Éowyn watched Faramir canter the grey stallion in a large circle around her.  The only way to find out what he was doing wrong was to watch, so that’s what she did.  Her chestnut shifted at her signals, taking small steps with his forelegs while keeping his hindquarters under him and hooves planted, turning to face the horse in front of them at all times.  In reward for this difficult maneuver, she rubbed his withers, scratching.  The clouds had receded and now the sun burned bright, making the early afternoon hot and she wished she were a man, to take off her shirt and be more comfortable.  Though I doubt he would mind.  Faramir kept his horse moving and she stared.  He’s a strong rider…very forward.  Éowyn felt herself flush a little, just watching the way his body moved with the stallion and yet…something’s not right.  He curved with the horse, relaxed in the saddle.  Good balance, good seat, confident…but why is he so forceful?  It was odd; she wouldn’t have thought Faramir to be such an aggressive rider and she hadn’t paid much attention before.  Men were usually more assertive in the saddle than she, but she wouldn’t have thought Faramir to be quite this forward.  Not even Éomer drives his horses like this and he rides with heavier aids than I…Éowyn had been feeling Faramir’s frustration for a while now and she wondered, maybe it is only his mood that makes him so.

            He used his reins too much, relying on the bit for control.  Faramir’s legs were loose and he wasn’t pushing off his seat, but using his heels.  Not that he’s kicking, its just…the stallion was used to a lot of supportive leg and little rein contact.  He hardly uses his legs at all for direction, really only to indicate that he wants speed…do they train their mounted armies so in Gondor?  How do they control their mounts, then?  She remembered riding Líeg; the gelding had been more indifferent to her aids than she’d expected, but she’d not thought much about it. 

            Faramir turned to look at her and Éowyn could have predicted what happened next—body and weight followed head and eyes and the stallion drifted inward, obedient to the unplanned signal.  Immediately Faramir corrected, but instead of using his lower leg to push the horse back out, he only used his reins and the stallion balked, confused at the conflicting directions.  Well that’s not so hard to fix; he just needs a few quick lessons in using his legs.  If I do that and have him ride without a bridle, he’ll learn not to depend so much upon his hands.  Éowyn saw no reason why it would take long, Faramir was intelligent and she knew for a fact he had light, sensitive hands.  That I know well, indeed.  She smiled slightly, thinking of how she would do this and shivering a little in anticipation.

            The grey halted, his forelegs coming a few inches off the ground, shaking his head in frustrated anger.  “Easy, easy…” Faramir’s voice was tense; he sounded just as rankled as his mount.  Éowyn sighed inwardly; the first thing she needed to do was calm them both and best the way to calm the stud was to take away the irritant.  Wresting his reluctant horse to a halt, he looked at her, “Well?”
            “Come closer, we’re going to try something.”  When he had the stud standing near, Éowyn stood in her stirrups, grasping the cheek piece of the grey’s bridle and then the crown and slipped it off over the horse’s head, taking the reins, too.

            “What are you doing?”  Faramir seemed suddenly far more insecure, frowning at her. 

            “You’re going to be his passenger—don’t worry, just sit there, he’ll follow us—it’s just like his training.”  Éowyn leaned lower, rubbing the grey’s forehead in a circular motion as she murmured, “Comon mid me, min fréond.”  His brown eyes focused on her and after a minute he chewed, licking his lips, indicating his thoughts and then submission to her will.  Éowyn smiled reassuringly at Faramir.  “It’s not far to the river—we’ll do this there.”

            “All right.”  He was still frowning, but he nodded.  She clucked to the chestnut, not shifting her weight or rolling her hips forward as she would for a canter, but asking for only a jog.  They moved off the road and down through the little grassy path that led to a long, shallow section of the Snowbourn.

***

            Faramir felt as though he had no control.  He rested his hands on his legs; they felt odd, like there was no place for them.  It was unsettling, but he couldn’t deny that the stallion felt far calmer beneath him than since he’d mounted it.  He’d calmed, too, no longer feeling she was judging him.  Éowyn was not the like the Rohirrim soldiers, she was just trying to help.  They jogged slowly, following the path through the grass and up and down little hills, curving steadily downward.  Soon he could see the Snowbourn, shining in the newly appeared sun.  She steered for a widespread clump of trees at the river’s edge and he had no choice but to follow.  

            Watching her ride, bouncing with the horse’s strides, he wished for a view at more of an angle, to admire her.  She didn’t seem to note his gaze, her focus turned inward as she thought.  Reaching the grassy banks, Éowyn picked up her reins, though he observed, she didn’t make actual contact with the horse’s mouth.  It stopped, anyway, as though it could feel her taking out the slack.  His own stud halted and he watched her dismount lightly, hanging his bridle off of her saddle. 

            She brushed a few stray hairs from her face and turned up to him, “Get down.”

            Faramir obeyed, swinging to the ground and then he watched curiously as she unsaddled his horse.  “What are we doing?”

            She smiled, looking a little impish.  He felt her sense of mischief as well as anticipation and he wondered as she said,  “You’ll see.”  Done and having set the saddle and blanket down, Éowyn gestured, “Get back on now.”  As he did so, slightly clumsier without a stirrup to help, she continued.  “You’re riding him strongly off of the bit and you’re not using your legs the way he’s used to...” Faramir noticed how she avoided saying what he was doing was incorrect, rather implying that it was simply a different style.  He appreciated it; sitting up and sliding close to the withers, he looked down at her.  Éowyn’s blue eyes were focused on his as she smiled, disturbingly wicked.  “I’m going to show you how our horses are used to being ridden.”

            She moved to his side and a second later Faramir jumped—Éowyn had swung effortlessly aboard the stallion, leaving hers to graze and now her warm front pressed to his entire backside.  “What—” He swallowed; her hands wrapped loosely around his middle, almost too loosely, draping low enough to make his stomach jolt.  Her inner thighs gripped him like she would the front of the saddle and he could feel her breasts against his back; his voice was slightly strained.  “What are you doing?”

            “I can’t show you on the ground.”

            It was as though she was molded against him, intimate and he stared at the cool water, trying to ignore her inner legs moving to squeeze him soundly.  Faramir half turned his head, asking, “You’re sure?”

            Éowyn brushed some of his hair out of her way, “Yes.”  Her words were going almost directly into his ear and he could feel her warm breath.  Faramir seriously doubted his ability to learn anything at this point.

            “I…I don’t think…this…” He squirmed when she unlaced her fingers and firmly placed one hand on each of his upper thighs.  What are you doing?

            Nothing.  Éowyn laughed very quietly, mimicking his response when she asked the same question.  She sounded like she was smiling.  “Hush, pay attention to my voice.”

            “I am.”  Just to other things, too…you’re rather impossible to ignore.  Thank the Valar you didn’t get on in front of me…I don’t think I could have stood it.  Éowyn did not reply to that, though he felt her faint disconcertment.

            “Now,” She flattened her palms, thumbs far enough inward to make him fidget, avoiding looking down to see them splayed out, light against his dark trousers.  “You can feel my legs?”

            He laughed, desperate, “Yes.”

            “Pay attention to what I do with them and I tell you,” Her fingers squeezed his thighs and he inhaled.  “Like this, how you’ll move yours to match.”

            “All right.”  It was worse than he’d thought—she scooted closer, virtually glued to him and everything above her ankles tightened as she used her legs to push the horse forward.  Faramir could feel every toned inner muscle half-wrapped around him and it drove him mad.  Her hands pressed gently on his legs, urging him to copy the motions of her own.  Éowyn steered the stallion in a slow circle, using her fingers to prod him into moving his inside lower leg just a little forward and his outer one just a little back. 

            Her voice was a murmur, close to his ear.  “You support him as he goes, understand?” 

            Faramir found it difficult to even remember what they were doing with her breath scorching his skin, her inner thighs tensing and easing as she moved.  “I think so…”

            “Good, keep paying attention.”  As if he could forget for one instant her warmth pressed against his backside.

            She steered the horse in a larger circle and then a figure eight, still getting him to move his legs with hers.  Despite the constant distraction, Faramir actually found himself comprehending better as they went and he wondered where she’d learned this technique.  “Is this…is this normal—something you do with…?”

            Éowyn’s hands moved, but not to direct him, instead they smoothed downward, sliding back up and he gritted his teeth at the obvious caress.  Her soft reply, hot on his neck, made him tense, “No.”  For an instant her mouth seemed to hover over his skin, scalding right at the junction of his shoulder, as though she’d come close to pressing her lips there.

            “Oh.”  Faramir licked his lips, nervous and growing more disquieted with her every movement, almost painfully aware of her body against his.  If she moved her hands inward at all she would discover it, too.  This is sweet torture.

            “Now, we’re going to stop—you take your legs away when you do that and sort of slump, quit riding, quit moving with him.  Think whoa.”  Éowyn’s fingers lightened on his thighs and he took his legs away from the horse’s sides, relaxing as she did.  The grey stallion slowed, walking for a stride or two and then halted.  His ears were back, listening as she spoke, “Good, now,” Her hands pressed his legs, “put them back.”  The stallion began walking again. Éowyn was no longer even using her legs, he noticed.  The praise was low, her voice making him wonder if she were as moved by the physical contact as he was.  “Good, Faramir, very good.  Now, we’re going to go sideways—put this leg further up and keep this one here when you press.” 

            “All right.”

            The grey stallion moved sideways and forward, obedient to his signals.  Éowyn had him repeat it going the other direction.  “Good, good.”  She leaned closer, moving her hands down to his knee.  “Now bend…yes, and use your heels to touch his belly, very light—feel his back rise up?”

            “Yes.”  Without the saddle, he did quite well.

            “Now he’s collecting himself and it’s easier to carry us and it’s easier for him to move.”  She slid her hands back to their former position on his upper thigh; it was a slow movement and he inhaled sharply at its blatantly teasing quality.  “See?  You don’t need a bridle to make him do that or steer him.  That’s all you were doing that he didn’t understand; stallions are quick-tempered and he got confused and angry—an angry horse doesn’t listen.”

            Forcing himself to speak, he asked, “What about slowing him?  Does it still work at a trot, a canter?”  Éowyn hadn’t taken back her hands yet, though he sensed the lesson was over.  Faramir didn’t know whether to be gladdened or disappointed.

            “Yes.  You stop riding again—he’s very sensitive.  He can feel if you turn your head, if you inhale or hold your breath…all those things.  Do you want to do a slow trot and see?”

            Faramir imagined her bouncing behind him, breasts against his back, nipples rubbing, possibly growing hard and shook his head quickly.  It would be rather uncomfortable now, regardless.  “No.”

            “All right, now you do it on your own.”  She took her hands away, relacing them around his middle and Éowyn’s chin touched his shoulder as she relaxed behind him.  He touched his lower legs to the horse, experimenting with pressure and position.  The grey stallion was quiet and obedient, moving in a long serpentine curve, coming close to the water, then away and halting when he quit riding with it.  Faramir was impressed, turning his head to speak,

            “How do you teach them that?”

            “It takes a long time to get them this light…most of it is natural—they move away from pressure…” She was very close, her front tight to his back, her breath hot on his neck and her arms hugging him.  As she continued Éowyn’s voice sounded…almost suggestive?  Valar and all the stars, no, I cannot take it… and he tried to focus on the nearby running water, multiple wildflowers, anything to escape the insinuative meaning of her words.  “You have to know their sensitive areas, where to touch to get what you want.”

             She leaned against him, unmoving and he asked,  “Are we finished?”  If he got down she would know how discomfited and roused he was, but if he didn’t get away, he would never calm himself. 

            “Yes, I suppose.”  She unlaced her arms, leaning back as he threw a leg over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground, taking a second to collect himself before turning to face her.

***

            Éowyn’s front felt cool, even in the sunny afternoon, after being so tight against him.  Faramir seemed to hesitate, looking up as she swung her leg over, sitting sideways on the grey’s back, looking at him.  I think by the end he was more sensitive to me than the horse.  Then he smiled faintly and put out his arms in a polite offer to help her down.  With a smile, she accepted and he took her hands, pulling gently.  Éowyn found herself almost sliding down on top of him, her feet setting down between his widespread ones; somehow Faramir had come much closer.  Oh…to her surprise she could feel his arousal, half-hard and bumping against her. 

            His expression was somewhat apologetic and he muttered, “Sorry.”  Faramir did not move away, though, his hands still in hers.  Éowyn wasn’t sure what to do and he did nothing but stare down at her, his grey eyes as unwavering as the firmness against her front.         

            After a long moment of enduring his heated, hungry gaze, she stammered, looking away, “It’s…all, all-right.”  He looks at me like a starved man does a feast…

            His question was quiet and careful, “You’re not afraid of me?”

            Faramir’s hands released hers, sliding around her waist as she answered, swallowing.  “N-no.”

            “Good, I don’t want you to be…” He bent, kissing her only once, light and gentle.  His voice was soft, earnest as he finished.  “Even when I’m like this.”  She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.  “I would never do anything you didn’t want me to.”  The bulge in his trousers had not reduced and Faramir gave her another kiss, almost as though he couldn’t help himself.  Éowyn smiled a little, relaxing, sensing how careful he was being with her; they were alone, far from anyone else and he was worried she would be anxious.  Touched by his concern, she stroked his cheek, the pads of her fingers rubbing the light stubble as his lips pressed hers for a third, more lingering, time.

            After a few seconds, he smiled, looking into her eyes and then glancing sideways at the river.  “I think I might have to jump in.”

            Éowyn shivered at the very thought.  The Snowbourn was full of runoff from the White Mountains—snow and ice and the water was cold year-round.  Even in late summer she wouldn’t have wanted to swim in it unless it was terribly hot and although the clouds were all but gone, the day had not heated enough.  “I wouldn’t, it’s freezing.”

Faramir laughed, his words making her flush, “That’s the idea.”  He rubbed his nose to hers, nuzzling; it was an adorable, loving gesture that made her smile.  “Want to watch me?”

“Don’t—you’ll be frozen stiff.”  Now it was her words that embarrassed her and he laughed again.  

“All right.  What shall I do then?”  Éowyn had no clue.  His thumbs rubbed her back, slipping beneath the shirt, his palms resting just above the tops of her breeches.  She expected him to move them upwards or even downwards, but he simply let his hands stay there, warm and flat on her bare skin.

 “I don’t know, let me go?”

He almost pouted at her, sticking out his lower lip, a smile tracing his mouth.  “But I don’t want to.”  Then, Faramir’s eyes dropped like he was trying to look down her men’s shirt and she burst out laughing, reminded of Pippin.  The little scamp had gotten a better view for his efforts; her shirt was buttoned this time and well.  “What?”

She shook her head, feeling him tap his fingers on her lower back.  “Nothing.”  Since he obviously wasn’t about to release her anytime soon, Éowyn stepped back out of his embrace.  Unable to resist a glance at his front, she wondered at the slowly diminishing bulge.  How large is it?  She hoped it was not too great; it would hurt anyway, when he took her maidenhead.  Faramir’s eyes flashed quick at her, as well as a confusing hint of nervousness?  If any deserved to be nervous, it was she. 

“Come down to the edge and sit with me, at least.”  He smiled, “You can push me in if I get too forward.” 

  “All right.” 

He let her lead and Éowyn walked into the small grove of trees, their thick, leafy branches hanging over the river.  She remembered climbing them and diving into the Snowbourn as a little girl, shrieking at the icy water and flailing in the current.  Éomer had, on more than one occasion, swum in to rescue her, whether she really needed it or not.  I remember…if I got tired I would yell and he always came, no matter how cold it was or how apparent it was I was just being lazy…  At the memories, Éowyn smiled, feeling nostalgic for her childhood.  I miss running after Éomer and Théodred, slowing them down until one would pick me up to let me ride on his shoulders just so they could actually get somewhere without my little voice constantly asking, “Brother, why—”or “Cousin, why—”…

Finding a patch of grass near the bank, she lowered herself into it, sitting cross-legged.  Faramir did the same, only stretching out his whole body and laying on his side next to her with his elbow to support himself.  He placed a little yellow flower in her lap, hand light and leisurely withdrawing, tracing her knee and upper thigh with his fingertips as he did so.  This was a surprise and she froze for a moment, but his eyes were gentle again with none of the famished look in them and she felt his reassurance as he looked at her.  Éowyn picked it up, carefully touching the satiny petals.  As far as she knew he’d been right behind her the whole time and she didn’t remember seeing any flowers.  “Where did you get this?”

“Elven magic.”  He smiled at her.  “I conjured it up.”

 It smelled good and she twirled it between her finger and her thumb.  “Liar.”

“No, I said—I whispered it so you wouldn’t hear—Now look, there’s nothing in my hand…” Faramir grinned, showing her it and then murmuring low.  “Listen.  Le melin, le uivelin, le melithon anuir…guren min gaim lín...” The words made her feel warm, though she didn’t know why.  She stared at him, expectant and he pulled out another flower from behind his back, making her laugh when he put it on her lap.  He grinned again and in her amusement she forgot her agitation with his tentative beginnings at exploring a new area of her body.  Faramir’s hand rested on her knee, warm and still.  It felt heavy but it didn’t move and after a second or two he took it away, obviously intent upon gaining her trust.  He’d touched her legs before, but never in such a lingering fashion and never so purposefully, though his eventual aim she wasn’t sure of.

She held up the two daisy-like flowers—he was good; one was yellow, the other was white.  The white one didn’t smell as much, but it was pretty.  “You had it all along.”

“No.”  He looked disappointed in her.  “It’s magic.”

Éowyn scoffed, shaking her head and trying not to giggle at his despairing expression, “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“No?”  Faramir whispered more elvish, “Meleth e-guilen, meleth thilia min hin lín, bannas lín síla celair…” The words were softly flowing, again touching her heart in an odd way, though she had no idea of their meaning.  After a moment in which she waited, biting her lip to contain her smile, he produced another flower.  She burst out laughing.  This one was tiny and purple and he lay it in her lap, too, this time taking his hand away immediately. 

Éowyn laughed, holding her flowers.  He looks like he’s about to give me another...gods, if he does I’ll never stop laughing.  Sure enough, Faramir cleared his throat and she blurted, smiling, “How many do you have over there?”

His response was quick, though not at all hungry, instead both teasing and playful.  “Come and see.”

She responded coyly.  “I don’t think I should.”

“No?”  He cleared his throat again, melodramatically.  “Meleth nín, law lîn síla sui Ithil…” His silvery words were cut off when she laid her flowers down and tackled him, reaching behind his back for the rest.  Faramir laughed, his arms going around her as he yelped, “You’re ruining it…!”

She grabbed at his sides, fingers searching in the grass, but there was nothing anywhere.  Éowyn ended up straddling him with Faramir flat on his back; he didn’t seem to mind at all.  “What did you do with them?”

“I told you—it’s magic.”  His tone was slightly different, but she paid no attention, resting her hands on his flat stomach.  Éowyn pinched lightly, growling in her hardest voice, 

“Tell me.”

He smiled, then quickly sobered and widened his eyes.  “No, you’ll have to torture it out of me…” Faramir turned his head to the side in exaggerated torment, closing his eyes only to peek at her a second later, “I suggest wiggling.”

Confused, she repeated, “Wiggling?”

“Or maybe you could…um, bounce a little—that would really be dreadful.”  His hands moved to grasp her hips, centering her over his body.  Éowyn squealed in surprise, as she understood; flustered, she gasped, trying not to laugh, 

“No!”  When she tried to move off of him, he only rolled on top, grinning as he pinned her.  One of his hands ran down her thigh, still half-curled around him and she squirmed, straightening out.  He propped up on his palms, only to lower himself a moment later, his body on hers.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away!”  She turned her head into the grass, struggling not to giggle.  

“I don’t see how.”  Faramir’s breath tickled her neck as he bent his head, murmuring almost to himself.  “I’ve caught myself a maiden…what shall I do?”

She bit her lip hard, insides trembling both in her efforts not to laugh and the feeling of his warm weight covering her, pressing her to the earth. “Let her go.”

“No—that’s not it.”  His absent tone made her slip and snicker.  Éowyn hushed herself.  “What was it?” Faramir’s mouth touched her turned cheek, lips just barely brushing as he asked, “Do you have any ideas?”

Her voice was teeny with her endeavors to remain unwilling, all the while struggling against a mountain of giggles, “No.”

“Then I’ll just have to start doing things until one of us remembers…”

“Aiihh!”  She bucked uncontrollably, shrieking in laughter as one of his hands ran up her thigh, moving slightly under her and squeezing her buttock.  It was a firm clasp, then he pinched and she thrashed up against his clutching palm, giggling incessantly, far too riotous to be anxious or worried about his actions.  “Stop!  Stop!  No, no…Aiihhh!”

“What?  Do that again?”  Faramir had broken character as well, laughing.

“No!  No!”  She twisted and he held her to the ground, not really having much trouble.  They were both panting by the time she sobered.  Faramir was silent now, his grey eyes on hers.  Éowyn felt his chest move as he breathed with his heart pounding in a strangely quick rhythm. 

“No ideas yet?”  It was a whisper with a thread of heat going through it.

“No.”  She shook her head, otherwise holding very still beneath him, wondering if she would notice it growing, swelling when he became aroused.  Her hands rested on his shoulders and she could feel his muscles move beneath her fingers.  He’s strong, solid…so powerful, as a man should be.  It was a little frightening, but much in the same way she’d felt when she’d allowed him to see her nude—her heart racing, her legs trembling, but not true fear.

His eyes were direct, serious as his mind touched hers.  Tell me if you want me to stop…you’re in control.

“All right.”  She could barely breathe, holding onto him as Faramir began to kiss her, slow and deliberate.  She opened her mouth willingly, their tongues rubbing, moving.  After a few long minutes, he went to her neck, kissing all over.  His breath moved hot over the front of her shirt, lingering over her bosom, making her rise involuntarily to meet his mouth.  As he kissed her neck again, Faramir’s fingers were already touching her waist, very slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt.  One by one his fingertips circled the buttons, taking plenty of time, giving her opportunities she didn’t take.  His mind met hers, reassuring and deeply linking, as though he intended to meld them into one being and she stared up at the blue sky, her eyes half-lidded at the feel.  Faramir was everywhere and his touch seemed magnified through both their senses; she broke out in goose bumps, gasping for air.  She could feel his fingers on her shirt, and her shirt beneath the pads of his fingertips, cloth and warm, muffled skin.  Éowyn swam, lost in the sensation.

New clouds went idly by before he parted her shirt, letting a warm breeze to her exposed skin.  His hand slid up her side, his mouth not going immediately to her bared breasts, but kissing her shrinking, fluttering stomach, then just below her collarbone.  He thought her skin felt like silk beneath his hands; his hands felt hot on her skin.  Caught between both their minds, she bit her lip, trying to hold on.  He was hovering, making her wait, making sure.  His breath blew, now cool, over her bosom and she bit her lip harder to keep from generating noise. 

You want…it’s all right if I…

Yes.  Éowyn’s hands left his shoulders and dug deep into the soft grass, trying not to pass out as he finally put his mouth between her breasts, nudging the dolphin pendant aside.  His tongue, hot and wet, flicked her nipple and then he closed his mouth over it.  Faramir moved back and forth, sucking hard, kissing, and nipping gently.  The sensations were more unimaginably wonderful than anything she’d ever felt; his desire intensified and seared like fire roaring through her veins, leaving her hot and gasping.  She could feel her skin satiny beneath his licking tongue and then at the same time, his mouth kissing in fiery motion.  Éowyn burned, feeling his teeth close on her nipple, tugging the nub between them.  Oh, gods, gods, oh… 

“All right?”  Faramir’s voice was roughened, panting harsh against her as he lifted his head.

“Mm…? Y-yes.”  She could hardly remember how to speak or do anything but clutch at his shoulders again as he moved back to her lips.  Éowyn opened her mouth for his kiss.  Passionate, it was long; she wrapped her arms around him, the leather of his tunic chill against her heated, bared skin; she could feel the raised pattern of the white tree and stars.  It was new and thrilled her.  Her heart raced as he kissed her, seeming to do it forever.  She didn’t know if the worry she felt was her own or his; they were too close, too intertwined.  Before Faramir moved back to her bosom, he asked, sounding slightly hoarse,

“Do you want me to stop or go on for a little longer?”

That was not the real question; she could feel it now, hard against her.  I did that.  He wanted to push against her, to grind himself into her, but didn’t.  Imagining how that might feel, Éowyn closed her eyes, unsure of anything any more and her reaction startled her.  “Do you have to?”

He hesitated, and then answered.  “Not yet, I think a few more minutes.” 

Her voice was a whisper,  “Go on, then.”

It was an eternity.  She finally moaned, long and drawn-out with pleasure.  He’d eventually wrung it from her tight lungs; his mouth secured around her nipple, sucking hard and kissing all over, his fingers tugging the other or moving to massage her breasts, or caress her outer thigh and hip.  At the noise Faramir stopped abruptly, his breathing rapid and shallow and his inner voice was strained. 

  You…I can’t…let me go, now, please.  She unclenched her fingers from his shirt and he gently kissed her before rising and moving away.  Éowyn closed her eyes, her mind going with him, still connected.  He was undressing, awkward and frowning with grim anticipation…Faramir took a deep, bracing breath before throwing himself into the river and she smiled, weakly laughing as he surfaced with a bellow and shook himself, gasping only to yell again.  For a stunning second she felt chilled all over, felt the current; it made her prickle as he thought It’s so cold…!

I told you.  The connection between them waned.  She was glad for a moment alone, to attempt to process the unfamiliar way he’d made her feel, the things she’d wanted.  Éowyn sat up slowly; feeling almost as though her legs would not support her for the moment and still seated, began to redo the buttons on her shirt.  There were faint, fortunately fading, marks on her breasts from his mouth, his teeth, and his stubble.  Standing cautiously, she picked up the flowers: yellow, white and purple.  There were no more on the grass; no matter how meticulously she searched, waiting for him to dress again.  “Where were they—the other flowers?”  Faramir came to her, refastening his tunic and carrying his boots.  His dark hair dripped onto the leather as he smiled warmly,

“Magic.  I told you.”  Éowyn frowned at him, feeling absurdly timid as he stepped close.  He’d done so much in such a short time; it was hard to concentrate.  Faramir’s gaze was loving, “You want another?”
            “All right.”

“Close your eyes—this is the hardest one of all.”  It made her smile, cutting into a bit of her shyness.  She closed her eyes, waiting with her skin still tingling from his touch and feeling the strangeness of it all threaten to envelop her.  I don’t know if I am ready for him.  

***

Faramir gazed at her closed eyelids; Éowyn was so lovely, her cheeks still flushed.  She’d allowed him more than he would have once thought, but he could sense her insecurity.  New intimacies seemed to worry and almost confuse her.  My love…perhaps I went too far…  She’d never once given him a signal to stop, in fact, she’d almost been too encouraging, but he wanted her to feel nothing but disappointment when he ceased touching her.  Taking a breath, searching for the words to say what he felt, he switched languages for his last trick.  “Amin mela lle, amin naa talle, lle naa vanim—Oio naa elealla alassé.”  Taking the tiny pink flower he’d picked by the riverbank out of his pocket, he picked up her hand and placed it in her palm.  Amin mela lle.

“Oh.”  She opened her eyes and smelled it.  “What did you say?”

“Secret magic words—I can’t tell you.” I’m not sure you would believe me.  He sat on the ground, putting on his boots.

Éowyn laughed, still appearing slightly reticent and not quite looking at him.  “Liar.”

He’d obviously done more than enough for the day; Faramir did not want to push her too far at once and he sensed he’d neared that point and maybe come awfully close to crossing it.  She wasn’t afraid, but more intensely preoccupied with something he couldn’t grasp without delving deeply into her thoughts. Which would be wrong of me.  Standing, he said, “We’d better go back, where are the horses?”

“Close.”  They walked back to where his saddle was sitting, him following.  She whistled loud but short and almost immediately there were the thumps of hoof beats as their mounts came.  The stallions ducked beneath the lower branches near the river, trotting through the grass and halting in front of them.  She mounted and petted her horse while Faramir resaddled.  Éowyn still didn’t give him his bridle and she smiled with her blue eyes teasing a little through some emotion he couldn’t quite get a handle on, “Let’s see if you paid attention.”

“All right.”  He swung aboard and the grey shifted beneath him, already obeying his signals. 

***

Éomer was waiting at the steps, but he did not speak, allowing Faramir to care for his horse first, as was proper.  There were bits of grass in his sister’s braided hair and he frowned, wary.  The two fishermen he’d spoken to earlier walked by again, toting their now empty baskets and he called to them, “What did they do by the river, again?  The Lord Faramir and your Lady?”

One looked at the other, then the first answered, “Let the horses loose and sat by the bank, my Lord.”

She didn’t get grass in her hair just sitting.  “That’s all?”

“All we saw—we had to return before the fish spoiled.”

“That’s fine.”  He dismissed them absently.  I will let it go for now…this will be difficult as it is without any further complications…though I won’t forget it.  Éomer walked slowly to the stable, too impatient to wait for Faramir to exit.  Tonight I will take him with me…it is important, this night, his presence with me will show that I support his claim as her suitor…  His lip curled in disgust, but he went on.  Perhaps it will help some…no interloper would be admitted such.  At first he’d thought to throw Faramir out to them completely unprepared, but it seemed more and more as though he would be throwing the man to wild wolves.  The soldiers had taken to referring to him, amongst themselves of course, as “se lytle Bregu”.  He thought it was a ridiculous title, especially since Faramir wasn’t small, exactly, only slighter in build.  Surely they could have come up with something better; even princeling is better than that. 

He’d spent part of the day so far walking among the men that were in Edoras, listening to their talk as they did various duties; the incident with the buckets had intrigued him into finding out the exact opinion of the Steward.  They’d laughed, delighted, when the word spread from men on the road that Faramir had been thrown from his horse and he’d frowned at them to discourage such behavior, but it had hardly worked.  Only when one man had been fool enough to guffaw and remark in his presence, “If he cannot ride a horse, how does he stay on—” had he spoken, ill temperedly questioning,

“Stay on what, specifically?”  His wrath flared red-hot, but he restrained it.  I am no longer a soldier, or even a Marshal, but a King—I cannot lose my temper to petty words.  The soldiers had hissed a frantic warning; just noticing him walking among them and the man had wisely fallen silent.  They talk about her…I told him I didn’t want that…they are no more blind than I am to the marks he puts on her.  His teeth ground together.  Or what it means.

 Now Éomer sighed inwardly, coming to the open wooden doors.  They despise him far worse than even I…he is an stranger and the gods know I know that all but a few have fixations upon my sister…  He laughed, faint, little more than a breath as he stepped into the barn.  Unless he has friends, he will undoubtedly have to prove himself very swiftly, probably in more than a few fistfights.   

Éowyn’s voice came to his ears along with her light footsteps; her words were low, vague.  “I suppose I should go and see Arwen now…” Faramir’s reply sounded slightly disappointed with a faint undertone of worry.             

“Yes.  Éowyn?”  There was a pause in which his sister must have turned to look.  “You seem…  Are you all—I mean, did...?”  They both stopped when they saw him, Faramir falling silent.

Why is he wet?  Éomer wondered with a shudder if Faramir had gone into the Snowbourn.  Assuredly not, no one swims in that river unless it is sweltering outside.  Yet, the Steward’s dark hair hung in damp waves on his shoulders; beside him Éowyn was carefully holding a few bruised flowers in her hands.  She wasn’t wet, he noticed, slightly relieved.   

“Faramir, I need to speak to you…about tonight…” He hesitated, not sure how to begin or if the man would even recognize what he was offering.  I already extend to him everything I have to give…my sister is my heart, the last of our house, does he understand?   

“Yes?”  It was perfectly polite; no hint that he’d interrupted them, which, he had.  Éowyn was gazing at him in sudden surprise. 

“You will come with me tonight, after the evening meal.”  It ended up gruffer than he’d planned; yet he couldn’t help it.  Tomorrow I announce his engagement to her, tonight I make sure the men see he is approved of, not as a prince with noble blood to match hers, but as a man…my, here he wasn’t sure to grimace with huge distaste or not, my friend. 

“May I ask what for?”  Now Faramir looked slightly perturbed, glancing at Éowyn, who didn’t speak.  His sister smiled at him; it was sweet and loving, making his discomfiture worth it as Éomer answered,

“It is hard to explain—we will be amongst the men camped in the fields, speaking to them,” He felt his aversion to the task just thinking about it, “Just—just meet me outside Meduseld and you will see.” 

Again the Steward glanced at her, as though he asked a silent question, before replying.  “All right.”  Éowyn did not so much as look at Faramir.

Then he would have nodded to them both and left to pace nervously in his rooms, thinking worriedly about all he must do now and, too, all that he must allow to take place in the future while not so much as breathing a word of protest.  Even if my heart breaks with loneliness… but Éowyn spoke up.  “Éomer, are you going in?”

“Yes.”  She took his arm, giving Faramir a quick smile,

“I’ll see you shortly…” She looked up at him, asking, “Walk with me for a moment?”

“Of course.”

***

Éowyn was glad to leave Faramir’s gently, but repetitively inquiring mind behind her, safe with her brother.  She needed time away to collect herself.  Is this why Arwen won’t go with Aragorn? I know Aragorn has some ability, is it anything like Faramir’s?  Does she feel like this, that he’s too close?  So near her that it’s almost too much? Her mind argued immediately.  Not that Faramir is smothering me, it’s just…he’s going so fast, doing so much and I can’t get used to it.  Éowyn walked beside Éomer, enjoying his inability to probe her thoughts.  I like it, I love it when Faramir touches and kisses me, but I wish he would go slower and let me adjust.  I can feel him, what he does, from inside him.  His feelings are so strong…  She frowned.  And even my own are too much.  He’s not like that in public…maybe I should try to stay with others for a while.  Of course, she knew she could simply tell him; Éowyn did not fear he would be angered, but she was reluctant to imply she didn’t like his caresses.  I don’t want to hurt him…

“Sister?” 

“Yes?”

“Are you…are you sure?”  Éomer faced forward, not looking at her as he walked.  They weren’t going directly to her rooms, but on a wandering course through the corridors.   

“About what?”  She knew what but not exactly why he asked.

“Him.”

How could she answer that question when Éowyn could hear the muffled pain in his voice?  I will leave my brother alone.  He will be here with naught but the mounds that cover our kin.  How can I be so cruel? “Yes, I’m sure.”  She lowered her head, looking at the floor as hot tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision.  I cannot imagine myself with another man.  That is simply unthinkable.  Can I imagine my life without Faramir—without his mind to touch mine and let me know how he feels or his eyes shining with love?  This time the answer came quick.  No.

Éomer nodded slowly.  “I just wanted to be certain.”  His voice grew almost grim as he added.  “I want you to be happy.  And…if you changed your—whatever you want, I will support you, no matter what it is.”

She swallowed.  “I know.” 

“Good.”  They completed their wandering route in silence and she stopped in front of her door.  Her brother gazed at her, sad.

Éowyn hoped her brief tears did not show.  She lifted her chin, composing herself.  “Thank you.”

He looked puzzled.  “For what?”

Again she thought she would weep.  For taking care of me, brother.  For worrying and fussing and being there as much as you possibly could.  All she answered was, “Taking him out tonight.”

“You’re welcome.”  They both understood what the gesture meant—by accompanying Éomer around the little camps of men waiting to see Théoden entombed, personally thanking them for coming and making sure their needs were seen to, Faramir was performing a family-type duty.  To the camped peoples it would be seen as he was already considered part of their family, one of their kin. Hopefully, the feeling would spread.

He smiled at her, bravely, she thought.  Éowyn opened her door and went in, leaning back against the hard, reinforced wood as she closed it.  Her chest quaked with a sob and she covered her mouth, not wanting him to hear.  Oh, gods, is there no easy way?

It did not take her long to wash up and reclothe herself in the peach gown, especially without Faramir gawking at her.  His presence seemed to still be in her room, making her skin twitch, but she felt far safer with his spirit watching than any other.  Straightening her gown, she gazed at herself in the mirror.  It was silly, she supposed, but Éowyn still thought she should wear a dress around the elves—to prove she was capable of being civilized.  It is late already…perhaps I will talk to Arwen after the evening meal; she didn’t want to have to rush, especially since she was unsure in how to begin.  As she was leaving her bedroom, she stopped, remembering.  I haven’t watered the flowers today.  

The room smelled strongly of roses, brightly lit in the afternoon.  She picked a few dead flowers, smelling the vivid blossoms and checking to see who needed the most water.  The little “magic” flowers Faramir had given her were on her nightstand.  I need to hang them or they won’t dry properly.  It was silly, too, she supposed, to keep them.  But I want to, so I shall; whatever words he spoke, they made me feel good.  Éowyn smiled to herself.  Everything about him makes me feel good.  Her little tin watering can stood in the corner, multi-colored petals piled in drifts around its base.  She bent to get the can and as she stood her glance moved absently, just happening to fall on the little table.  Éowyn froze.  There was a dagger there and, for just a moment, she was cold all over.  What?  Oh…I suppose that is one of Faramir’s gifts…  The ivory handle and steel blade gleamed dangerous in the sunlight, holding her eyes.  She went to it slowly, feeling numb.  Why this?  She tried to ignore the knife, to move on, but it held her like a snake did a bird.  Did he think I would like this?  How?  How could he think that—does he not know?  Éowyn could not remember what all she’d told him.  Surely he would not give me this if he knew…especially after what all he’s done…  She shuddered, looking at the dagger.  It was beautifully made and no doubt costly but she hated it, hated intensely for what it represented in her mind.  I will have to ask…gods, how do I do that or tell him I dislike it without hurting him?

***

It had been over an hour now since he’d seen her last.  Faramir was looking at the moldings in the main hall, or so he made it seem.  In truth he was loitering, waiting for Éowyn to come around the corner.  Come on, come on.  He stared at the swirls, loops and intertwined branches of… something.  He couldn’t grasp exactly what the moldings were supposed to be, if anything other than swirls and loops.  I can only do this for so long… 

Éomer had stolen her away before he’d been able to question her.  What does he want with me tonight anyway?  Some horrible ploy to amuse the soldiers again?  He brightened, thinking he heard footsteps…Oh, its just…Faramir moved out of the way for a servant girl; she eyed him and giggled, batting her eyelashes.  Frowning slightly, he shifted from foot to foot, glancing impatiently down the corridor.  If he pressed himself to the wall, he could just see the edge of the long, curving hallway that led to her door, but then, of course, he looked mad, so he didn’t…more than once, at least.  Maybe I should… he could have reached out to touch her mind but he didn’t, she’d seemed so … uncommunicative … on the ride back.  I went too far, she didn’t want me to, and she just didn’t say anything.  But why couldn’t I feel it, then?  It doesn’t make sense…what did I do wrong?  He sighed, Valar, she was just so beautiful…her skin was so soft and warm, more so even than fine silk in the sun, I couldn’t get enough …  He fidgeted, nervous and worried.  What if she doesn’t want me to do it again?  What if I scared her somehow?  Fear shut her down, made her distant, withdrawn, made her avoid him.  Is that what she’s doing now?  Maybe she’s not even in her rooms…maybe…

There was movement and this time he knew it was she.  Éowyn, dressed again in her peach gown and looking lovely, came toward him; she shone in the fading afternoon light.  Faramir waited, impatient, but when she looked up and their eyes met, she faltered.  Oh, no.  She’s upset with me.  He felt her apprehension rise, her disquietude circling.  No, no, no…what do I do?

***

He smiled at her, quick and nervous—undoubtedly he was picking up on her anxiety.  How do I do this?  There is so much: the dagger, him earlier…how do I even begin?   They stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak, to break the silence first.  Faramir did it, “I’m sorry.”

Éowyn frowned, “For what?” 

“For…” He hesitated, “whatever it is you...well, for…” He looked away, then back at her, “earlier, when I…” Why is he apologizing?  She bit her lip, disturbed at his readiness to admit fault even if she’d assigned none.  The dagger wasn’t his fault, neither was earlier…it was just too much at once; I liked it…why is he doing this? 

Troubled, she put out her hand to touch his sleeve.  “Don’t.  Stop, Faramir.”

He didn’t seem to be listening to her inner words, almost too wound up to concentrate.  “Why?”  If possible, it was even more nervous—as though he didn’t quite understand this. 

 He’d taken her hand and now he rubbed it gently as she asked, “Why would you?”

“You’re upset at me.”

“About what?”  She challenged him.

Faramir gazed at her, desperate.  “I don’t know, but…  Tell me and…I’ll fix it, I mean, I’ll do what you want, just...” He fell silent, looking away and then back.  He spoke rapidly, “I shouldn’t have undone your shirt, should I?  I knew it, I knew it…it was too much wasn’t it?  I tried to pay attention…did I scare you?  I’m sorry, just talk to me next time…” He added hurriedly, “If you want a next time.”

He gave this a lot of thought.  She was greatly touched by his impassioned outburst, but before she could speak, Faramir frowned, saying slowly,  “Of course I gave it thought—I think about you all the time, you’re the…only…thing I think about.”  He emphasized his pauses, then hesitated, “Aren’t you the same with…me?” 

Éowyn opened her mouth, but nothing came out.  How could she answer that?  Yes, she cared for him greatly, she trusted him, loved him and yes, she thought about him, but all the time?  The only thing?  It sounded as though she embodied his entire life…it sounded like a lot more than she had ever planned on.  Faramir stared into her eyes, and as her silence grew, it was like he crumpled inside.  Unable to bear it, she blurted, “I…” But that was as far as she got.  There simply was no more, no answer she could find that could explain how she felt.  He’d sprung it upon her, so to speak, and she was paralyzed.

He swallowed hard; she heard his throat click and when he spoke, it was a whisper.  “Éowyn?”  His hand had grown tight around hers, pressing it to his heart.  “Don’t you?”

“I…” She was desperately trying to find words, any at all, but Éowyn could not.  After another long moment Faramir nodded, closing his eyes briefly before releasing her hand.  He looked at her and simply turned and walked away.  Timidly, she called, “Faramir?”  His shoulders jerked, but he did not turn.  Her last plea was no more than a breath, “Faramir…please?”

***

Caught between pure suffering and frustration, he thought, I can’t do this; I just can’t do it…  He heard her faint call and it pained him, but he kept moving.  Faramir walked slowly, his head bent.  I can’t do this; I can’t love her so much and not have it returned in the same depth…  He headed the long distance to his quarters, feeling as though he were swimming in despair. 

***

I didn’t expect this.  Éomer sat at the head of the table, looking down its length as the evening meal was being served.  Everyone was here except Faramir.  The man’s spot was conspicuously empty; he’d noticed his sister glance at the vacant chair more than once.  Her face looked slightly drawn, upset.  What’s wrong with her?  Did he do something or is it a simple quarrel?  Will he even come tonight?  Éomer hoped so; it was the best he could offer and if Faramir did not take advantage, it would only make things more difficult—defending him openly might make the man appear weak.  If he did not, what then?  Would I be glad?  He didn’t know. 

The only other person who looked so upset was Arwen.  The Queen’s beautiful face was stone hard in her position beside Aragorn.  He’d spoken to her once, only to be coldly rebuffed with silence.  The meal went by slowly and Faramir never came.  Éomer watched his sister, perturbed by her muteness; she hardly touched her plate, more or less pushing the food around.  Should I ask or should I keep my silence?  He was divided, concerned for her and her heart.  Shall he break it I will break him. 

Indecisive, Éomer rose, acknowledging his distinguished guests as they left the table.  It was time, Faramir had agreed.  Will he be there?  Presuming yes, he walked slowly to the stairs.  The doors to Meduseld were open and a cool breeze blew as the sun settled, almost completely gone.  The door-wards nodded, all was quiet.  There was a dark shape at the bottom of the stairs and Éomer felt a wave of relief that puzzled him.  I thought I didn’t want him to…what do I want?  He frowned, descending.  Faramir’s back was to him and Éomer studied his stance—it was rigid. 

It’s not about what I want…Éowyn is and has always been first…even if I lose her.  But if I lose her, what do I do then?  Confused, he reached the bottom.  Faramir turned to face him, silent, expectant.  His voice deliberately curt to mask his emotions, Éomer said, “Come with me.” 

***

She walked slowly to Arwen’s side, still feeling chill from Faramir’s absence.  It was because of her, she was sure, and the lack of his closeness stung.  Éowyn clutched a bottle of strong wine; she needed something and didn’t mind sharing.  Tomorrow I watch my uncle being put in his mound, today Faramir went farther than ever and now we struggle…I need to forget for a while. 

“Arwen?”

“Yes?”  It was sharp and Éowyn faltered. 

“Could we talk?”
            “What does he want?”  The elven woman’s eyes flicked to the hobbits; Aragorn stood there, speaking to them.  He glanced their way rather noticeably and she thought you idiot.

Too weary for games, she stated, “He wants to know why…”

“No.”  Arwen turned on her heel and left.  Éowyn stared at her back, disgruntled.  Everything goes wrong at once, doesn’t it…?  She would have gone to her room then and kept herself company with the wine, but Aragorn was suddenly upon her.

“Well?”

“Well what?”  She asked irritably.  “You were watching.”

He gestured, “Go after her, please, try.”

Éowyn had had enough for one day.  She glared at him, disgusted.  “Do it your damn self.”  Toting her bottle, she left.  Damn them all.  Stomping down the corridors, she ignored the tears in her eyes.  I miss him; I do think about him…why can’t I just say what I feel…why wouldn’t the words come?  She didn’t know, but she hoped the answer lay in wine.  Lots of it.

***

Faramir followed him over what seemed to be the entire expanse of Rohan.  Éomer was tireless, moving towards the first of many small campfires, bright in the growing dark.  The men’s voices were low; snatches of songs floated across the air; Faramir was miserable, walking dog-like at the man’s heels.  I shouldn’t have left…no…but…  He didn’t know what he should have done or what he should do now.

She loves me, I know she does…I need to hear it though and she can’t, won’t say that she loves me as much as I do her.  He was tormented, stumbling over thick clumps of grass, staring at Éomer’s back.  The man was as silent as he was and Faramir could feel his unease.  He is troubled because Éowyn is.  Why do I do such things to disturb those around me?  I am useless, selfish.  The longer he walked, the less anger he felt and more simple misery.  I want her with me; I don’t care if she can’t say she loves me as much as I love her.  Faramir glanced up at the stars and nearly ran into Éomer.  The man had stopped, but they were alone, nowhere near any camps yet.  What are we doing?  He smiled slightly, has he brought me out here to kill me?

The King of Rohan turned; his countenance was shadowy in the dusk, making it difficult for Faramir to read his expression.  His mood fluctuated violently; confusion ruled.  “Do you know why we’re out here?”

“No.”

Éomer sighed deeply; “Just…” The emotion he caught off of him was of a man spurring himself forward to face an especially difficult or humiliating task.  “You…she…I want…”He growled in frustration, spitting, “Whatever I do, I do it for her.” 

Well.  Almost amused, he nodded.  “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”  It was spoken in tones of borderline fury. 

Faramir surrendered quickly; he wanted no more quarrels.  How am I supposed to make peace with this man?  Does he even know what peace is?  “All right, I don’t.”

“Tomorrow,” Éomer fell silent, and then began again, his voice tightly strained.  “Tomorrow, at the feast, I will announce your engagement to my sister, to make it known to all the peoples, to make it indisputable…” He stared into the darkness, this time speaking more naturally, “I am just letting you know.”

 “Thank you.” 

There was no welcome.  “Come on.”  Faramir followed again, Éomer walking notably faster this time. 

***

Éowyn stirred at the knock on her door.  She was lying on the bearskin; the fur felt soft against her palms, her cheek.  The room spun gently as she opened her eyes, the bottle of wine glinting in the candlelight.  Who is that?  For a hazy moment she wondered if she’d imagined it, but the knock came again along with Arwen’s voice.  “Éowyn?”

“Hmmf?”  Her tongue was numb; she couldn’t make it move.

“Éowyn, I just wanted to apologize...for my behavior.”  There was a long moment, but, unable to answer, Éowyn simply lay there, staring blurrily at the ceiling. 

That’s nice of her.  She tried to get up and only succeeded in pushing herself backwards a little.  She’d quickly drunk herself to the point of oblivion, yet just short of nausea.  Perfect...her hands spread in the fur with her fingers clenching.  Arwen had left by now, she supposed, sensing it had been a long while.  Too bad…I hope I have time to talk tomorrow…  Éowyn closed her eyes again, drifting away.

***

Faramir’s mouth hung open—he was literally agape, utterly astonished and unprepared.  Éomer’s arm was around his shoulders, his voice hearty and good-natured as he grinned, pulling him into the firelight, “Greetings friends.  I thank you for coming to see Théoden put to rest.  It is an honor.  Ah…here, I want you to meet Faramir, my sister’s suitor—” He was given a bizarrely friendly squeeze and smile as the King of Rohan beamed at him, “A great and valiant man of Gondor.”  Faramir closed his mouth, trying not to look like a fool as Éomer moved off, cheerfully questioning a man, “Tell me, how’s the weather been in the South Undeep?”

“You’re south man we’ve heard of.”  One man squinted at him, chewing on a bit of roast meat, eating it off of the bone.  The soldiers that sat around the fire chuckled, some murmuring, some shaking their heads. A few even stood and left, laughing in the dark; it was not friendly laughter.

Faramir summoned a smile, wanting to wilt under the scrutiny.  With an effort he held himself upright, proud, “Aye.”

There was a long silence, in which he felt the mood change from amused or flat-out dislike to something different, bordering on a thin shade of acceptance.  One by one the men glanced in Éomer’s direction as he moved through the small camp and then back to him.  They eyed him, wary.  Faramir stood, not knowing what to do.  The man who had spoken nodded once.  His voice was curt but quite polite as he began to gnaw his meat again.  “Welcome, Faramir of Gondor.”

            He looked at Éomer’s back, then the man.  “Thank you.”  It quickly became a pattern and by the last Faramir was grinning on cue with Éomer’s arm over his shoulder feeling somewhat less forced.  Inwardly, though, he could feel the King of Rohan’s intense strain to keep the illusion of easy friendship between them.  Every step they took between camps was one of awkward, impenetrable silence.  Yet he strives so hard when he does not have to.  The word of his arrival had spread before him and many men came from their tents or bedrolls; the weight of their eyes and their minds made him sweat, but Faramir kept on.  Gradually, so gradually, the intense scrutiny lessened, allowing him to be more comfortable. 

This was the farthest camp and they’d finished introductions, reports of weather, stock, peoples or anything Éomer bothered to ask.  He seemed to know many of the men personally, questioning them about family members.  The leader of the small company waved,

“Goodnight, my Lords!  Sleep well.” 

They said it as one, “Goodnight.”  Now there were no more camps and Éomer halted; he’d not led Faramir back the way they came, but more at an angle, cutting straight through to Meduseld.  Now, well away from any listeners, he stopped, facing him in the deep darkness.  Small fires flickered behind them, the golden hall lit in front of them.

Faramir was weary and he waited.  Éomer seemed to be spurring himself for something again.  “You see now why I brought you?”

“Yes.”  He smiled, though he doubted it could be seen.  “I thank you very much.”

“I did not do it for you.”  The words were quick, hurried to rid him of the assumption.

Sighing inwardly, he said, “I know.”

“Good.”  Éomer began to walk again and Faramir spoke, stopping him. At every camp he’d felt Éomer’s labors, as though he were bearing a terrible load.  He does this, though it contradicts everything he wants and will help in the bringing of his sorrow.  His voice was simple, tired and raw with as much honesty as he could bear.

“I am sorry, truly.” 

***

He was surprised.  Éomer turned slowly, the words echoing.  He hadn’t realized he’d wished to hear them.  Faramir was quiet now.  “Thank…you.”  Uncertain, he frowned.  “Why…?”  In a way, he knew exactly why and yet… it still puzzled.  It was not the answer, but it came swift, clearly thought out.

“I will not hold her chained to my side…anytime she wishes she can return to see you,” Faramir added slowly, obviously meaning it.  “You are welcome to come whenever you desire, Éomer…I know she means a great deal to you and you to her.  I would not stand between you.”

“You know nothing.”  He swallowed, his heart burning with pain, anger and a strange gratitude.  It was a foreign sensation and when he spoke again, it was quieter.  He felt almost ashamed by the earnest good will in Faramir’s voice.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  If Faramir had been perturbed by his earlier words, it did not show.  After a moment, he began walking again, Faramir following. 

It was late when they ascended the stairs to Meduseld.  Éomer glanced at Faramir, who was looking at the floor with his face preoccupied and he remembered his sister’s unhappy one at dinner.  He will go anyway.  Gathering himself for one last effort, he said, “Do not keep her late…tomorrow will be hard.”  With that he walked swiftly away, not bothering to see the man’s reaction or if he followed. 

***

Faramir’s feet were tired when he finally stood in front of Éowyn’s door.  Éomer’s parting words had affected him—making him deeply unhappy and his steps had dragged.  He tries, just as she tries…and what do I do, except be a thorn in their side?  He knocked at the door, resisting the impulse to lean wearily against it.  Perhaps she was asleep already.  He knocked again, but there was no answer, no rhythm of footsteps nor sense of her consciousness.  Tomorrow, I will come tomorrow…

***

She smelled smoke and the first thought that came to her was gods!  Meduseld is burning!  The horror of it shocked Éowyn up, but she wasn’t in her bed or even in her rooms.  She was…where am I?  Unfamiliar, the floor was stone, polished smooth and there were many corridors, all dark and full of smoke.  Somewhere there was a fire; she could hear it crackling, snapping.  Thickening smoke billowed around her and in the distance, making her jump, she heard a cry in a strange man’s voice—it was furious, as though he were not used to his will being impeded.  Who is that?  Unable to understand what he’d said, she turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings.  But there was something closer that drew her attention: a tiny sound, cutting through the others.

            She coughed suddenly, retching.  The acrid smell of burning flesh was strong and Éowyn covered her mouth, breathing shallowly.  Where am I?  The sound came again—a very small whimper and she pursued it.  Stumbling down corridors, she halted suddenly, horrified.  There were stone boxes in here, carved with faces and set with dates and numerous, curving runes; she was in some place of the dead.  The whimper broke her paralysis and she hurried, choking on the smoke, the foul, reoccurring smell of burning flesh and boiling blood. 

              It was a little boy, crouched on the floor near one of the great stone sarcophaguses, naked and smeared with ash.  He trembled and sweated, making the soot cling; his arms were wrapped around his knees and his head was bent.  Éowyn approached cautiously, not wanting to alarm him.  In the distance the man screamed, high and horrible.  The boy’s whole body jerked at the noise and his head lifted.  Grey eyes went huge at the sight of her, seeming to fill his entire face.  It was Faramir.

            Surprised, Éowyn blurted, “Faramir?”  Her words were sudden and seemed to frighten him.  He jerked back and she said quickly, soothingly,  “It’s all right.” 

            His expression turned miserable and he hugged his knees again, muttering, “No it’s not.”

            “Why not?”  Éowyn used the opportunity to get closer, carefully moving towards him.  Smoke wafted through the chamber he was in, making her cough and him moan.

            “I can’t move.”  That was ridiculous, he’d just done so, and she’d seen him.  Inching forward, she asked, 

            “Why can’t you move?”

            “I don’t know.”  He shuddered, speaking in a strange chant.  “It’s so hot…I can’t move, it hurts, everyone hurts, I’m sorry, but it won’t stop, it won’t stop, it’s all my fault…”

            She needed to get him out of here, never mind that she didn’t even know where here was.  The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, rank with the smell of burning flesh.  “No…”

            “YES IT IS!”  He screamed it at her, making Éowyn jump, her eyes widening.  Faramir stared at her for a moment, then put his chin back on his scabbed knees.  “It is.”  He whispered, beginning to rock back and forth.

            She took a step forward, now only about four paces from his side.  “Will you come with me?”

            He glanced up, speaking slowly as though she was foolish, “I told you, I can’t move.”  He was moving; this was idiotic.  Éowyn hesitated, and then walked confidently to him; as she thought, he shrank, but didn’t move away—he really thought he couldn’t.  She sat beside him, hugging her own knees to her chest, feeling silly in her nightgown.  The smoke was lesser down here on the floor and she could breathe better.  Faramir stared at her for a moment, a mournful, wide-eyed, filthy, naked little boy, and then said in a matter of fact voice, “You’re very pretty.”  In spite of his miserable appearance and the haze that filled the unfamiliar room, Éowyn tried not to laugh, instead replying softly,

  “Thank you, Faramir.”

            He scooted just a tiny bit closer.  “How do you know my name?”  There was careful hesitation in his words, “Do you…know…things?”  He looked desperately hoping.

            How do I answer this?  She understood what he meant—he was asking if she, too, could read thoughts.  “Yes.”

            “Oh.”  He put his head back on his knees, and then peered back up at her.  “Do you know where my father is?  I can’t find him or Boromir.  I looked everywhere.”  She felt sick and shook her head slowly.

            “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

            “Oh.”

            Éowyn took a chance.  “I do know it’s not your fault.”

            “It’s not?”  Faramir’s eyes filled with hope, then he shook his head and they clouded with tears.  “It has to be…I can’t do anything right, it’s what he says, it’s the only thing he says, so it has to be true.”

            “No.”  She put her arm around his thin shoulders and was startled at how hot he was; Faramir felt as though he were on fire.  For a moment he stiffened, then he relaxed.  Smoke poured in a new, black wave and she coughed.  Faramir did the same, his skinny chest shuddering.  We must get out of here.  “Will you come with me?”

            “I can’t…”

            “Yes you can.”  Éowyn hugged him tighter, “Trust me.”

            He didn’t move, only asking, “Why can’t I do anything right?  Why am I always a failure?” 

            Did I help cause this?  She felt nauseated with sudden guilt.  “He’s wrong—you’re not a failure.”
            Faramir looked up, wary.  “How do you know?  You don’t even know me.”

            “I know you.”  Éowyn hugged his bony shoulder, resting her chin on the top of his head.  “I love you.”

            “You do?”

            She closed her eyes.  “Yes, very much.”

            “Oh.”

            After a long moment, he moved, uncurling and turning into her, his face pressed to her neck, but it wasn’t a little boy’s face—stubble pricked her skin and Éowyn opened her eyes to a darkened room, coming muzzily awake.  As he trembled, she inhaled, her mind clearing somewhat.  She was lying in a bed and Faramir, a grown man now, was wrapped around and on top of her.  His bare chest, wide and muscled, shuddered with sobs; warm tears trickled down her collarbone and Éowyn put her arms around his neck, murmuring through her shock.  “It’s all right.”  How did I get here?  How?  He pressed his lips to her shoulder in a kiss, not amorous, but as though he took comfort from it.  Éowyn moved to rub his back and froze for a moment—he was naked.She smoothed his tangled hair, feeling it damp from sweat or tears or both.  The air smelled sweet and clean after the horrid burned flesh and smoke of his dream and she inhaled deeply.  It was all a dream, but so vivid…  Staring at the ceiling and pinned beneath him, she murmured, “Shh, Faramir, it’s all right.”

            “No…” He shook, arms tightening almost painfully around her, chin digging into her collarbone. 

“Shh, yes,” Éowyn pushed his head down, laying it on her bosom and his arms loosened just a little; he pressed his face to the tops of her breasts, his breath panting hot as he tried not to weep.  “It’s all right.”

             “No…”
            “Yes.”  She adopted a stern tone.  “I know it is and I won’t argue with you.”

            “I’m so sorry.”  For an instant he sounded exactly like the little boy he’d been and her eyes filled with tears.  Éowyn kissed the top of his head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

            Feeling a tear trickle down her cheek, she whispered, “I love you.  Nothing is your fault and you’re not a failure.  Go back to sleep.”  Faramir gradually relaxed with his breathing slowing and his body growing heavier on her.  Éowyn was wide-awake; she stroked his hair, rubbing his back gently and rhythmically. I love you, Faramir.  Sleep.  I love you; I will always do so.  After a moment she swallowed, still feeling sick.  He was asleep, breathing slow and deep.  I’m sorry.  She lay for a long time, feeling his chest rise and fall, terrified in the thought that there could exist a day in which it might stop.

            When he wakes I must speak.  I can’t…I won’t have him feel such things because of me.  Her heart hardened.  If that man, his father, were here now I would kill him and slow.  Faramir is too good to be hurt that badly.  I hurt him because I don’t speak, I know I do.  In the morning I must cease being such a coward.  Éowyn stroked his hair, feeling protective.  It is I who is failing him.     

***

Faramir shifted, moving into a more comfortable position.  His bed felt…different, soft and there was the faint, steady beating of a heart beneath his ear.  What…how…  His eyes flew open in surprise and he lifted his head.  Éowyn? The early morning light lit her face.  Asleep, turned away on the pillow, her profile was relaxed with her hair loose around her shoulders.  Her arms were around him; hands resting limply on his back and side.  How did she get in here?  He couldn’t remember anything beyond undressing and getting in bed, though he had lain there a long while, fretting silently about what to say to her.  I wanted to speak to her…did I beckon her to me somehow…?  The thought disturbed him. 

She didn’t answer her door…why would she come and why don’t I remember it?  He frowned, wanting answers, but not wanting to wake her.  She looks so peaceful.  Deciding to take advantage, Faramir laid back down, resting his head on her bosom.  Éowyn’s fingers moved slightly on his side and she breathed deeply. 

“Hmmph?”  Her blue eyes peeked at him through pale lashes.  “Faramir.”  She didn’t seem surprised.  Arms tightening around him, she looked like she would have gone back to sleep but he spoke. 

“How did you get here?”

She kept her eyes closed, “I don’t know.”

Faramir pushed, baffled.  “You don’t know?”

“Ump-mmm.”  Éowyn wiggled slightly, and a tiny frown appeared.  “My leg’s asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”  Shifting, he began to get off of her, planning to curl up beside her.

“Oh!”  Her eyes flickered open.  “Don’t!”

“What?”  He froze; wondering if she’d just noticed his lack of clothing. 

She sat up a little, frowning.  “Don’t say that!”

Confused, he asked, “Why?”

“Just…don’t.”

“All right.”  Still confused, Faramir moved off of her.  Éowyn kicked her legs, the blankets riding up to her shins.  He looked at her little feet; they were pretty.  “I want to draw those.”

“Draw what?”  They were both acting as though nothing had happened the day before, no quarrel, and no time by the riverside, carefully skirting any deep conversation.

“Your feet.”

“Why?”  She laid her head on his chest, one hand across his middle, apparently unperturbed at his nakedness.  Faramir relaxed, pleased she was so calm.  She finally trusts me…now why can’t she say it? 

“You have cute feet—diminutive, very adorable; especially the toes.”

Éowyn shook her head against him; “They look like grumpy old men all in a row, frowning at me.”

He burst out laughing, delighted at the imagery.  “No they don’t.”

“Yes they do.”  She flexed her toes, wiggling them back and forth before pulling them back beneath the blankets.

Faramir put his arm around her shoulders, hugging, simply because he could.  “I had grumpy old men frowning at me all the time in the Council during the summer—no, if your feet are old men, then they are very pleasant.”

“If you say so.”  They fell silent; she nuzzled her cheek to his skin, breathing deep.  Faramir stared straight ahead, wishing he knew what to say.  To his surprise Éowyn broke the quiet.  “I didn’t like the dagger.  It was very nice, but I didn’t like it.”

“Oh?”  He frowned, “Why not?”  Of course, the one thing I thought was certain…even Merry agreed and I thought he knew her well.  She’s liked the bracelet at least…  He hadn’t found her the lion pelt, but he’d gotten two very different things to replace it; Faramir remembered Éomer’s words about the announcement and he was glad he’d gotten the last one.  I almost passed it by, now I can only hope she likes it. 

  She felt relieved, as though she’d expected more of a disturbed response.  “I didn’t think you knew.”  Under the covers, her fingers moved, curling around the hair on his chest, tugging gently.  “I used to have one.  I wore it every day; I had a sheath on my girdle.  I only stopped when Éomer asked me why and then I wore it beneath my gown.  I lied to him to protect him.”  Her voice was much smaller, “But you know why, don’t you?”  Éowyn obviously did not want to say the worm’s cursed name.

Damn, damn it, how could I be such an idiot?  “I’m—” He stopped himself. 

“It’s all right.” He heard her thought.  You didn’t think about it…  She pressed her cheek to his front.  I wish I didn’t.  Éowyn curled her body tight against his and was silent for a long while.  Finally she spoke again.  “I have more to say.”

Thrilled she was talking to him in such an intimate fashion without even any prompting, he murmured, “Take your time, my love.”

Éowyn’s hand moved with her fingers tracing small circles, then back and forth just under his collarbone; any other time it might have driven him mad, but he was more concerned with her soft, hesitant tone.  “All right.”  She took him literally; it was a few minutes before she asked, “You don’t remember how I got here?”

“No—I wanted…” He spoke very carefully, “I wanted you with me, but I don’t remember letting you in or anything.”

“I don’t remember coming, but I had some wine.”  He felt her smile against his chest, and then it disappeared.  “You had a nightmare…I was in it somehow.  I woke up here.”  She hugged his side; “It was horrible.”

“I’m—” Again, he stopped himself.  “I wish I hadn’t disturbed you. What was it about?  I don’t remember.”

Éowyn shivered.  “Don’t try, it was upsetting enough to me.”  She was quiet, only her hand moving restlessly.  He felt her apprehension; there was an odd sense of familiarity—after a second Faramir pinned it—her mood reminded him of Éomer’s, right before the man had introduced him the first time.  She was screwing herself up for some great effort.  He squeezed her shoulder. 

I love you; you can tell me anything, remember?  I love you and I will always love you, no matter what.

“I know.”  Éowyn did not say she loved him back, inhaling deeply to blurt,  “You said you thought about me all the time…”

“Ever since I first saw you.”

Éowyn rose up, her hair hanging in golden waves, her nightgown slipping to bare one shoulder; again, any other time he might have been tempted, but not now.  She gazed at him and her blue eyes were serious.  “You…  Don’t talk anymore—until I’m done, all right?  This is hard.”  Faramir nodded; her tenseness made him tense.  “You’re…” Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, she licked her lips nervously, trying to keep eye contact with him and failing.  “You’re too much for me.  It’s—like every minute, every second, I can feel you, I can feel you love me.  I like it, I do.”  Her eyes darted at him, then away.  Faramir was careful to keep silent and still.  “You make me feel good, feel safe…” There was a “But…” coming and he dreaded it.  “But you’re too much, too soon.  When we,” Here she reached out to touch his temple and he nodded, understanding.  “I can feel everything you feel and everything I feel and,” Éowyn looked pained now.  “It’s too much at once.”

“I love you…I think about you, I do…when you walked away it hurt.”  She pulled her knees up to hug them, “I liked what you did today, I…” Her voice faltered and he felt her disquiet, embarrassment and honesty, “I wanted more.”

It surprised and pleased him to know for sure that she’d enjoyed his actions.  But…  He waited for it again.

“But I didn’t know how that made me feel—it’s too much to understand at once.  It’s so new.  I don’t want you to do that again for a while—you have to give me time…I know you want to do things and it’s not bad at all, but please give me a little longer…for things like that.  It’s so overwhelming when your mind is in mine and I can feel the things you feel.”

This was the second time she’d said it and he wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but Éowyn hadn’t allowed him his voice yet and the last thing he wanted was to silence her to ask a question.

“I don’t know why you apologized to me—you didn’t do anything.”  She looked him in the eyes, her expression almost fierce.  It puzzled him.  “You’ve never done anything, Faramir, to make me feel anything but better and safer and…” Éowyn laughed, her words embarrassing her.  “Beautiful.”  He looked at her adoringly, watching her struggle to put everything into speech.  “All you’ve done—you’re learning my people’s language, history, ways…and you’re trying to do all this just for me…  It’s a lot for me to absorb, do you understand?”

“Today is going to be hard.”  She took a moment.  “I’m glad you’re here with me, you make me feel good, even though,” Bowing her head, she whispered, “I don’t do anything for you.”  Éowyn hugged her knees tightly through the coverlet, bracing herself for his reply.  “I’m done.  You can talk now.”

Faramir wasn’t sure what to say, feeling her turmoil. She glanced at him, tears in her blue eyes, reddening them.  “Come here.”  He pulled her close, deciding to start at the obvious, “If I make you feel good, why are you crying?”

Sniffing, she pressed her nose to his neck, mumbling.  “I’m not.”  Then she murmured, “I don’t know.”

“Stop, please…or you’ll make me cry.”

Éowyn laughed; it was small but it gladdened him and her next words, spoken in a little whisper, made him happier.  “I love you.”

Faramir hugged her tight.  “I love you.”  She nuzzled him, her arms clasping.  He sighed, not wishing her to go.  “Don’t you need to go soon…before it gets too late?”

“In a minute…first, I want…” She shifted onto her back, propping herself with pillows on the headboard and tugging at him to follow.  Faramir moved to cover her, feeling her legs around his sides, her body soft and warm with his under the blankets.  His pulse jumped, but he controlled himself—now was not the time.  Éowyn pulled his forehead down to touch hers.  She wasn’t disturbed, locking her fingers around the back of his neck to keep him close.  I want…

“What?”  Faramir whispered, acutely aware that the only thing separating him from her bare skin was a thin linen shift.  He wanted to kiss her; her lips were so near it was a distraction.

This…do it…I want to feel how you feel.

Oh.  He touched his mind to hers; Éowyn sighed, relaxing beneath him.  Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him. 

Faramir.  She said it as though she were marking him in her mind.  Éowyn closed her eyes tightly for a moment, hugging him.  Tell me.  Her blue eyes opened and stared into his and, as he carefully deepened the link between them, she touched his cheek, his temples, with her fingertips gently brushing.  In intimate little movements, they skirted his mouth, tickling his lips then onto his chin and brushing his hair back from his brow.

I am…  He showed her his gladness she’d been confident enough to speak those things to him a moment ago and his pleasure she’d enjoyed his actions yesterday.  Slightly daring, he pressed to her his delight at waking next to her and his hope he would do so again in the near future.  Éowyn smiled faintly, her thumb touching his mouth, very gently depressing his lower lip before moving on.  Faramir tried to ignore the impulse to lick it.  And…  There was his sadness that he stood between her and her brother, his gratitude for Éomer’s deed.  I’m sorry, my love, I hurt you both.  

Don’t.  Éowyn’s brow creased now; she made a small noise of distress and he hastily went on to show her that he would gladly support her this day.

If you ever need me…

I know.  She took a deep breath.  He kissed her fingers as they came within range and then let her know the thing he felt most: his happiness in her ease. 

I am so proud of you, my love.  You’ve come so far…you’re so brave to trust me, to allow me to take the liberties I do.  Smiling a little, she put her hands on each side of his face, holding him very close.

You’re so good to me—patient, kind…how could I not learn to be brave?  He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers again, focusing on her and how much he loved her.  Éowyn swallowed hard, her eyes half-lidded and her fingers clutching for a moment before she relaxed beneath him.  Feeling her tremble with the intensity, Faramir nuzzled into her neck, kissing it gently, pressing his lips to her cheek, her shoulder before moving to lie his head on her bosom, as he’d woken this morning.  Her heart beat steady; the sound made him content.  They stayed that way for a long time before Éowyn took her hands away from his shoulders.  Now, I have to go now. 

“All right.”  Faramir moved over and onto his back, watching her sit up.  Éowyn gave him a little smile and then she leaned forward, kissing him lightly.  He put his hand on her head to hold her, to make the kiss longer and then jerked it back, furious with himself.  What am I doing?  She just said…

“It’s all right.” She frowned slightly.  Stop that, you feel bad about yourself; I can feel it and I don’t like it.  You shouldn’t feel that way, Faramir.  Éowyn’s eyes and thoughts turned serious.  I mean it.  You’re a good man.

You think so?  He thought, too, Neither should you feel that way, but he kept it to himself, not wanting her to hear it.

Her frown deepened.  I know so.  Éowyn sighed.  I have to go.

***

Éomer dressed slowly.  He put on his very best, the gold and silver threads gleaming in the early morning light; rich leather, burnished to a high sheen, glowed along with the shined metal of his light mail.  He tried to ignore the crown, as it flamed golden, until he had to pick it up.  This should not have had to sit upon my head; I am not worthy of it.  I pray the halls of my forefathers will receive me with half the praise Théoden has earned. 

  Already he’d been informed that the King’s men were all but prepared, their horses bathed and groomed until their white coats were luminous.  Also, too, the knights’ armor and their tack polished brilliant to honor their lord.  The diggers had finished the mound, carefully clearing away all the loose soil and stacking the sod and building the little stone structure.  Cuttings of evermind had been painstakingly taken, along with some with their roots intact and kept in water in preparation to cover the mound.  Théoden’s possessions were amassed and ready.  Even the great feast, the product of the cooks’ intense slavery, would be finished in time. 

It is time, he thought.  How I dread this.

***

Éowyn brushed her hair until it was smooth, placing the slim circlet of gold on her head.  Her dress gleamed pure white; the women had washed it and washed it until it was virtually luminescent.  She stared into the mirror, fingering the rawhide thong around her neck.  It looked crude, disproportionate with her fine gown, her bright circlet.  Yet, I do not want to take it off, she thought.  Perhaps…  Slipping it over her head, Éowyn twisted the rawhide around her lower arm under her ruffled sleeve.  The mottled blue and green dolphin just barely hung out, gently dangling and cooling against the soft skin of her wrist.  There. 

Satisfied, Éowyn was just about to leave her rooms when there was a knock on the door; a simultaneous light touch to her mind left no doubt to the person waiting on the other side.  Éowyn?  Can I come in?
.           Yes.  She smoothed her hand down her dress, feeling the elaborate stitch-work that was the gown’s sole adornment.  I wonder what Arwen is wearing…  Faramir entered, answering her musing thought.

Whatever it is, she could never be as beautiful to me as you are. Smiling with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment, she turned.  Faramir both shone bright and glimmered darkly in his full uniform of the White City—besides the white tree and stars, he wore light armor, lustrous and well polished.  His clothes fit him well, emphasizing his form: tall and spare yet muscled, with his shoulders broad.  Éowyn gazed at him, thinking he looked like a well-made sword, held up against some contrasting darkness. I thought I was the poet.

Snoop.  Faramir smiled slightly, shaking his head at her chide.  He came close to touch his fingertips to her neck, grey eyes gently inquiring.  Oh, here.  Éowyn held up her wrist, showing him the dangling pendant.  It looked a bit odd somehow.

Hmm…  She felt his sudden anxiety; it was unrelated to anything she knew of. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I have the courage to give it to you.”

She smiled; turning back to the mirror to make sure her circlet was straight.  Glancing down at the rest of her, she attempted a jest, “As long as its not another dagger…”

“It’s not.”  His voice sounded very low, very tense.  He’d come close to stand behind her; she could feel his body heat her back.

“Well?”  Éowyn turned to face him again and closed her eyes; he was very near.  “Here, now, I’m not looking.”  She waited, feeling herself cheering a little in his presence.

Faramir laughed and took her hand.  “That’s very good of you, you know.”  She heard him rummage…in his pocket?  I wonder what it is.  Maybe more jewelry…and then something cool slipped over her finger.  He touched the top of her hand to his mouth, kissing lightly.  “Look now and tell me if you hate it.  I can take it, I won’t weep, I swear…well, maybe just a bit.”

“Oh…oh!”  It was a ring, of course, and by far the richest thing she’d ever been presented with. 

“Do you…?”  Faramir wavered, nervous.

“I don’t know, give me a moment.”  She laughed at him as he hovered, “Let me look at it, will you?”  Waving him away, Éowyn walked to the window to see it in the light.  Mounted on a silver band were three light blue stones, almost crystal-clear; the center one was the largest, the other two slightly smaller, all oval cut; the stones were surrounded with diamonds.  The ring flickered with white and blue fire, light catching in the many facets, trapped and dazzling there with each slight movement of her hand.  “It’s so…pretty.”

“You like it?”  He sounded boyishly delighted. 

“Yes.”  Éowyn couldn’t look away.  “Why did you…?”

“Éomer is announcing our joining today, to all the peoples.”  Faramir seemed surprised she didn’t know.

“Is he?”  She was too fascinated by the ring to give it much thought.  That’s why he asked me if I was certain…it’s so shiny…

“I’m glad you like it—he asked you if you were certain about me?”  Now Faramir sounded a cross between amused and affronted.

“Yes.” Éowyn stepped close to him, feeling the unaccustomed weight of the ring on her finger.  She put her arms around his neck; with the armor his body was unyielding against hers.  “I said yes.”

He looked down, “Well, I’d hoped so.”  Faramir smiled faint, his hands sliding to her waist, flat on her back as he bent.  She could tell he was trying to be restrained, very gentle—the result of her words this morning.

Éowyn stopped him, putting her fingers to his cheek.  She didn’t want him leashed, like a dog, just not quite so rampant in his caresses.  “This…” Kissing him, purely for example, she continued, “is fine…”

Whispering with his mouth close to hers, he murmured, “Good.” 

“And this…” She pulled him closer, so that he was firm against her.  Faramir kissed her again, warmly.  “And this…” Éowyn let him kiss her neck, her collarbone until his wandering lips touched the tops of her breasts and then she pulled him back up to her mouth before ordering,  “But no more.”

“Fine.”  Faramir kissed her mouth again, hungrily.  “Good.”

 “For now.”

He laughed against her neck, a burst of warm breath that made her shiver.  “Better.”

“I love it, it’s so pretty.”  She raised her hand so that she could look at the ring.  This present held no bad associations; like the necklace and the bracelet, this was entirely new and pertaining only to Faramir.  He glanced at it, then back at her, saying very softly,

“Hin lín bain sui Ithilgalad buin Aear, meleth nín.”

The words made her feel special, made her hug him tight.  “What does that mean?”

“Thine eyes are as beautiful as moonlight on the Sea, my love.”  He lifted her hand, the blue stones and diamonds sparkling.  “It reminded me of them…I missed you very much over the summer.”

Éowyn smiled.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

***

Making sure to keep within his new boundaries, Faramir kissed her again and he wondered about what she’d said.  “Explain how…you said you felt what I felt?” 

She frowned at him; he sensed her confusion.  “Yes, didn’t you?”

“No.”  He smiled slightly, “I was concentrating on what I was doing.” 

“I thought you were with me.”  It was disconcerted.

Shaking his head, he shrugged.  “I suppose I wasn’t.  What did it feel like?”

Éowyn looked at him then backed against her dresser, pulling him tight against her.  You’re going to find out…you can’t not know, I won’t have it.

Am I?  Her forwardness made him smile; he liked it, it was a far cry from her behavior four months ago.

“Yes.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.  Careful, he touched his mind to hers, linking.  Éowyn’s eyelids fluttered and she breathed in. “You don’t--?”

“What?”  He could feel her mind, of course, her emotions, her quickened thoughts…you need to, you just, let go, stop so tight control, no trust…but nowhere did he feel what she seemed to. 

Her voice low, she muttered, “Let go, you have to let go, relax.”  Faramir hesitated, unsure.  He didn’t want to do anything to…

Faramir!  Now!  Éowyn jerked him tight, her mouth pressing to his.  Astonished, he dropped his tight control, loosening his mind from its endless constraint. 

  Oh, this…  He could feel her kiss, feel his own through her senses.  It was…overwhelming, as she’d said; he gripped the top of her dresser, not for leverage to push his body into hers, but to ground himself in some way.  He was lost, barely able to think as Éowyn kissed him again and again, her mouth hot, demanding his participation.  Their hearts seemed to synchronize, the beats loud in his ears and suddenly racing as she pulled him closer.  I can…

I know, feel, yes, yes…good, kiss, yes…

You…were right…it’s

Yes…too…feel that?  Don’t stop, why…   

“Too much,” He gasped it, panting for breath, pulling back.  Éowyn’s eyes were wide, her fingers fast on the nape of his neck, not allowing him to step away.  She didn’t want him to move away, didn’t want to lose contact with him.  Recovering a bit, Faramir leaned hard against her, kissing her lightly now, trying to keep the sensations from building so much.  Éowyn shifted, uncomfortable against the wood; he grabbed her hips, lifting her onto the top of it, glad it was uncluttered.  Better…better…  Faramir rested his palms on her thighs, stepping between them and feeling her lock her ankles round him and squeeze…can?  Is fine?

Yes.  More…lower with mouth, do that…now… 

I was missing this the whole time?  He couldn’t believe it; Faramir licked her skin, then nipped gently, to feel what it felt like to her.  Liking it, he suckled, swirling his tongue, moving, using his teeth again…Valar, it feels like that?…he would have done it over and over but she pulled him back to her mouth.  No wonder she’d always gone so soft against him whenever he did it—it feels so good, hot, wet, good, nice.

She laughed in her mind, fool, yes, very good.  Her short fingernails scraped back and forth on the nape of his neck, her body pressing up to his, the little sensations making him shiver as much as his own hands did when they moved up to cup her breasts, eagerly anticipating his next action. 

Éowyn pushed him immediately, slightly flushed, panting in his ear.  No it will be too much, I don’t want…

Right…sorry, wait, I’ll wait until can.  She frowned at the word, but said nothing.  So connected, so deep within her he wasn’t sure where he began and she ended, Faramir would have never stopped the kisses and caresses she allowed him, but she pushed him again.  He nibbled her ear, pressing himself to the dresser, trying to reach all of her at once. 

Éowyn laughed inside and then, shockingly, he felt her tongue flick out and touch his neck, scorching and wet.  Unthinking, Faramir thrust against her.  Want, I can, feel…want you want?  He didn’t know whom the words came from—he or her or both.  He felt her wonder ripple through him; it was odd; before he could recollect himself, she bit him hard, clutching with her arms around his shoulders and he growled in response, thrusting himself against her a second time.  The dresser rattled loudly and Éowyn laughed against the side of his face, her lips finding his. 

Beast…ruffian!  She peeped in surprised as he pushed hard against her, but there was no fear in her; the lack made him want her more, tempted him horribly.

I want…feel?  Feel that I…?

Yes, oh, yes yes…

Faramir pulled back to lick her neck, to feel how she liked it; she did.  Yes, yes, since first saw—thought, must have, must mine.  Try to cheer, you called me to task—how could I refuse summons?  Faramir laughed in his mind at her astonishment.

Éowyn pulled his mouth back to hers, smiling, first thought—oh no, he’s looking to me, all eyes wanting to see me, saying pretty words—dangerous.  I stayed in then, that’s why, until Merry shouted for me to come and it was a trap; he wasn’t on the walls, but you were below.  Bad hobbit to play matchmaker.  He laughed, calming, nuzzling her neck, making her arms tighten when he breathed deliberately hot onto her bosom; she hadn’t forbidden him that much.  Stop, no, not mean can’t, mean stop all now.  We’ll be late…can’t, disrespectful, won’t…

Right, sorry, just so nice, don’t want…yes.  He sighed regretfully, feeling the connection between them fade as he ceased to support it.  Faramir stepped back, allowing her to get down and move away.

Flushed, she eyed herself in the mirror.  “You wrinkled my gown a bit and...”  Éowyn straightened the circlet of gold. 

            Bemused and rather roused, he said, “I would have ravished you if gave me half the chance.”

            “Ravished?  Ravish me?”  For some reason she laughed immediately and loudly, covering her mouth to muffle it, though without success.

            “Why is that funny?”  I can’t see anything amusing about that.

            Between sudden giggles, she managed to say; “I can’t imagine you…ravishing.”  Éowyn shook her head, “I just can’t.” Smirking at him, she laughed again, delightedly thinking, oh, yes, ravish me, go on ahead Faramir, you’re so fierce—I’m terrified.  Truly, I’m shaking right now, and laughing harder, she thought, I’m all aquiver…  Éowyn leaned back against her dresser, her head thrown back in laughter.

            Not wanting her to think he was soft and going to let her get away with that, Faramir growled threateningly, “You want a demonstration?” 

            She looked at him and then her ring, admiring it, completely unintimidated.  He didn’t know whether to be thrilled or just a little bothered.  “No, not at the moment, dear.”  Éowyn smiled and sobered.  “Come on, your job today is to keep me from crying—” She linked her arm in his, “It will be simple, just say you’ll ravish me again.”

  One day I shall and you won’t be laughing…or at least I hope not.  They walked out of her rooms together.

There was no breakfast.  The crowd gathered gigantic, stretching on both sides of the road, all around the mounds and all the way to the very walls of Edoras: amassed elves, men, hobbits, and one dwarf.  Faramir jerked to an instinctive halt at the doors of Meduseld, his mind suddenly threatening to buckle under the pressure of the multitude.  Éowyn pulled him aside; his legs barely worked.  “Faramir?”

“Hmm…wha-t?”  He stared down at her, trying to focus.  I can’t…escape…

“Me, look at me.”  She touched his temple, frowning at the thin sheen of sweat that coated her fingertips.  “Me, remember, focus on me, Faramir.”

“Yes…” It eased a little, the intense strain of hundreds of thoughts and feelings coming from the beings all concentrated in one small area.  “Éowyn…” He took her hand, kissing the cool ring.  “Keep doing that.  Please.”
            “Come here,” Dragging him into the shadow of the door, she held him close, whispering, “It’s all right, you can do it, just focus on me, my mind, I’m the only one there.”

Gradually, he was calming.  He kissed her hand again, pressing it to his lips.  Don’t let go, please, you’re grounding me.  My center, stillness and quiet…

Éowyn looked concerned.  I won’t.  You’ll be all right out there?
            I won’t keep you away…if not, I’ll come back…He added, keeping it to himself, If I can get back.  There was the brief sound of horns outside and the corresponding emotional wave made him flinch.  Don’t let go.

“I promise I won’t.”  Forcing himself to move, Faramir followed her; her hand was tight on his, squeezing. 

Whispering, unable to speak louder, he rasped, “That’s good.”  Slowly they made their way down the stairs; he stumbled twice, distracted.  She didn’t let go even then, the ring pressing his fingers with the force of her grip. He wondered if she could feel some of what he did and sought to shelter her as best he could.  Faramir withdrew his mind, tucking it back as much as possible. 

“All right?”  Éowyn halted just inside the gates of Edoras.  The largest portion of the crowd lay ahead and of course, their place would be in its very center, near to Théoden’s mound.  Faramir felt unbearably guilty, a burden to add to her on this day; she looked at him, quite in control and ready to act however he needed.  Oh, I love you.  Éowyn waited for his answer, her blue eyes firm. 

“Yes.”

“Good.  Stay close to me.” 

It was hard to speak; there was a constant hum of conversations in the back of his mind, distracting, wearying.  “Don’t worry.”  Dogging her heels, he kept very close, his gaze fixed on her head.  The sun reflected bright off of the gold in it, both her hair and the circlet.  The crowd parted; men and women alike bowed in respect; he knew it was not for him. 

His feet moved endlessly.  There was grass beneath them, then dirt, and then grass again.  They passed too many people to count; voices pounded at him, but he couldn’t tell whether they were actually audible…surely it was quieter than the uproar that hammered his ears.  Faramir never took his eyes away from her head, focusing his entire being on Éowyn, while at the same time trying not to project any of his distress upon her.  The strains made him sweat far more than the morning sun should; it ran in his eyes, making her shimmer like an apparition.  If she were to vanish…he was abruptly certain the walls of his mind would come crashing down; at the moment he was that dependent.  Licking his dry lips, he managed to ask, “Are we near?”

“Almost.”  To his relief she didn’t sound unsteady, but he knew Éowyn could hide emotion just as well as he could. 

“I’m not—ahh…!”  Gasping, Faramir nearly bent double, his free hand going to his temple, but it did little to block her wave of feeling.  He was exaggeratedly sensitive to her and her grief and pain hurt him.

“I’m sorry.”  Éowyn took a breath; he felt her forcibly clear her mind.  Saddened, he wanted to tell her not to, to tell her to express herself, not to lock it inside, but he couldn’t for fear.  They were there; in front of his eyes the stone house for Théoden was open, completed.  The hole gaped dark, the earth and grass rich around it and the rocks still bright with fresh chips and scrapes from being mined, cut and set up.  Evermind fluttered in the wind on the other mounds, petals scattering across the feet and clothing of the peoples, white petals floating like tears formed into snow.  Some fell upon Théoden’s face and Éomer brushed them gently aside; Faramir recoiled at the strong feelings within the man.  His mind, too, felt familiar and it pained.  Men held cream-colored horses, flags flew and shining horns were held ready; Éomer stood closest Théoden, who lay on a bier awaiting his rest.  Merry kept his arms, the hobbit’s small face mournful above his Rohirric uniform. 

Éowyn pulled him to her when she stopped and her arm linked in his, their hands still tightly clasped.  They were near to Aragorn, facing Éomer, who looked at them over Théoden’s bier.  No, he looks at her…  Faramir closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, trying to outlast the surges of emotion that raged in the King of Rohan’s mind—anger, fear, grief, and a pained, desperate sort of love. 

After a long moment, as though he’d only been waiting for Éowyn’s arrival, Éomer spoke, using the Common Tongue as a courtesy, “Today we send Théoden Ednew to the halls of our forefathers.  A valiant hero, a great warrior, oath-keeper and,” Here he paused, his eyes on Éowyn, “our beloved King.”  Faramir picked up the words too effortlessly: our beloved father, the only one we truly knew.  “May our ancestors receive him with as much honor and love as we had for him and he deserved.”  Éomer nodded once, signaling and the horns cried fierce, echoing mightily.  A great wind blew, as though the land too cried out and the flags of the Riddermark whipped green, ivory and gold in it, the white horse running frantically.  Mounting up, the King’s men began to ride slow, their horses prancing in perfect tandem, each shod hoof lightly touching the ground, all together.  He could feel Éowyn struggle, for just a moment, then she went cold inside as she pushed all of her emotion down into a small, hard ball—her features were stern, unfeeling.  I’m sorry, Faramir thought, gazing at her brow.  I hinder you, my love, at the precise time I shouldn’t be anything to you but support.  Across Théoden’s body, Éomer stared at his sister, his own face briefly twisting with pain before he, too, went cold.  She gazed straight ahead, not sparing herself a moment’s sight.

Several men strained, pushing Théoden into the stone house, laying his many rich and varied possessions around him and shutting the thick door.  Carts full of soil were brought and shovels, then sweating men built the mound in an astonishingly short amount of time.  Still green sod was carefully laid and evermind planted, trusted to grow.  Éomer spoke a final time in Rohirric.  It was near a whisper; Faramir was uncertain if it was spoken aloud or not.  “Ræst, Théoden…min sweoster ond Ic wille lucan ge in sæl.”  He gazed across at them; the distance seemed like leagues to Faramir’s wearied, burdened mind; Éomer’s head bent very suddenly, as though to hide tears and he felt Éowyn’s hand jerk just a tiny bit in his. 

Voices solemn, low at first, then rising, the song began.  Faramir heard little of it, his entire attention taken in fighting waves of emotion; he wondered if this was what a little ship felt, tossing, wheeling, being battered to pieces in a violent, storming sea.  Gripping her hand so tightly he knew it must be painful for her, he bowed his head, trying not to fall into unconsciousness.  Éowyn did not flinch from his hold, nor when he leaned against her, shuddering a little.  The King’s men circled, the song went on and the evermind petals hovered in the warm winds, falling slow, scattering on the lush green grass like tears on the cheeks of the peoples that watched.  Please…let it end…

It finally did; the King’s men dismounted and Éomer spoke, “Come, we put away our sorrows—rejoice that he is among our kin now, free from pain and darkness,” The King of Rohan’s voice faltered, his anguish coloring his last words.  “Free from grief and the loss of loved ones.”

Oh, how I hurt everyone I touch.  Faramir followed Éowyn back through the parting, respectful crowd; she was still cold, still so stern; he only wanted silence, a moment’s peace.  But the great feast, I must endure that too, perhaps just a few seconds alone with her…she’s so cold inside…how can I help?  He didn’t know. 

***

He finally loosened his grip on her aching hand, his fingers no longer stiff and rigidly holding hers.  Éowyn could almost feel him relaxing, still right behind her, but she didn’t release him.  They mounted the stairs, walking into Meduseld; her strides were purposeful, those of a woman about to perform some unpleasant but necessary duty.  The door-wards were back in their position and they gave her a solemn salute.  Éowyn smiled in quick reply, but she did not feel it; keeping herself tight inside, she moved into the halls, away from the main parts of Meduseld, away from people, away, away.  Faramir spoke softly, cautiously, “I—I think I’m all right now.”

“Good.”  Even she flinched a little at how hard her voice sounded. 

Faramir stopped walking, their clasped hands forcing her to do the same.  His grey eyes were strained still, but he asked, worry coloring his voice, “Are you?”

She stared at the floor, grinding her teeth; her insides were twisting, jumping with refusal to give in.  Éomer’s eyes had been full of pain and then tears.  “I’m fine.” 

“I’m so sorry…”

Éowyn exploded.  Jerking her hand out of his, she shouted, “Stop it!  Don’t say that!”  He started, obviously surprised.  What? She thought bitterly, you couldn’t feel that coming?  Faramir recoiled at the animosity of her inner tone. 

“I’m…” He fell silent, his expression hurt and…pitying?  Does he pity me?

Furious at the idea, she pointed back down the hall.  “Go.  Now.”

“Éowyn, please…”

“No!  NO!”  The last was much louder, as he’d taken a small step in her direction. 

Carefully, he began,  “All right…  If that’s what you want…  I’ll be…”

“I don’t care!  Go!  Go!”  She was rigid, frozen as Faramir turned slowly, walking back the way they’d come.  Éowyn breathed fast, feeling her anger melt to leave her icy inside.  Alone, she leaned against the wall, suddenly confused.  Why was I angry with him?  He was…  It snuck upon her then, her grief—she shuddered with it.  I’m sorry, Faramir…  Éowyn began to weep, very soft at first, then harder.  She sank to the floor, curling her knees to her chest and resting her head upon them.  Her tears were hot, soaking her sleeves; the dolphin pendant swung, shining with them.  Why did I drive him off?  She wanted Faramir, wanted him to tell her it was all right, to hold her.  Éowyn tried to stop, but she couldn’t.  Crying harder and harder, shaking, she soon didn’t know for whom she wept—Théoden, her brother’s words and his pained gaze, Faramir’s apologies or herself. 

There were the sounds of boots.  They quickened, moving toward her; she didn’t lift her head, thinking it was Faramir, that he’d returned and when the man sat beside her, not speaking, she hugged him tight.  The body was all wrong, there was no mental connection or warm sense of his welcome presence—it wasn’t Faramir.  Startled, Éowyn jerked, looking up.  It was Aragorn.  She pulled away, folding herself back together.  “What do you want?”

His arm went around her shoulder, comforting despite the fact he wasn’t the one she wanted to comfort her.  “Why do you weep alone, Éowyn?”

“I told him to go.”

“Why did you do that?”

Angry, she shrugged off his arm.  “I don’t know!”  She laughed then, harshly, her heart aching, remembering her brother’s silent, agonized eyes—her place had been at his side, to stand with him, to mourn…I couldn’t and he knew not why…he guessed I loved him less…Faramir had needed her more, hadn’t he?  “Perhaps you should get used to it.”

“What?”

Bitter, she clarified.  “My tears.”

Aragorn did not respond for a while; he took her sore hand, raising it.  “What is this?”

Éowyn sighed, wishing he would leave.  “A ring, you fool.”

“It’s very nice.”

She spoke through a clenched jaw.  “Yes, it is.” 

“I saw him—he looked troubled…you are not quarrelling, are you?”  Aragorn sounded very concerned.  She supposed it was because of the discord between he and Arwen.  It is kind of him but I wish he would leave.

“No.  I don’t know.”  Éowyn began to get up, rubbing at her wet cheeks.  “Thank you, I’m fine.”

Aragorn stood as well; his crown dangled from one hand; his eyes rested on hers, searching.  “You sure?”

“Yes.”  Leave me be; of course he could not hear her but it was habit. 

“You’re coming?”  To the feast, the damn feast.  It was the last thing she wanted to do—sit and eat and pretend to be merry when everything was so wrong and the two she loved most were in such pain.  Faramir apologizes…it is all my fault, not his.  Go or stay, I will break the heart of one of the two men dearest to me…why, why must I?  Everything about this is so hard.  I love Faramir, I love my brother and every time I stand between them I hate myself because of the pain in their eyes. 

Éowyn took a deep breath, smoothing her gown, her hair.  Her hand still throbbed where Faramir had gripped it so hard and so long.  “Yes, I will come.”  She attempted a smile, “How do I look?”

Aragorn offered her his arm along with a supportive smile. “Enchanting.”

Translations:

Le melin, le uivelin, le melithon anuir…guren min gaim lín...—(S.) I love you, I will always love you, I will love you forever…my heart is in your hands…

Meleth e-guilen, meleth thilia min hin lín, bannas lín síla celair…--Love of my life, love sparkles in thine eyes, you are very beautiful…

Meleth nín, law lîn síla sui Ithil…--my love, your radiance shines like the Moon…

Amin mela lle, amin naa talle, lle naa vanim—Oio naa elealla alassé.—(Q.) I love you, I am your servant, you are beautiful—Ever is thy sight a joy.

Ræst, Théoden…min sweoster ond Ic wille lucan ge in sæl.—Rest, Théoden…my sister and I will join you in time.