindel lightly touched Éowyn’s hair and then his own.  “Look, they are indistinguishable in color, are they not?  Like strands spun on a spindle and turned into the finest gold thread.  Our heads are both gilded, my fair Lady Éowyn, and perhaps it is a mark to show our tendency to perform, however reluctantly,” Now the elf’s voice turned playful with a sober undercurrent that belied any jest, “both great and valiant deeds.” 

“You lie at that, too.”  Her arm sagged and although he was deliberately curtailing his senses, Faramir could feel her lessen mentally, almost shrink inside.  Protective, he wrapped his arm around her waist, glad when she leaned against his body.

“Are my words, so long ago spoken on a field of battle, not remembered still…and did they not prove truthful in the end?”  Glorfindel smiled, “I had not a fair maiden and an obstinate hobbit in mind to avenge us, though, more a stalwart warrior.”

Éowyn shook her head, protesting, “I am not—”

“No?  Then perhaps you have no mirrors in your land, nor still waters in which to look.”  It was a gently chiding jest; the elf’s eyes met his then, expectant.  “The Lord Faramir is yet silent; have you not made up your mind or does your lady’s illusory charms hold you spellbound?”

Faramir looked down at Éowyn’s head, resting back against his chest, his heart and then glanced at Glorfindel.  Both of their manes were singularly rich shades of flaxen as though sun-touched, it’s natural brilliance transferred as he compared.  In the hall the strands glowed like palest fire caught; he touched her hair.  It was smooth and soft.  “I can’t see a difference.”

“Ah.” The elf looked pleased.

Éowyn frowned.  “Flattery.”

Glorfindel began to object when his name was called.  One of Elrond’s sons stood at the corner.  “I apologize, but I must go.”  He inclined his head, “Good day my Lord…my Lady.”

“To you as well.”  Faramir watched him walk away and then looked back down at Éowyn, slowly unbinding his mind and gently touching hers. I like your gown.  She turned her head up to peer at him with crystalline blue eyes as he asked,  “What are you doing today, my dear?  I am yours if you wish.”

Feeling her emotions: a mix of sadness, happiness and disturbance, he hugged her side, glad when she smiled.  “I wish.  I’m taking you with me.”

            “That sounds wonderful; where to first?”

            “My room…” When he brightened, intent on making her smile again, she did, adding, “I need to change, this won’t be good for what we’re going to do.”

            “Lead on, my Lady.”

***

            Faramir’s hand rested heavy on the small of her back, although his touch was, she knew, in reality quite light.  As she walked, only his fingertips truly made contact with her dress, but her awareness made it feel differently.  Éowyn was acutely conscious of him behind her, his quiet footfalls, the just-discernable warmth of his body.  A secret smile rode on her lips; it was strange, these new feelings.  I like it when he touches me…just light and barely skimming to tease…I love it…

“What will we be doing?”  His voice was lower than usual and she could feel his keen awareness as easily as she felt his hand.  Éowyn wondered if he’d heard her and collected herself, saying,

“I’m showing you one of my favorite things.”  Faramir’s fingers moved, tracing a little lower on her back, with his hand lightly resting just above where her toleration ended; any lower and she would have to turn and slap him away.  In the name of decency, of course…not because I didn’t like it…

“I wish I could do the same.”  His response, spoken in a tone charged with soft heat, made her thrill and grow nervous at the same time.  Éowyn glanced to the side, not quite turning her head as Faramir leisurely finished, “But we are far from the Anduin.”

His fingers and palm were warm; the feel of them was tattooed on her skin, imprinted through her dress.  I would feel nude if he took it away now.  Her voice just a little too fast, she asked, “What do you like to do?”

“Hunt ducks.  Have you ever done that?”  Faramir sounded innocently curious; too innocent.  “Since you like hunting, I think you might enjoy it.  It’s a challenge with only a small bow and a dog to fetch.” She could hear his smile in his next words.  “Boromir had a dog that almost overturned the boat every time it leaped to retrieve—it loved the water so much it just threw itself out and splattered us with river muck.”

With a quick laugh, she answered, “No, I’ve never.”

They were only a turn away from her door now.  “Never?  With the Snowbourn so near?”

Éowyn shook her head, aware of his fingers sliding sideways to rest on her hip.  The motion was possessive, familiar.  “No.”

“Then I’ll have to take you with me.”  It was easily said and easily offered.  It made her halt abruptly and Faramir nearly ran into her. His right hand creeped to her front, low enough to make her wary, palm flat on her abdomen.  “What?” 

“Would you?”  Éowyn put her hand on top of his, holding it safely in place, turning her head to look up at him.  He wiggled his fingers, gazing at her expectantly.  Faramir was handsome with his dark hair hanging disheveled around his face and over his shoulders, a small smile tracing his mouth; his eyes were warm, regarding her with everything she could think to desire—gentleness, patience and love.  Answering, his lips curved and Éowyn remembered what they felt like moving over her skin.

“Of course.”  She smiled slowly, loving his acceptance.  Faramir hadn’t once attempted to impose any ladylike restrictions upon her and so far he showed no signs of doing so in the future. 

You are too good for me. 

He moved closer.  Éowyn watched his mouth, anticipating.  “No, no.”  Faramir shook his head; the same slight smile turning his lips as he lowered them to hers.  It was only a brief kiss; Faramir raised his head again, saying,  “You need to change.”

“Yes.”  In my rooms, away from any inquisitive eyes, he means…  His hand slipped off her fluttering stomach, allowing her to walk the last stretch to her door; Faramir was just inches away, hovering.  Éowyn opened her door, holding it for him as she entered. He didn’t reach for her as she half-expected, instead his eyes moved over her, as though in place of his hands.  They lingered boldly where his fingers would have been struck aside.  Swallowing, well aware of their weight, she asked, “Wait out here—”

“Do I have to?”

Does he? Decorum and the last lingering misgivings argued with the sudden thrill down her back and Éowyn was stymied.  Opening her mouth, she hesitated, “…uh…”

Faramir’s grey eyes weren’t soft anymore; they were aflame, intense.  “I’ll just sit on the bed…I promise I won’t move.”

“I…” She couldn’t think just imagining.  Gods…  As she hesitated again, he added in a slightly hurt voice,

“Don’t you trust me to keep my word?”

Éowyn frowned, her fingers twining around the dolphin pendant that still hung around her neck.  Rubbing the fish’s curved body, she said,  “That’s not fair.”

“Perhaps not…but it’s a question, anyhow.”  Faramir was waiting for an answer, gazing down.  Unlike many times there was no faint, accompanying mental encouragement; she thought for a long moment, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to another.  Maybe…the mere notion made her shy away and her skin prickle all over—but it felt good, unlike the tense way she felt when she was afraid.  I’m not frightened…its just…gods…maybe…he stayed all night in my bed and didn’t once try anything…isn’t that plenty proof?  Éowyn stared up at him.  Still waiting, Faramir said nothing, did nothing, his entire being intent upon her next words.  Turning away for a second, she bit her lip, giddy with a sudden wild excitement and blurted, 

“Yes.  You can.”

He looked thoroughly surprised and delighted, breaking into a foolish grin.  “Yes?”

Éowyn laughed, feeling exhilarated, and nodded.  “Yes.”  Not bothering to wait, she turned and walked to the bedroom, wriggling deliciously on the inside.  Faramir followed closely, and, true to his word, immediately sat on the bed, scooting to the edge.  A frown crossed his face and he asked,

“You sure?”

“No…yes.”  She giggled and sobered.  “Be quiet.”  He nodded quickly, eager, clasping his hands in front of him.  One of Faramir’s feet tapped impatiently as Éowyn covered her face for a moment, searching for composure.  Taking a deep, slow breath she released it with a short burst of nervous laughter and looked at him.  Faramir still wore the exact same eager expression, sitting on the end of the bed and staring at her hard—the silliness of it made her dissolve into hysterical giggles. 

“What are you laughing for?”  He shook his head, bewildered and then flapped his hand, “Go on, go on, you’re killing me.”

 “I can’t do…it…while, while you’re looking at me…like that.”  Gasping, she explained and tried to compose herself once more.  This time it took.

“Well, what do you want me to do?  Closing my eyes defeats the purpose.”

“Shh.  And stay there.”  The last she emphasized.  Éowyn turned, facing her mirror and inhaled, closing her eyes briefly.  I can do this…  A thrill went down her spine, making her shiver.  First things first… she kicked off her shoes, and, ignoring the gawking man on her bed the best she could, she took a step back from her dresser, bending to paw through it.  There was a hissing whisper behind her,

“Tease.”

Éowyn didn’t reply, instead picking out a man’s shirt, socks and pair of breeches.  Still ignoring him, she closed the drawers and sat the clothes on the dresser top.  Now…she leaned down, pulling off her stockings.  For a second her fingers froze on the laces of her gown, and then she undid them, moving quickly down, surprised she wasn’t fumbling.  Sliding her arms out of the sleeves, goosebumps rose all over her skin as she lifted it over her head.  Crumbling to the floor in a peach pile, she nudged it aside.  Then feeling her heart race, Éowyn raised her eyes to the mirror.  After her thin linen shift there was nothing but her bare skin.  Gods, he’s so intent…

***

Faramir could hear her quick breaths and they matched his own.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this aroused in my life.  Her back to him, he stared, not wanting to miss one second of bared flesh.  Valar, hurry…  Éowyn’s fingers smoothed the front of her shift.  Her eyes met his in the mirror and Faramir laughed once, unsteadily.  She teases me with no thought…so trusting I will not leap off of this bed and…he sat on his hands, preventing himself from making the stretch to grab at what would soon be her naked backside.  Éowyn swallowed, her cheeks pink in anticipation and he said suddenly, voice far rougher than usual, “Turn around.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head.  Her blue eyes were wide and he could feel her excitement; it drove him mad, like tiny, hot prickles all over his skin.  “No.”

“Please.”  Faramir took a breath, staring at the soft curves and smooth planes of her body through the diaphanous shift.  It allowed him to see more than her nightgown, near transparent and ending at her upper thighs.  She’s perfect…  Her fingers slid slowly down her sides, hips, gathering the flimsy material up.  He thought he would die from impatience.  Voice hardly recognizable even to himself, he asked again, “Please?”

Her voice had dwindled to a breathy whisper, barely audible.  “Not yet.”  This time Éowyn’s eyes met his, holding them, as she pulled off her shift in one swift movement, tossing it to the floor.  Her arms were tight against her sides, fingers flat on her thighs, not hiding herself as a deep blush spread over her pale, bared skin. 

***

“Valar…” It was a groan, a sound born of pure desire that seemed to touch fire in all her sensitive places.  She shivered; Faramir’s light grey eyes, reflected in her mirror, were soon dark as storm clouds with it.  His lips were parted, now he licked them and Éowyn swallowed hard, feeling her skin twitch and tremble.  “Beautiful…please, now…” Faramir breathed deep and she gathered her courage to turn and face him.  Slowly, placing her hands behind her on the dresser top, her fingers clenching the wood, Éowyn turned.  His response was a small sound,  “Oh.”  She looked into his eyes—they were eager, roaming her body.  Éowyn had never felt this exposed in her life, utterly bared and utterly his. She was breathing fast, feeling his gaze like a physical caress as he spoke slowly.  “You’re lovely…perfect…” Faramir sighed, “…wonderfully so.”  After a moment, she glanced down at herself, seeing the familiar swells of her small, insignificant breasts, hollow stomach and narrow, boyish hips.  What is he going on about? 

His hands spread on the quilt as he leaned back, his eyes still moving.  “I could look at you all day.”  She said nothing, waiting until he was done with her hands tight on the dresser top, braced to keep them from covering herself.  Faramir licked his lips again, staring at her breasts across the few feet.  At his murmured words, “I wish I could touch you” heat filled her, spreading up from her stomach, flowing through her body, just under her skin.  Éowyn hadn’t even known these feelings existed.  It’s almost too much...   She shook her head quickly; his eyes met hers, they were still dark and intense.  He looks so…hungry…she thought and felt a delicious chill slide up her bare back, skin crawling.  Throat tight, all she could get out was a whisper, “No.”

            “Come here.”  It was near to a growl, the sound rumbling in his throat, hoarse and famished.  It both scared and delighted her, sending wild tremors through her legs.  Éowyn closed her eyes for a fleeting second, feeling her entire body quiver, terribly, excruciatingly mindful of his possessive stare. 

            “No.”

            Faramir gazed at her, words quick,  “I can’t go to you, I gave you my word…come here…you can step back if you don’t like it…please, just once, for a moment…let me...”

            Gods…  Éowyn bit her lip hard and shook her head.  She didn’t know what he had in mind.  “No.”

            “I want to…” He groaned in frustration, fingers clawing the quilts.

            “What?”  She could barely believe she’d asked it and the seconds before his answer were like flames flickering over her bared skin, burning her. 

***

            What?  She asks what?  Faramir groaned again. What didn’t he want to do?  “I want to…kiss from your mouth to your feet…and then I want to lick.”  And bite and taste and touch you all over…please…let me do that much…

            Éowyn’s blue eyes widened, hearing his thoughts, as she whispered, “No.”  One of her hands reached for the folded, grey shirt and he said quickly,

            “Just a second longer.”

            She replaced her hand on the dresser.  “All right.”  Faramir gazed at her bosom; it moved up and down as she breathed.  Her excitement still raced in him, making it impossible to calm himself.  Hands twitching from desire, he stared at her hardened, pink nipples, skin of her breasts pale and silky looking.  The dolphin pendant was moving, little leaps with her breathing, as though trying to scale her breasts.  Valar…  He desperately wanted to touch, to put his mouth on them.  The curves of her hips made him want to slide his hands down; to reach behind and grasp her exquisitely shaped buttocks, to squeeze firmly.  The desire to run his hands up the insides of her thighs, to stroke the soft, secret skin, to pull her to the bed and spend hours simply touching, was terribly strong.  Oh, this is torture…I can imagine what she feels like and to have her within seizing distance and yet…

            “Faramir…”

            Closing his eyes for a moment, he nodded, “All right.”  Éowyn began to dress and Faramir concentrated on stilling himself, but it was near to hopeless, watching her wiggling into the pants, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her shirt and buttoning it.  Her movements were quick, her head bent, focused.  He could barely contain a groan of disappointment as she raised her eyes, holding her socks.  There was really only one place—the bed.  Will you make me move or not...? 

***

            Éowyn didn’t feel covered at all.  Her clothes seemed translucent under the force of Faramir’s attention.  Gods…  She shifted, holding her socks, nervous about approaching him.  He slid over a bit, making room for her and she came, sitting quickly, awkward.  Faramir was looking at her; Éowyn raised her eyes to his, uncertain as he smiled reassuringly and said,  “Hin lín luin sui venel laer; nin luithial, melethen.”  Faramir murmured the last, “Thîr vain lín darn thûl nín.”  It was elvish again, rolling off of his tongue like silver honey and thrumming like harp strings, with none of the uncertain stumblings as when he spoke in her people’s language.  She could hear the admiring tone but couldn’t understand the words. 

            “What did that mean?”  Faramir answered her with a kiss, leaning in suddenly, his fingers touching her cheek, then his palm sliding to the nape of her neck.  Éowyn was surprised, feeling his mouth press hers, urging her to open with his tongue quick and eager.  He moved faster than usual, more insistent.  When she hesitantly kissed back, his hand fell to her thigh and slid beneath her shirt.  His hot hand moved up her bare side, feeling large; she pulled back, wary.  “Faramir…”

            “Shh…” He kissed her again, passionate, hungry—too much so for her to be completely comfortable.  It’s not bad…but...    

            “Faramir, stop.”  Éowyn put her palm flat on his chest, pushing lightly, trusting she did not need to shove or raise her voice.  She felt his disappointment, and then his control reasserting itself as Faramir took his hand back, only to touch his fingers to her cheek again.   

                “Ic lufie ge…eower bodig …ge eart neah ma lustbære…Ic cann noht beran hit… ge eart freolic begeond ge-leafa nacod.”  It was not as easily flowing as the elvish, but she understood this and it made her tingle with warmth even as she scoffed inwardly.  Faramir smiled as though he was aware of something she wasn’t and Éowyn shook her head, feeling herself blush as he asked,  “Ná?”

            “Ná, Faramir…ge eahtian toss miccle.” 

            “Ge eart leasung, ge eart lustbære.  Ic cann ætywan ge.”  Then he took her hand, lifting it lightly to his lips before gently placing it in his lap.  She gasped, astonished to the feel the bulge there.  “Ge eart, seah?”  Hot and hard, it throbbed beneath her fingers. 

***

              Éowyn’s eyes had gone wide and he braced himself for her swift retreat, sensing her dubiousness.  It’s all right, love…  She took a breath, looking down; he was surprised to feel her fingers move, tips gingerly tracing him through his trousers.  Valar, please, this is cruel and delightful torment…  He didn’t know whether to tell her to stop or beg her to press harder. 

            A frown passed over her face, “Just from…” 

            Faramir breathed a laugh, aware of the warm weight of her hand, its presence taunting him. She was still surprised and cautious, but far calmer than he would have guessed.  I didn’t expect this…perhaps I’ve won her trust more than I thought…  “Oh, yes.”

            She looked back up to him, “What did you say to me in elvish?”

            “I said,” Her fingers moved again in a tentative stroke and he swallowed, trying to concentrate, “I said, your eyes were as blue as a summer sky…you enchant me, my beloved…thy beauty took my breath away.”  Éowyn was quiet and for a moment he worried, feeling her silence and riot of differing emotions that were far too intertwined for him to untangle.  I meant every word, my love…  To his mixed disappointment and relief, she took back her hand, running it up his chest and resting it over his heart as she came closer to give him a sweet but altogether far too brief kiss.  Fighting every reoccurring urge to reach out and grab her to pull her down with him to the bed, he held still; almost in reward, she kissed him again, her lips warm and soft.  Her voice, when she finally spoke, was both embarrassed and flattered.

            “I still say you praise too much.”  Rolling her socks to make the chore quick, she pulled away and put them on.

            He watched, shaking his head.  “No.”  Why does she not believe? 

            “Yes.”  Done, Éowyn stood up; gazing down at him, she asked with surprising mischief,  “When do I get to see you?”

            The thought nearly ruined whatever progress he’d made in calming himself—imagining her pretty blue eyes watching him undress made him want to immediately.  “Whenever you wish.”

             “Hmm.”  As she smiled, he stood.  Faramir had to hold her for just a moment, to feel the body he’d been staring at, even if she was clothed. 

***

            She felt it press against her as he hugged her waist, though not as hard or as big as it was before; almost immediately his arms loosened enough to give her the option of freeing herself without any trouble and when Faramir kissed her, it was light.  He wasn’t so urgent any longer, more the restrained lover she was used to.  Perplexed at his continuing worry, she asked, where would I go?  Deeper, the thought occurred, the last time I felt a man against me like that I came close to being raped…  Éowyn shoved it back into the darkest parts of her memories.  Faramir would never do such a thing; the very notion was ludicrous. Luckily he didn’t seem to pick it up, as she didn’t want to hurt him with the thought or concern him any; those terrible memories were her own and nothing he needed to know about.

            I don’t know…I just don’t want to frighten you with too much at once…

            His care only endeared him to her even more and Éowyn stepped into him.  Faramir’s lean body felt good as his arms tightened, pressing against her, but he was still holding himself well back, once more fully restrained.  I’ll tell you if you’re scaring me.

            Yes, but I don’t want to, ever. 

            Éowyn looked up into his eyes.  They were his normal light shade of grey and Faramir’s mind was calm touching hers.  She was almost disappointed and wondered why.  His embrace was warm, loving and Éowyn delayed, enjoying it, before saying, “Let’s go.”  All she had left to do was put her boots on.

            He smiled, “Give me another minute.”

            “Oh.”  Embarrassed, she looked away and he leaned down to kiss her bent cheek.  Éowyn raised her head, expectant, her own arms wrapping around him.  His back felt broad and strong under her fingers.  His mouth was gentle, lips slow and soft, almost caressing.  This passion wasn’t driving or insistent, but leisurely and she liked it better.  Faramir gave her small kisses, as though taking his time to do it completely.  After a while, she pulled back long enough to ask,  “Ready?”  He shook his head quickly, moving to kiss her again and Éowyn laughed, using her hands to push at him.  You’re just saying you’re not.

              Faramir didn’t budge under her admittedly half-hearted efforts, nuzzling into her neck.  We could have all day…

            All day?  For what?

            This.  His hands spread on her back, rubbing gently. She was surprised to find herself tempted and more so when he slid his mouth over her neck and then halted, suckling at her skin.  The feeling when he used his tongue, to swirl and lap, with nipping teeth made her want to curl up, to twist into him so that he would never stop.

            Éowyn clutched his shoulders, weakening and trying not to.  “I…I don’t think so.”  Faramir moved to the other side of her neck, repeating his actions.  She closed her mouth on a moan, not wanting to encourage him.  “Faramir…” He’d already left marks on her and now he was making more.  Though it feels so good…she’d seen people looking at her and it made her uncomfortable.  Gathering her resistance, Éowyn said firmly,  “Let’s go.”

            “All right.”  Sighing deeply, he released her and Éowyn sat on the end of bed, feeling for her boots.  Frowning, she turned, reaching further up on the side of the bed and then twisted over on her belly, stretching, her fingers finally skidding off of the tops.  Faramir made a noise, a breath, almost yearning.

            Panting slightly, she raised herself, rocking onto her back with her prize.  He was staring at her.  “What?”

            “Nothing.”  Rolling her eyes at his foolishness, Éowyn stuffed her feet into her boots, lacing them swiftly.  Standing, she ran a hand over her hair, flipping the heavy braid off of her shoulder. 

            “Come on.”

***

            He followed her, glancing at the flower room as they left the bedroom.  She hasn’t gone in there yet today.  That’s where I put it.  Faramir was half moved to tell her but held himself back.  She’ll find it later.   Éowyn’s steps were quick and soon they were in the halls; he looked at her back, the braid swinging and moved forward, resting his hand on her like he’d done before.  Immediately he felt her slow and become aware of him as her shirt became almost hot between his fingers and her skin.  Faramir wanted to flip up the hem and put his hand on her bare back, but didn’t—although he saw no one in the halls, there could be people around and at the moment he wasn’t exactly aware of much beyond her.  Éowyn kept moving, and as they neared the main hall he let his hand drop.  Her disappointment made him smile, happy she’d enjoyed the contact. 

             Suddenly the sounds of angry shouting reached his ears, and at the same time a wave of emotions forceful enough to make him halt in his tracks, reluctant to proceed.  It was Arwen, yelling,  “Mana quentelyë?  Mana quentelyë Estel!?”

            Aragorn was trying to appease her, soothing, “Vanimelda…”

            The Queen was having none of it, snapping back, “Á quetë!”

            As they entered the main hall Faramir was treated to an odd sight—Aragorn and Arwen were arguing in the middle of the hall, while Éomer stood by, eating an apple and looking entertained.  Aragorn began again,  “Arwen…vanimelda…”

            “Ma hanyalyen?”  She switched languages, spitting out in rapid-fire,  “Do you not understand?  Can your mortal brain not comprehend anymore?  I said I’m not going!”  Her eyes burned as she added in a furious hiss, “You can’t order me to!”

            Éomer spotted them, “Sister, good, I thought you were already out somewhere.”

            Éowyn frowned, giving the royal couple room as she moved to her brother’s side.  Faramir followed, flinching at the heated emotions flying around the room.  He focused on Éowyn and Éomer’s quieter, though mildly perturbed minds as she asked,  “What is going on?”

            “I have no idea what he said, but she just started yelling.”  Éomer smiled down at her, adding, “Good morning.  What are you doing today?”  He barely acknowledged his presence with a glance and a brief, and obviously, he felt required,  “Good morning, Faramir” before turning back to Éowyn.  Faramir cared little, watching Arwen clench her hands into fists, her voice harsh and loud,

            “I don’t want to go, I’m not going and you will cease asking me!”  Faramir flinched at the strength of her elven emotions, stepping back in a futile attempt to distance himself.

            Éowyn answered her brother, “Taking Faramir around…I was hoping Arwen would be…” She trailed off, distracted by Aragorn’s reply,

            “Would you keep your voice down…?”  He glared at her and the argument subsided for a moment before Aragorn grimaced, “Why don’t you give me a reason at least?”  Arwen, who’d turned away, whirled, opening her mouth, but he interrupted, “Something that makes sense this time!”  And only Faramir noticed the subtle flash of disappointment and the way Éomer’s face fell.

            “Oh…” Almost immediately the King of Rohan smiled again, “all right.  I’ll be able to see you later, then.”  When she looked at him, asking,

            “Is there anything you need help…?” he shook his head quickly.

             “It’s nothing important, sister, to worry you about.”  The man’s thought, strong and wearily pained, made Faramir cringe inwardly.  I just wanted to spend time with you, but…

***

            His distress pushed at her, unconsciously, she knew and Éowyn took Faramir’s hand in hers, rubbing her fingers over his knuckles to take his attention.  He glanced down at her, relief clear in his eyes and gave her a wretched smile.  His mental voice was strangely muffled at first, then stronger as he focused on her.  Thank you, that’s better.  I can’t really block them…

            Do you want to leave now? 

            Could we?  It held a note of desperate hope.  Éowyn frowned at Arwen.  She’d planned upon taking her with them to see the colt, but if Faramir was suffering then she was no longer sure.  Giving her brother a quick smile, she led him away, granting the royal couple plenty of room. 

***

            Éomer watched his sister go, still holding onto Faramir’s hand.  He stood, trying to ignore Aragorn and Arwen for a moment, thinking, I must make this last as long as possible.  It is far to Ithilien…  Horribly, his mind added, there might be years in which I don’t see her…oh, what will I do? He’d just been down to the mound; surveying workers carefully cut long, thick strips of sod and place them to the side.  By this evening or early tomorrow the hole would be finished and tomorrow his uncle finally rested into his proper place.  All the while he’d watched, the same thoughts kept running through his mind.  Where shall they put my mound?  There is nowhere.  One line is on one side of the road, and the other, the other.  Where shall I rest?  Where shall Éowyn?  Far, far from our kin.  The absurd questions troubled him, coming back at odd times and aggravating his mind like a fly buzzed a horse’s flanks.  Arwen nearly screamed in fury, her voice startling several young women, walking nearby and carrying baskets of laundry.

            “Sense?  Makes sense?  What doesn’t make sense about I don’t want to, Estel!”

            Aragorn spat back, “Stop it!”  You’re being childish!”  He looked at her, frustrated, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you are!”

            I should probably stop them soon.  Éomer sighed, taking another bite out of his apple, delaying his interference.  Oh, why not let them go on a bit?  Get it out of their systems before tomorrow.  I won’t have them arguing then, it would be disrespectful. 

***

            As soon as they’d gotten beyond hearing range, Faramir halted, stopping her.  Éowyn turned, curious as he stepped close.  Just a moment…let me… he touched her cheek, raising both hands to gently cup her face.  His mind met hers and she wondered. 

            What are you doing?

            Centering…you’re so much calmer than they…easier to… her own awareness dropping away, Éowyn heard the faint thumpings of his heart.  The sound grew louder, slowed and steadied as he concentrated and it was a strange feeling to sense her heart doing the same.  You don’t mind, do you?  Faramir’s thumb stroked her cheekbone. 

            It’s nice…  Éowyn felt relaxed, incredibly so as he held his concentration.  The sensation was wonderful, floating and yet she wasn’t light-headed, just utterly at ease, like staring up at the clouds on a summer day, no thoughts to worry, just pleasant stillness.   

            Good…now you’re my center, my steadying point.   It was relieved, as though he’d set down a burden.  His mind retreated slowly and she inhaled, once more aware of her surroundings. 

            I like it when you do that…  Odd, the sense of him was fading far slower than usual; Éowyn could still feel Faramir’s conscious and she knew the shape of his smile before it came.  His hands fell away, permitting her to go on and as she did, Éowyn flushed slightly, realizing that he was watching her hips as she walked down the stairs, admiring her. 

***

            They were soon out of Meduseld.  He glanced up at the gray sky and as they entered the barn Faramir wondered, my horse was put out, but where is my saddle and bridle?  

            The tack room, probably.

            Surprised, he glanced at the back of her head, slowing to look around.  He hadn’t sent the thought to her and yet Éowyn had heard it, responding almost absently as she carefully steered around two oncoming men.  They were soldiers from their clothing, and lugging two large, wooden buckets of water each.  Faramir paid them little attention other than making sure he was out of their path.  If he’d looked at them he might have noticed the man on the right stepping back while the one on the left moved forward.  Both exchanged swift, furtive grins.

            Faramir was just about to project his inquisitiveness to her when one of the men stumbled, almost excessively, the buckets not slipping out of his hands, but propelled upwards as though thrown.  Their contents flew into the air in a giant, silver wave. 

            The water was cold when it hit him, gushing in a well-aimed torrent and soaking Faramir from the midsection down.  He froze and dripped onto the barn corridor, astonished as Éowyn turned, one hand going to her mouth to smother a laugh.  Blue eyes softening, she shook her head.

            Oh, Faramir…  Éowyn looked up and down at him and her hand clamped tighter over her mouth as nearly hysterical giggles built inside her and made her shake.  Why didn’t you just get out of the way?

            “I’m terribly sorry, m’Lord.”  The man who stumbled raised himself, his clothes only lightly splattered.  The other man who’d hung back and Éowyn were entirely unwetted.  Faramir clenched his jaw, feeling the water cleave his clothing to his skin and tried not to give way to a red swell of rage.   

            “Aye, so sorry, my Lord.”  They weren’t sorry at all, in fact, both were trying hard not to laugh; he felt their wild mirth and recognized the one that had tripped, or rather, thrown himself flamboyantly to the ground.  Of course, he was one of the six who’d taunted him before.  Faramir took a slow breath, attempting to calm himself.  Éowyn frowned sensing his barely curbed fury. 

            Its just water.

            I know.  It took most of his control to send her the words and he looked at the men, memorizing their faces as they said again,

            “We apologize, my Lord…”

            “Aye…”

            “Accepted.”  The statement came out as harshly dismissive and he felt the men’s triumph as they picked up the buckets and carefully stepped around him, moving in a properly chastised fashion.  They’d succeeded in infuriating him and he sensed their glee and pride that they’d done it without so much as wetting themselves or Éowyn.  Bastards, what do they want from me?  A beating?

            What are you talking about?  She frowned again.  He fell Faramir, you…  Éowyn smiled.  You just happened to be in the way.

            He did not.  Staring down at his soaked clothing, he sighed in resignation.  I’ll have to go back and change…I’ll have to walk all the way to my room, the farthest in Meduseld, squelching and dripping all over the place.  He had to admit it was a clever prank, high in both humiliation and discomfort. 

            Éowyn bit her lip, shaking her head and making her braid swing.  “Why would he—”

            Faramir, feeling water trickle down his skin, couldn’t keep the snarl from his voice, though he tried.  “They hate me.”

            “Hate you?”  Perplexed, she stared at him and then laughed.  “What for? Why?”

            “I don’t know—everything.”

            Éowyn smiled, “Aww.”  She walked to him, looking up and touching his wet front.  Twisting a bit of his shirt between her fingers, she smiled again at the drops of water that were wrung from it.  “My poor dear, did you get all wet?”

            At this moment in time Faramir was no one’s poor dear—he was furious; over 2/3 of him was soaked and he was getting cold in the unseasonably sunless day.  “Stop that. It’s not funny.”

            “Go change into something dry and I’ll wait here.”  She pointed towards the back of the barn, “Just around the corner, in the big corral to the left, all right?”

            There was nothing else he could do.  “All right.  Fine.”  Turning and flinching at the squishing noises his boots made, Faramir straightened his shoulders and began the long walk back to his rooms, hoping few would see him.  I look ridiculous.  Another thought occurred and he winced.  Soaking me was worth the trip back to the well…or even the river—they truly loathe me, then.  Stars above, this promises to be a horrendous test. 

***

            Éowyn stared at the wide puddle on the ground and laughed, remembering.  Faramir’s face had been beyond price—utterly shocked and disgusted.  Shaking her head, she continued on her way, pausing to pat an occasional horse that stuck its nose into the aisle.  Most of the stalls were occupied with young stallions that’d been given a few mares to prove themselves with and then were put up for the breeding season to keep them from stealing or sneaking others.  Nearly all were trained and she was sorely tempted to ask Faramir if he wanted to go for a ride when he returned.  I love riding one of them—they run so fast and so hard, its thrilling, like you’re sitting on a wild horse, one made of flames.

            Outside, looking up at the hazy overcast sky, she whistled softly, trilling like a bird.  There was an immediate nicker and a good-sized colt came to the corral’s rails, sticking his head through to peer at her with wide, eager eyes.  “Hello.”  Éowyn was pleased to see how big and muscled he’d gotten in the few weeks he’d been released to the fields.  “You’re losing your baby coat…you’re going to be a red roan, aren’t you?  Such a pretty boy.”  She rubbed his nose, pinching lightly when he wiggled his upper lip, trying to nip.  “No, you don’t want to bite me, I might bite back.  What a silly lad you are…” The foal pinned his ears and she scolded him, smiling at her own prattling, “You’re not going to make that face at the Queen, are you?  So cross and disagreeable!”  Grabbing the top rail, she climbed up the high fence, pausing with her legs straddling it before seating herself.  The colt raised his head, eyeing her as she did so and Éowyn smiled down, about to speak. 

            The colors caught her eye—the dark brown of rich soil against the green and white mounds.  Her smile froze, then faded away; sitting on the board and watching men bared to the waist fling shovelfuls of dirt up into the air, Éowyn was suddenly near tears.  Carts stood nearby, waiting to carry the earth away and return it when Théoden was set into his place.  Long strips of sod were taken off to the side and stacked, the men careful not to break them—the roots were preserved as much as possible to let the grass grow back.  On the hill, perched on the corral, she was just high enough to have a perfect view.  The cloudy sky seemed to frown over the working men and women bringing them water; Éowyn remembered the day Théodred’s mound had been dug—men had set fires over the earth and then used axes to break into the frozen and thawing ground.  They didn’t want to wait…who knew if we would still be here come spring.  She remembered those dark times and how shining Aragorn had looked, even as bedraggled as he’d been; bursting upon them in a flash of glory, as though a crown were already set upon his brow—she’d wished only to rise above her pitiful, useless station, to do something important.  Things are different now…not just the lack of darkness…I am different, no longer useless, serving a feeble lord.  I am useful, worthy in the eyes of my people…but will it be the same in Minas Tirith, Emyn Arnen?  Here I am recognized as being as intelligent as any man is; I have a voice in the doings of our people…in Faramir’s city I am but another noblewoman, his wife and property.  Broodmare, servant or his equal…will the house in Ithilien be a home or a gilded cage?  I can but trust it will not be a cage and that I will not lie behind bars, but in his arms, free to go as I choose.  She frowned, feeling hope war with fear of the unknown; fear was no longer the larger, but evenly matched with her hope and even, perhaps, losing ground.  Still looking at the men, she thought even farther ahead.  I shall lie in the unfamiliar Ithilien, far away from the warm earth and everlasting halls of my people.  Will what I spoke to Merry come true; will I ever see my family again or be bound eternal to Faramir and spend my life after death with strangers?   

            The colt nudged her foot, taking her pants leg in his small teeth and tugging.  He wanted attention.  The other foals, twelve in all, were coming over.  Their tiny, fuzzy ears pricked and their large eyes watched her sit on the fence.  “Hello, my little ones.”  Some were still shy, but most had become friendly.  Two whiskered noses touched her outstretched hand and her colt glared jealously, making her smile again, putting her sad and bitter thoughts away. 

            “Éowyn?”  The voice made her jump, surprised.  It was not Faramir, there was none of the gentle mental contact she’d come to expect; odd, she’d just thought of him, too.  It was Aragorn, weary-eyed, his mouth strained.  “Can…can I speak with you?”

            “Yes, of course.”  The rails of the corral were high, making it difficult.  “Come up.”

             He climbed easily, long-limbed, settling beside her.  Éowyn glanced his way when Aragorn did not start.  The foals had retreated, but now they came back, sniffing.  Their eyes were wide now, looking at the strange man beside her and she smiled.  He’s not one of their herd…  Aragorn reached out when her colt touched his knee; it was sudden and the roan leaped back, snorting and arching his neck.  He looked saddened and she felt sympathetic.  Lightly brushing her face and neck with her fingers, she rubbed the backs of her hands against her palms, gathering her scent.  “Here, give me your hands.”

***

            Faramir walked, painfully aware of the wet noises he was making.  To make it worse, just inside the doors of Meduseld was Éomer, looking at him in surprised amusement.  “What did she do, knock you into a bucket?”  The man grinned, “I’ve been there, believe me.” 

            Explaining slowly, tiredly, he said, “No…a man tripped in the barn, his buckets splashed me.”  Faramir saw no sense in tattling; he was not a child. 

            “That’s odd.”  Éomer looked him up and down, an emotion akin to sympathy in his face until he grinned again.  “I haven’t been there.”  The King turned to walk off and Faramir called after him, not even knowing he was going to speak,

            “How long is this going to take?”

            He didn’t have to clarify; Éomer halted, half-turning.  “I don’t know.”  For a moment they stood, silent, a few feet separating them.  Faramir felt himself trying not to slump, to give into the overwhelming feeling of defeat—it seemed everything was against him.  Éomer’s eyes were keen on his as he asked,  “He didn’t trip, did he?”

            “No.”  Faramir shook his head.

            “Then there is your answer—” He began to move away again, saying, “I will not be the final and only judge, that would not be fair…your éored or company you ride in will judge you, too, Faramir and it does not appear they favor you much.”  Again he got a brief sense of sympathy, quickly fading.  Is it possible that he wants me to win the challenge; he frowned, comparing their exchange to the one a short while ago.  Earlier he barely acknowledged me…perhaps without Éowyn to worry about he doesn’t despise me much at all…How can I make him see I’m on his side?  Faramir had no ideas. 

            The éored, the company will judge, too in the end…great, just wonderful…I will never leave this place.

***

            Looking curious, he did so.  Éowyn chafed them quickly, feeling the hard calluses.  Aragorn asked, “What was that for?”

            “Now you smell like me—they know me and it will make them trust you.”

            “Oh…” He smiled, voice amused, “I was worried for a moment.”

            The very idea made her laugh, remembering Faramir’s embrace, his mind touching hers to let her feel his love, his kisses, his anxiety when he’d given her the first gift; Éowyn toyed with the dolphin, running her thumb over its nubby fins.  “No, that is long over.”

            “Faramir, then…” He let it trail off, turning slightly to look at her.  “You’re sure you will be happy?”

            “I don’t know—I think so, yes.” Still feeling the bitter undercurrent of her earlier thoughts, she asked, a trifle too harshly, “Why does it concern you?”

            “I care.”

            “Why?”  Haven’t we had this conversation?  She wondered.

            Aragorn shifted on the fence, silent for a long while.  Some of the foals lost interest and trotted back and forth, playing, their short tails held high.  Eventually, he said, “You didn’t want to come back and it was partially my fault.”

            She didn’t have to ask what he meant.  Éowyn stared at the ground; a shiver going through her shoulders at the memory of the black, hopeless place the wraith had sent her.  “No, it wasn’t.”

            “Maybe it was.”  He was looking at her.  “Acquiring new charges to look after…” Aragorn finished with a short laugh.  “It’s become a habit.”  As if he felt her stiffen, he added, quick, “Take no offence, Éowyn.  Please, I’ve offended one woman already today.”

            There was no use arguing and she was suddenly tired.  “What do you want?”

            He wasn’t going to let her end it; he never let go of anything.  “You should be happy…every one should and not all of us will, I’m afraid.  Faramir’s a good man; he takes a lot of indignities without complaint—I tested him over the summer.”  Aragorn chuckled, letting her know he was jesting.  “Just the right type for you.  You wouldn’t have liked me, anyway, I’m not as easily managed.”

            “No, you’re not as handsome, either.”

            She laughed when he asked immediately, “You don’t think so?”

            “No.”  Éowyn added, smiling a little, “Vain.”

            “I think I’m very good looking—you liked me on sight, remember?  Just because the hobbits thought different…”

            She watched the foals nurse.  Two were bucking, running against their mother’s flanks and bellies, trying to get rid of flies.  “The sun must have been in my eyes.”  He made a derisive noise and she added absently, thinking, “Faramir’s got lovely grey eyes, magnificent hands—long fingers, graceful.  Oh, just the right amount of muscle—you know he’s strong, but not clumsy.  Lovely dark hair, hanging on his shoulders, it’s adorable when it’s tangled; a perfect mouth with such soft lips and he knows just where to…” Aragorn snorted gleeful laughter, startling the foals. 

            “I had no idea he was so attractive, why, now that you’ve pointed it out,” He guffawed, “I might take him to my bed as well.”

            She made a face, “I don’t think I’d want him back after that.”

He sighed, asking arrogantly, “Who said he would want to come back?”

Oh…” Éowyn made a retching noise and he laughed again.  Suddenly embarrassed and feeling she had said far too much, she ended, “You saved me.” 

            He frowned, “No, I didn’t, not really, I made you feel worse.”

            Ignoring the last because it was true, she said, “Not from orcs or anything like that, no.”

            “What from, then?”

            “Myself.”  This was her secret, the plan she’d once come terribly close to implementing.  She bumped her foot against one of the rails, rhythmically thumping it.  Her colt hadn’t gone anywhere; he sniffed at Aragorn’s hand and allowed the man to pet his muzzle.

            Aragorn nudged her with his shoulder, making sure she saw the foal let him touch it.  “How so?”

            Éowyn supposed it made no difference to tell.  It was Faramir whom she did not want to know—he was part of her new life, her life unencumbered by fear.  “If you hadn’t had come to Edoras, I would have freed my brother, slain my uncle and then slain myself.”  He was silent, so she added, “Éomer would have been king and Théoden would have been remembered as a kindly lord, wise and not as a feeble old man…” Éowyn swallowed, “hardly able to feed himself or remember my name.  And I, I would have taken the brunt of our people’s blame—an ungrateful girl, kin-killer.”  Her voice was a whisper, “But things would have been all right, then…you understand?”  Gríma would be dead, too, undoubtedly by my brother’s hand and my people no longer subject to his vile, poisonous words or treacherous deeds. 

            To her surprise Aragorn’s arm went around her shoulders, squeezing in a brief, friendly hug.  “Yes…I suppose so.”

            “Good.”

            They sat in silence for another few minutes before he said softly, “Hit is lenctentíma.”

            “Gea.”  He did not mean it as a season, but rather as her people did, categorizing war.  Battle itself was winter—long, hard and deadly.  Spring was the time after war, when new life came and people and crops and animals began to thrive again.

            Aragorn’s voice was deadened as he said slowly, “Ic eom meðe…hu cann Ic lædan?”

            She glanced over, hoping to rid him of the sudden depression.  Annoying as he could be, she did like him.  “Ge eart se léoma in se rodor, se blóstma in se feld ond se fana æt ǽrist.  Hu cann ge twéo?”

            “Butan min steorra, Ic cann.”

            Ah, so now we come to it.  Finally.  Éowyn asked, “What do you want me to do?”

            “Talk to her…I’m afraid I’ve upset her…” Aragorn smiled faintly, “She’s hiding in Galadriel’s quarters—not even I’m bold enough to go in there.”

            She sighed, “Why me?”

            “You’re a woman.”

            “Are you certain?”  His smiling, flaunting glance “Well…” made her shake her head, “Then how, if she’s in with the Lady Galadriel—”

            “She’ll talk to you. I’m not sure they know what to make of you.  You’re a lowly mortal that helped strike down not just one of the wraiths, but their captain—it’s unheard of.  Hobbits doing great deeds everyone’s used to by now.”  He chuckled, “Arwen is a little intimidated by you, I think.”

            Like when Elrohir had claimed the beautiful elven woman envious, Éowyn doubted, but she let it go, sighing,  “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

            “Make sure you ask her why she won’t go with me to Isengard.”

            His eager insistence made her smile.  “I will.”

             Aragorn gave her another short hug, his voice relieved, “Thank you, it means a great deal to me.”

***

            Exiting the barn, Faramir stopped short, watching Aragorn put his arm around Éowyn; he was surprised at the wave of possessive suspicion that swept through him.  What are they doing?  What is he doing?  He walked slowly forward, listening closely but neither was speaking; Faramir was aware that Aragorn had once been his unwitting rival and he tensed, wary.  One of the foals nickered, eyeing him and Éowyn turned, hands braced on the fence to keep her balance.  She smiled as Aragorn turned, too.  “You’re back.”

            “Yes.”  For a second they both just looked at him.

            “Ooh, you were right…” To his confusion Aragorn grinned widely at Éowyn.  “It is nice—I’m not going so far as perfect, but…”

            “Be quiet!”  Giggling in embarrassment, she hit his shoulder.  Aragorn laughed, swinging down from off of the corral’s top rail to stand in front of him.

            “I’ll leave you two alone—but don’t forget.”  The last was aimed at Éowyn, who nodded from her perch.

            “I won’t.”

            “I expect a full account sometime tonight…” He added a lascivious wink that made even Faramir flush a little, “If you’re not busy, that is.”

            She rolled her eyes to the heavens, making a face.  “Aye, my Lord.”  And Aragorn left.  Faramir came to the fence, looking up at her.  He didn’t want to pry, but he was very curious.  His suspicion had faded, as he had felt her uplift in spirits at the sight of him.

            “What was that about?”

            “Oh, he just wanted me to talk to Arwen for him.”

            “Oh.” He looked at her braid, shining with dim fire on the overcast day.  Éowyn smiled down at him; he could feel her gladness that he was with her again and Faramir climbed up to sit close beside her.  The top rail was conveniently wide, obviously made with sitting in mind.  “This is what you like to do?”

            “Well, not this…I love the foals—they’re all so sweet and darling.”  She slid down the fence, “Come in with me.”            Faramir jumped down into the corral, looking at the assembled foals.  Most of their backs did not come up much above his midsection.  They were various colors beneath their baby coats—shedding out greys, chestnuts, bays and roans.  One of them, a little red roan approached Éowyn; it seemed hesitant, its brown eyes wide and little nostrils flaring as it came.  She spoke softly, her voice more soothing than he’d ever heard, “They don’t know you…you’re a stranger and strangers are dangerous.” All the colts sniffed and snorted, inching forward and when he moved to touch the closest, it wheeled, bolting and carried the rest with it to the far end of the corral.  The soft-eyed mares stood there, eating hay.  Éowyn shook her head at him, “You’re too big, I think.”

            Faramir grinned to tease, shrugging slightly, “Well…”

            She laughed in a startled burst, giving him a chastising look.  “No—I meant you’re too tall.  Sit with me.”  Éowyn folded her legs, sinking gracefully to the dirt.  She leaned against the rails as Faramir sat beside her.  “Now,” Whispering, she moved close, “you have to be very quiet and very still…”

             “What if they bite me?”  The roan colt was already approaching again, his fuzzy ears pricked. 

            “So?  They hardly have teeth.  It might pinch a bit.”  She laughed at him, keeping it low. “Don’t look directly at them, either…”

            Faramir scooted closer to her, his face near hers, their shoulders touching.  “Why not?”  He’d had few dealings with foals, mainly used to working with mature, trained horses.

            “They’re like children—they don’t want you looking at them when they’re trying to be brave.”

            “Oh.”

            “Shh, here they come.”  The colts were coming, sniffing and taking small, wary steps. Faramir watched them, noting the differences from the few foals he’d seen in Gondor—these were more finely molded, even the heavy boned colts and their eyes were larger, and their ears smaller with rounded rumps and muscled flanks.  They were obviously healthy and well bred. 

            The roan was the most daring and came swiftest.  He sniffed his boot, licking the end while his short, fuzzy tail wagged back and forth at flies.  Faramir gazed at him, careful not to make too much eye contact and the foal moved to sniff at his pants legs.  The others, emboldened, were coming forward as well.  It’s going to bite me, you watch.

            She smiled, answering.  He wants to know if you taste like a horse…  Faramir felt her impetuous, spiking amusement and before he could turn, Éowyn put one hand on his chin and cheek, holding him still and leaned close.  Her tongue ran up his neck, warm and wet.  Completely shocked, he froze as she gently bit him, sucking at the skin.  Feverish with sudden desire, he would have turned but she held him and kissed his neck, slow and hot, finally nibbling his earlobe.  Her tongue went into his ear and Faramir jumped.

             Valar…don’t do that!

            You don’t.  Her breath blew over his skin, igniting his nerves like fire to kindling as she laughed softly.

            That’s good…Faramir was hardly conscious of what he was saying as Éowyn kissed again, using her tongue to swirl, to move a little faster as her hand slid down his chest, caressing.  Ah, stop!

            Why?  Don’t you like it?  Her inner voice became amused.  I like it when you do it to me.  Éowyn suckled his earlobe and it was far too easy to imagine her doing much the same to other parts of him—suddenly she jerked away, laughing in astonishment, I’m not doing that!  Faramir was sure he was red-faced as Éowyn giggled, moving back into him.  She kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and only then his lips.  When she spoke, her voice was low, promising, “Not anytime soon.” 

            He shuddered all over.  “Now you really have to stop.” 

            “All right.”  Éowyn sat back against the rails as though she was unaffected; Faramir could feel his heated blood racing.  The foals peered at them with curious eyes as he leaned his head back against the wood, groaning,  

            “You’re going to kill me.”  She just laughed.  The roan stepped forward suddenly, sniffing at his face and she whispered,

            “Breathe into his nostrils, introduce yourself.”  Faramir did so and the colt breathed back, his wide eyes no longer so wary.  Éowyn sighed, her head resting on his shoulder and one of her arms going around his chest as she murmured,  “Now put out your hand, slowly, palm down…and curve it a little, like a horse’s nose.”  Again, Faramir obeyed and the colt sniffed his hand, nuzzling it.  The tiny muzzle was fuzzy and warm and he smiled. 

            She whispered, her voice close to his ear, “Now he knows you—you’re part of the herd.”  Her next thought made him content, if dubious.  You’re one of us.

***

            Éowyn grabbed his hand as she stepped down from the boards, not because she needed it, but because he’d offered and she wanted to.  They’d spent a long time with the colts, scratching and petting the ones that had approached.  All in all it was promising, introducing the foals to a stranger. “You want to go for a ride with me?”

            “Hmm…yes.”  Faramir smiled quick and handsome and she felt how good he was, just standing beside her.  His hand squeezed hers as he brought it to his lips.  It was a small gesture of affection, one of many he seemed to practice daily.  Éowyn loved it, loved him, and loved the strangeness of her pleasure in him.  He is no jailer.  I am destined for no cage…  Silencing herself, she cursed inwardly.  There was no reason she should bother him with her foolish, fanciful notions.  Like before, Faramir did not seem to notice, his fingers interlacing with hers.  

            Composed, the distressing thoughts gone, she lead him back into the barn, “Come on, this will be fun, we’ll take two of the studs out.”

***

            Something was wrong and damned if he knew what it was.  Faramir gripped as tightly as he could, keeping his legs locked to the horse’s sides—if he loosened, the beast would throw him.  Ahead, Éowyn rode sure and steady, her grey stallion galloping swift, but without so much as a bump.  Faramir’s horse swerved violently, making him grab for the saddle, the mane, anything to hold onto.  Its hooves dug into the earth, sending chunks of grass flying as it swerved back.  Its ears were pinned flat and he could hear its teeth scraping on the bit, trying to grip it, to gain control. 

            “Easy…easy…” Faramir would have tried Rohirric but he couldn’t remember the word.  The chestnut stud bucked, but luckily it was going too fast to buck high.  “Easy, damn you.”

            Éowyn glanced back, her horse still behaving perfectly.  Faramir had no idea what he was doing wrong—he suspected the thing was just disagreeable, cantankerous.  He’d had no trouble saddling, no trouble mounting and it was only when he was actually in the saddle that the stallion had begun acting strange.  At first, as they’d ridden out of Edoras, the beast had only been a bit wild, jogging sideways and flipping its nose.  He’d had no struggles with it, though, he’d been quite able to watch Éowyn move with her horse, gently bouncing as it jogged and admire her.  But when they’d entered the open field he’d been hard pressed to keep it from bolting.  Now it tossed its head, up and down roughly, trying to grab the bit again.

            Faramir jerked on the reins, knowing he shouldn’t but frustrated and trying to get it pay attention.  The stallion’s flat ears almost seemed to drop from underneath him as the horse planted its hooves and slid to a halt, immediately bucking.  It snorted, throwing itself in hard lunges and he felt its resentment turn to agitated frenzy when he did not immediately fall off.  The stallion’s head came up and to the side, teeth bared, reaching for his knee to drag him from the saddle; alarmed, Faramir used the ends of his reins to slap its face and it bucked again, enraged.  This time the beast did not stop, spinning, its hind legs flying in audible bursts of effort.  He held on for three and then it seemed to whirl beneath him, twisting as it went up and straightening as it came down; its legs impacted hard, the jolt was incredible and Faramir was dumped to the ground, rolling.

            “Oomph…!”  He came to a stop and groaned, listening to the hoof beats of his horse as it raced to join Éowyn.  The beast’s delight made his head throb more.  A moment later it must have caught up because he heard her faint voice, taut with concern,

            “Faramir, are you all right?”

            Yes.  It was rather far to shout.

            He raised himself slowly, feeling the bruises as Éowyn came back.  He watched her; she held his horse in one hand, controlling her own mount with the other.  Neither animal gave her the slightest bit of trouble, trotting easily and when she murmured, “Whoa, lads,” they halted before him, quiet.  Faramir stared at his stallion, a large, attractive chestnut beside her grey.  It’s not so much as pulling back…what is the problem?

             She slid from the saddle, asking easily,  “You want to trade?”

            He bristled.  Faramir may have been tolerant of much, but he was damned if his future wife was going to ride his horse for him because he couldn’t control it—his pride would not allow it.  Besides, he ignored his real reason, she might get hurt.  “No.”

            Éowyn tensed, too, sensing his mood.  Her eyes narrowed, “Why not?”     

            “Because—no.”  Whatever truth he might have said would have only led to an argument, he could tell that much from the stormy set of her eyes.  I have already seen Aragorn and Arwen argue today…  Keeping the peace, Faramir began brushing himself off; when he reached for his horse’s bridle, it jerked back, pinning its ears.  Annoyed, he glared at the beast as it ducked its head behind her shoulder.

            She muttered something he translated a moment later as, “Damn men and their vanities.”  Éowyn lifted her chin, her determination touching him, “Faramir, you’re riding this one and don’t tell me no or that I could get hurt—I can’t lie, you can’t lie.”  She shoved the grey’s reins into his hands and before he could protest, swung aboard the chestnut.  He braced himself to watch her go flying, but the horse didn’t buck. 

            Éowyn glanced at the grey, “Beo god fore him, min fréond.”  She looked at him, cool-eyed, “Wait a moment, I’ll try him and see what he does.”

            Again, before he could protest, she wheeled the stallion, clucking.  At any other time he would have admired the effortless way she rode the big chestnut into a canter—now it was just an irritant.  Look at that…nothing.  Faramir stared, feeling humiliated as Éowyn, almost half his size, handled the stud with no trouble at all.  The chestnut circled him and the grey stallion in a slow, easy lope, neither giving bucks nor trying to grab the bit.  He tucked his nose when she asked, giving her his head and slowed to a jog, then a walk, only to spring back into a willing canter when she clucked.  Éowyn was riding without any visible aids by the end, doing giant figure eights with completely slack reins.  He gritted his teeth, feeling like an idiot.

            “All right, get on.”  She halted beside him, gesturing to the grey.  “We’re going on, he’s fine now.”  Brushing her braid off of her shoulder and looking contrite, she added, “He must have just needed to get it out of his system—I’m sorry.”

            “How did you do that?”  

            “Do what?”  Éowyn gave him a puzzled, cautious look as he mounted.  “He was no trouble.”  Her mood was cautious as well, as though she were waiting to see if he would blow up or not because she’d done what he obviously couldn’t.

            “He was for me.”  She gave him a quick, almost hurt glance and he cursed himself.  This time she stayed near, the horses pacing each other.  Faramir felt himself bristle again, unable to control it.  Is she watching out for me?  As if I could not ride? He ignored the fact that Éowyn was looking ahead, not watching him at all. 

            She patted the chestnut’s neck as it moved complacently beneath her.  “I don’t know why, he’s a good boy, whoever trained him did it well.”  Smiling hopefully, she asked,  “You want to gallop again?”

            You think I’ll stay on?  He strangled it before she could sense the thought or the words could bolt out of his mouth—it was unfair and Faramir was a bit ashamed of himself.  “Yes.”  Éowyn clucked and her horse surged, well in control; beneath him, the grey did the same when he used his heels.  But soon things changed—the grey tossed its head, flattening its ears and he felt its rising irritation.  What is going on?

***

            Éowyn’s heart thrilled to the quadruple beat of her horse’s hooves as it flew down the wide lane.  They were riding west, taking much the same route Aragorn and his company would take in a number of days; the road was empty and she galloped without care.  The chestnut was willing, stretching himself out at her low urging.  Éowyn glanced behind her and frowned—the grey’s ears were pinned and he was striking out with his forelegs as he strode, head twisted, tail popping and wringing—all signs of anger.  What is Faramir doing?

            “Whoa, whoa.”  She slowed the chestnut, lowering her weight to the saddle, no longer riding with him, but asking with her stillness for him to slow.  Well-trained, he did, listening with one bent back ear.  Éowyn looked at Faramir as he came to a halt beside her; the grey’s eyes rolled, burning in anger.  Faramir looked frustrated and baffled.  She didn’t speak and after a moment of his horse shifting beneath him, hooves stomping in irritation, he did.

            “What am I doing wrong?”

            Éowyn frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”  She stood in her stirrups, one hand on the withers for balance and looked around, searching for the path she’d wanted to take.  It was thin and overgrown, but nearby.  “Do you want to go on a bit—it’s not far.”

            For a second she thought he would snap at her; she felt his anger, but like before, Faramir held it all inside himself, replying calmly, “Where are we going?”

            “To the river.”  Éowyn had in mind something that she knew for a fact he would enjoy, but now she was not so sure.  He looks upset; though surely this will cheer him…I believe it would cheer any man.  If not, she had no idea what to do.

Translations: 

Ic grete þe, min deore.—I greet you, my dear.

 Ond Ic, ge, min deore…se dæg is eall se ma freolic mid ge in hit.—And I, you, my dear…the day is all the more beautiful with you in it.

Ful god, Faramir…ge eart betera ælc dæg.—Very good, Faramir…you are better every day.

Ic þancie þe.—I thank you.

Hin lín luin sui venel laer…nin luithial…thîr vain lín darn thûl nín.—Thine eyes are as blue like the summer sky…you enchant me…thy beauty took my breath away..

Ic lufie ge…eower bodig …ge eart neah ma lustbære…Ic cann noht beran hit… ge eart freolic begeond ge-leafa nacod—I love you…your body…you are near more desirable…I cannot bear it…you are beautiful beyond belief naked.

Ná, Faramir…ge eahtian toss miccle—No, Faramir…you praise too much.

Ge eart leasung, ge eart lustbære.  Ic cann ætywan ge—You are lying.  Yes, you are desirable.  I can show you.

Ge eart, seah?—You are, see?

 Mana quentelyë? Mana quentelyë Estel!?—What did you say?  What did you say, Estel!?
Vanimelda—dearest beloved…

Á quetë!—Speak!

Ma hanyalyen?—Do you understand me?

Hit is lenctentíma.—It is spring.

Ic eom meðe…hu cann Ic lædan?—I am tired…how can I lead?

Ge eart se léoma in se rodor…se blóstma in se feld…se fana æt ǽrist.  Hu cann ge twéo —You are the ray of light in the sky…the blossom in the field…the banner of ressurection.  How can you doubt?

But min steorra, Ic cann.—Without my star, I can.

Beo god fore him, min fréond—Be good for him, my friend