Smile

Faramir looked down at the darkened crown of her head as Éowyn sang in her beautiful voice, the sound of it lilting softly over her tongue as she gave new verses.  My song…  It was a thing incomprehensible and it touched him incredibly, each additional word going to his heart and impressing itself there for all time.  She sang slowly, voice lucid and clear and he understood it was for his benefit, so that he would comprehend.  Faramir beamed at her adoringly.  He loved her so.

“Á-hwæðer seld-cûð byrsen-strang diór

Bídfæst æt flæsc, rifjaðr æt ísen

Gênhynsce æt êage ond tarn.”

He felt her devotion in both her words and her arm that curled wetly about his neck, bringing them closer when she finally dared to face him and sing; she was smiling in a faint, self-conscious way, her eyes kind and wide open in the dim light of the candles.  Faramir could tell she was nervous at this and he moved his hands for the first time, squeezing in a gentle motion he hoped would give her confidence.

“Swutelod me se leoht æt eower sâwol

Swutelod me eower sêfte folm.”  Éowyn bowed her head in shyness, and overwhelmed, he said nothing while she paused to take a deep, unsteady breath. 

“Hwâgefreódan me ac Faramir?

Hwâ lufaþ me swâ fægre ond gelustfullîce?”

She swallowed and answered her own question.  “Nân.”  Éowyn’s smile was quick and insecure.  Faramir couldn’t stop himself from kissing her.

“Eall se is min, Ic an tó ge…

Ic ná gemnyt hit gehú elles.

Se is ná ege æt eower earmas

A circul má strang ðe se múntas.”  Her eyes gleamed with tears; his heart and his chest ached with the emotion that moved within himself and between them.  Faramir wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.  He murmured softly, their foreheads touching, feeling her choke momentarily.

“Éowyn…” Before she continued, shakily at first, then firming with conviction, she kissed him and their lips met in sudden, passion that seemed frighteningly strong, driven not by appetite but a depth of warmth and fealty of that he’d never known or dreamed.  Faramir was afraid, his pulse quickening as she kissed him.  Éowyn breathed fast, her bosom rising and falling; she was flushed, pupils dark and wide in the dimness and he thought she was utterly radiant.  “Éowyn, my love… nya enda, nya alassë oialë.”

She went on, voice low and tender, eyes locked to his,

“Eower reord oforllce,

Minceóce tó eower cest—eower heorte swingað tó se hlêoðor æt min lufian.        Hrinon me, spræcon me, Ic eom eower…”

Ic eom a fealcen hwâ gemnyt ná ôðer bodere,

A collen-ferð ðingbyrneð æt wind ond rodor

Min abal is wiðinnan

Wíflíce wæpen, min folmum ná behófen æt hrinan swyrd.

Collen-ferð,gên eower. 

Ânig Faramir.”

The song was over, his name a whispered caress.  Tears were on her cheeks and he felt his throat close as she shuddered.  “Shh.”  Faramir stroked his hand down her face, the water from his fingers mixing with the slickness of her fresh tears.  “Shh… nya enda.”

Éowyn leaned her forehead against his collarbone, sniffling before looking back up to murmur faintly and weepily.  “What does that mean?”

“Nya enda, nya alassë oialë…” He laughed a little tearfully, himself, “My heart, my soul, my eternal joy.” 

 She looked at him and they stared at each other, feeling what the other felt and, for Faramir’s part he was nearly paralyzed by its depth, for what seemed an eternity before Éowyn took a deep breath to steady herself and said quietly, “The water’s getting cool.”  She sloshed her hand around.  She’d expected something of him, but Faramir could not give it at the moment; the depth of their emotional connection had staggered him.

He felt disoriented but clean, and not in the physical sense.  He felt clean inside, heart and mind cleared.  “Yes.”

She smiled and fluffed his mostly dry hair with a grimace.  “You’re still dirty…it’s like a rat’s nest.”  Faramir laughed a little shakily, trying to regain his composure.  He marveled that she had.  “Here, let me get some hot water…” Her glance was mock stern.  “You finish.”

Submissive in a playful fashion, he replied, “Yes, dear.”  Faramir added slyly, “But you missed a few spots…”

Éowyn laughed at him and rose, water running down her body in streams.  “I intended to.”  Faramir found the little pale ball of soap and clutched it anxiously.  Just watching her climb out of the tub, the way her wet, shining body contoured and flexed in the light of the candles was immensely arousing.  Éowyn glanced back, the corner of her eye glinting in amusement, then bent to grasp the handle of the little pot and carry it to him.  He felt her answering arousal and Faramir quickly submerged himself, rubbing the soap into his matted hair in hopes of distraction.  He didn’t wish to spoil her relaxed mood.

Éowyn didn’t pour all the water immediately, just some into the tub, testing its temperature with her hand, and stood waiting.  Faramir was confused until she moved behind him and touched the nape of his neck, “Lean forward.”  She rinsed his hair for him, fingers gently and pleasantly massaging his scalp.  The water wasn’t hot, just very warm as it slid down his back and front, carrying suds with it.

He sighed in pleasure, “That feels good.”  There was a clunk as she sat the kettle down and Éowyn’s hands cupped his face to turn him upward.  Faramir smiled as she kissed him, the opposite angle giving her all the control and she used it to tease, making him reach up constantly to capture her mouth.  Her fingers caressed his cheek, then his shoulder; Faramir clasped her hand to his chest, reaching up to touch her face in return, her darker hair falling around them in a cloud. 

“Mmm…” Her tongue tortured him with slow kisses that changed often, lips pressing, then retreating; one of her hands always caressing his face, his neck.  Faramir was breathing fast when she finally stopped and pulled away with an all body shiver.

“It’s cold out here.”  Éowyn smiled shyly as she climbed back into the tub, one hand batting at the suds that floated slowly back and forth.  He shook his head voicelessly and pulled back his legs to rise on his knees and come to her.  Éowyn smiled, cooperating by stretching out beneath him, her head pillowed on the padded rim of the tub.  Her eyes were shining in the shadowy room and he searched them, pleased to find only bashfulness and no fear whatsoever.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as they kissed, her hand sliding to rest on his lower back, wet palm compressing to push him down.  Faramir refused at first, he was excited merely by the knowledge she was naked beneath him; he didn’t need to feel it.  But she insisted and he lowered himself with care, the water merely adding a new and sensual element to the feel of her bare body.  He felt the softness of her breasts, the hard little nubs of nipples, and caressed them.  She sighed, eyes half-lidded to watch.  Faramir bent, his chin in the water as he suckled at her bosom, trying not to scratch her with his beard though he yearned to press and even waggle his face into her breasts.  He laughed at himself as Éowyn’s body moved beneath him and he felt her caress his arms, his shoulders before pulling his head up.  Faramir kissed her soft lips again and she smiled faintly.  Almost at once he became aware of how fast her heart was beating.

She caught his hand, leaving him to half-crouch on his knees, propping himself with his other palm.  Her eyes filled with some unidentifiable emotion, Éowyn breathed his name, “Faramir,” and then he felt the downward slope of her stomach, the swell of her hips under his hand, then finally the firm muscle and warm flesh of her thighs as she guided him downward.

Uncertain, he protested, “Éowyn…”

She wiggled beneath him, shivering, her voice full of needy passion.  “Shh…I trust you…I want you to…”

Her earnest admission warmed his heart while sending a rush of eager heat to his groin, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself.  Faramir frowned, propping himself up further, water dripping off his arms.  “I don’t know if I…”

Éowyn smiled and murmured, “It’s all right.  Please…” Her hand pushed his fingers down until he could feel the soft hair between her legs and then they brushed secret flesh that felt much, much hotter and Faramir couldn’t resist any longer. 

***

Éowyn felt him go still above her, his breathing change and grow ragged, the faint press of his arousal immediately rising into a hard shaft that collided urgently with her abdomen.  She felt a moment’s fear, sensing his change as his hand cupped her.  Faramir groaned soft and gutturally, his eyes full of hunger.  His fingers probed in a very gentle fashion, though, which made her relax.  Éowyn tried to still her jumping nerves but it was impossible; he was brushing places that made great flashes of pleasure rise from her center.  Each made her gasp, made her lift her hips in small bucks, water sloshing loudly in the tub, and made her wish fervently to spread her thighs still farther and give him full access.  It made her desire him, the feel of him inside her and she frowned, her body and mind conflicting.  

Faramir’s fingers found her and he pushed them inside, making her wince in pain; “Sorry, sorry…”

“It’s all right…” She accepted his apologetic kisses.  He was a breathless and eager as she was.  This time he eased just one and that was better but it hardly gave her much pleasure.  It had felt far more pleasurable when he’d been rubbing her. 

But he didn’t return to that and Éowyn squirmed; she was embarrassed to speak, “No…up…”

“Up?”  Faramir sounded confused and distant, digit slipping very slowly in and out of her, his breathing coming faster and faster.  His hips moved a little and his manhood thrust against her belly, hard and hot, the blunt tip dimpling her flesh.

As she whimpered, wishing for the return of that wonderful feeling, “Faramir…please…” his eyes cleared and he said urgently,

“Tell me.”  His voice skipped, and became almost shy for the first time, making her wonder as he murmured.  “I want to give you pleasure.”

Éowyn felt her cheeks heat as their eyes met.  Hesitant, she whispered, “Up…yes…” Faramir obeyed, slightly bumbling, but he was in the right area and she gasped.  “There, there…” He obeyed again; she could feel he was trying to please her and Éowyn grasped the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to hers.  It was a kiss turbulent with urgency, their teeth clicking, his tongue in her mouth, lips pressing and moving hard. 

And, suddenly, Faramir seemed to find the exact spot, his fingers moving so perfectly in the perfect place that she forgot about kissing.  Éowyn leaned back against the cloth-padded rim of the tub and closed her eyes, feeling her body responding disconnected from her mind, and how her mind was beginning to fall away to pure need.  Faramir kissed her neck; his mouth sucking and making thrills go down her spine.  At once, he strayed and didn’t seem to know it; still kissing her mouth and neck greedily; disturbed, Éowyn pressed her hand to the back of his, guiding him and slipping back to her dreamlike state of ecstasy.  It wasn’t long before Faramir seemed impatient, though he didn’t speak; she felt his frustration for he was much closer than she to fulfillment and Éowyn pleaded, “Don’t stop…”

He was fumbling again, having lost his place, not sure where to put his fingers, and Éowyn managed to give him more direction, “In a circle…here…” She pushed his hand so that he was in the right spot.    

His voice was rough and breathy, making her thrill.  “There?  Like this?”

“Yes, yes!”  Éowyn bucked, her arms wrapping around him tightly to ground herself; she was half-afraid she would just fly away or shatter with the bliss he was giving her. 

“Oh.”  He sounded mystified but she had no time to listen anymore.  Her entire body was fired with sensation and she could feel it building and building.

“Don’t stop…” Faramir didn’t speak, just kept on rubbing in a small circle as she’d requested, right where she requested, which was reply enough.  Éowyn reached down, hand sliding along his chest, feeling the hair on it, the pleasing curves and planes of his muscle, to his stomach and below to grasp him, sliding her fingers around his thick shaft, stroking it; she didn’t want to leave him behind.  Faramir paused in his actions and made a noise of satisfaction, his mouth covering hers.  Éowyn kissed him back, feeling her body undulate with waves of pleasure and his answering movements above her, the hard press of his manhood to her skin, then retreat, the long muscles of his thighs heavy against her legs, crushing her to the bottom of the tub.  Warm water moved between them; she could feel it lapping around her bosom, and the swirl of it around his fingers, which only made what he was doing better.

It seemed like forever, his fingers moving rhythmically enough to satisfy and sometimes his mouth kissing her neck or her breasts whenever she rose enough out of the water.  Finally she felt the wave return, a giant force rising and rising, as it had nearly came the one time when he’d been on her in her bed, swelling high and promising within her.  Éowyn couldn’t breathe; all of her focus was on that promise, the almost frightening, all compassing promise of pleasure.  Please, don’t stop, Faramir, please…         

Sidetracked, her hand slowed on him, to his loud, moaning breath of objection. Éowyn closed her eyes tightly, concentrating, and Faramir seemed to sense her effort.  His fingers sped up, faster and faster around her sensitive spot and he kissed her throat in that wonderful way that made her whole body go still with bliss…but it wasn’t enough.  She bit her lip, trying, reaching…please…

 He spoke, shocking her with his erratically voiced urging, “Now, Éowyn…yes, please, now…” Faramir was kissing her wet skin, his movements becoming more demanding as he was much closer than she was, yet trying to wait, and his urgency made him rough.

But she couldn’t quite reach that pinnacle and his frustration was almost tangible; with a growl, Faramir bit her neck shockingly hard and pushed his body against hers.  Feeling his teeth and his strength, she gave a thin cry, with her throat and every muscle drawn achingly tight as her climax finally came.  Éowyn arched into his length, shaking, feeling her hips thrust upwards in uncontrollable movements, trapping his manhood between them. 

Faramir looked down at her intently, his hand falling still and away to prop himself and for a moment she just held fast onto him.  It swept over her at once, all spasming, delicious pleasure, and when she came back, she was limp with fulfillment, head leaning against the rim of the tub and looking up at him with eyes that would only half open.  In the dim light of the candles, Faramir stared down, his face still full of intensity and, strangely, curiosity. 

Éowyn smiled at him, relaxed and warm all over as she slowly caught her breath.  That was wonderful…  She didn’t want to move, speak or even think.  So wonderful… 

Faramir looked briefly proud before he smiled and took her compliant hand from his shoulder to put it back on himself, asking feverishly, “Please?”

She nodded and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing languidly as she rubbed his hard length, feeling the way it throbbed and moved in her hand with awe; but he wasn’t in the mood to be lazy, no, Faramir was breathing raggedly, thrusting into her palm and against her body.  It was almost frightening as he drove her to the cloth-padded metal but she pushed the feeling away.  There was nothing to be afraid of.  It went, to Éowyn’s surprise, leaving her without trepidation, without anxiety altogether. 

She didn’t have any time to appreciate her freedom, as his fingers found her again and he pushed one, then another inside.  Éowyn flinched but gritted her teeth as he moved them as far within her as he could, turning and moving, like he was feeling her.  Faramir moaned softly as he did it, his eyes unseeing.  You feel so good…so warm…so…

It didn’t feel particularly good to her, mildly uncomfortable and even slightly painful but she kept silent.  Looking up at him and feeling how disconnected he was from her, Éowyn felt another moment of unease as Faramir thrust himself against her roughly and pinned her, gasping, to the side of the tub.  He jerked and shuddered, his pelvis moving in small movements into her belly as he climaxed.  His dark head dropped, wedging almost painfully up to her chin and his shoulders spread above them as he planted his hands against the bottom of the tub.  He inhaled deeply, muscles tensing all over, and thrust himself one last time in a powerful motion that scared her a little and rocked the great copper vessel; the water swept up in wave over the side to patter on the rushes and herbs.  Éowyn looked at his straining arms, his back, wide-eyed with astonishment; he was so strong!  And then, with a rushing exhalation, Faramir lay on her limp and heavy, his face mashed to her neck, hairy cheek scratching her tender skin. 

An unidentifiable yet terribly acute emotion filled her heart; Éowyn put her hand to the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades, holding him as she nuzzled her chin to his temple.  Their breathing slowed together, his chest no longer expanding to press hers, and she felt herself grow quiet.  The water gradually stilled.

At length, he sighed and rose to his knees, looking at her.  Éowyn smiled shyly, feeling his contentment and her own.  Faramir smiled back, his expression kind and gentle, odd after he’d become so rough.  He leaned down, bending his elbows to kiss her tenderly, perfectly, and said in a low, regretful voice, “The water’s cold.”

“I know.”  Talking felt strange and she felt strange.  Though quite fulfilled.  She stifled the impulse to laugh nervously and shifted from under him, climbing quickly out of the tub to fetch herself a cloth.  Conscious now of her duties and taking some refuge in them, Éowyn tossed the other at him, “Here.”  She turned away as he rose and stepped out of the tub, listening to him dry himself.  He will want his shave and the evening meal would be soon…she glanced at the wine they’d not touched.  She would bring it to her rooms.  Éowyn looked about the room; as soon as she left, she would have the women clean it and she would fetch the man to shave him.

She rubbed herself with the cloth, turning this way to dry her hip and, at a twinge, lifted one hand to touch her neck where he’d bitten her.  Faramir looked concerned, stepping to look closely at the mark.  “Did I hurt you?”  His thumb depressed her skin as he frowned.  “You should have spoken…”

“No.”  Éowyn cursed the shyness that made her stumble a reply.  “It felt…good.”  She took a step back, feeling overwhelmed by his presence, their intimacy, and just looked at him.  Faramir was very magnificent.  His skin was warm and soft from the water, pads of his fingers adorably wrinkled.  The dark hair on his chest and groin was curled and gleaming to attest to his cleanliness.  She smiled, reaching to caress the swells of muscle in his arms, tracing her fingers down to his callused hands and wishing she could see him in action, to watch him pull back that great bow that hung on his wall or throw a spear.  Éowyn had no doubt he would look very splendid and kingly doing so.  Ah, if I could convince my brother to step aside…  She laughed aloud.

“What?”  He smiled and looked down at her, wet hair hanging in long, tangled raven-colored strands, shorter locks dripping into his grey eyes.  His lips were full, swollen from the kisses they’d shared, but his eyes expressed everything she could hope to see. 

Éowyn looked up, seeing his noble heart, his mild soul in their grey depths.  Ic eom eadig…  She smiled widely, full of joy, “I hope they have your eyes.”

He cocked his head, puzzled, a trickle of water traveling down his face.  “Who?”

Éowyn bit her lip, caught in a moment of fancy; she’d not meant to speak aloud.  “Our…” She summoned her will to say what she’d thought and, indeed, desired, “Our children.”

Faramir’s face softened and he fairly glowed with delight as he questioned in a low, almost incredulous voice, “You do?”

“They’re beautiful.”

He smiled, saying with charming disbelief, “I’ve never heard the color grey called beautiful.”

Éowyn gathered enough courage and strength of will to voice easily, “Well, it is and I hope it will be so.”  She leaned up to kiss him and whisper playfully.  “I learned something.”

He asked just as playfully, “What?”

She struggled to pronounce it right.  Arwen had coached her multiple times, but the words were still new to her tongue and difficult to say as smoothly as they should be said.  “Estelion allen…” The next was longer and Éowyn concentrated even as his face lit up, “Meleth e-guilen.”

Faramir hugged her tightly and murmured, “Vanimelda”, which she knew, from hearing Aragorn voicing it to Arwen, meant something good; that it was some affectionate name from a man to the woman he loved. 

Éowyn hugged him back, enjoying the feel of his harder, larger body before stepping back to finish drying herself.  She still had much to do before he would be as contented as she would see him.  I love you enough to do woman’s work…  He laughed at her and rubbed himself with the cloth.

I appreciate it…Faramir crooked his fingers into his furry chin, making exaggerated faces.  You have no idea.

Éowyn laughed again as she dried the ends of her hair, then, looking at the color, she burst into a great gale of laughter, releasing her slight tension at all they’d shared.  I didn’t even wash this.

No?  He looked at her, then the tub, appalled.  You didn’t.  Faramir grinned, his internal voice hopeful, tomorrow?

If you can manage to get filthy enough, I suppose I could endure putting together this shameful indulgence…

He reached to cup one bare breast; flushing, Éowyn knocked his hand away as he chuckled.  I believe I can manage every day with that agreement.

***

Body dried, Faramir held his cloth and inhaled; it smelled of roses.  He smiled and looked at her.  But Éowyn hadn’t said anything in a while and he felt the first stirrings of fear.  Surely she wouldn’t pull away from him now…as she did twice before.  Faramir tried not to panic, delicately feeling her mind.  He sensed nothing but preoccupation and a vague shyness, which barely relieved him.

He looked down her body and frowned.  There was a dark, irregular line of bruises on her left leg, from knee to ankle.  Concerned and disbelieving that he was just noticing the marks, he asked, “What happened to you there, on your leg?”

“Byrga, my brother’s old horse, took me into a tree…he had to, to avoid the…” She looked loathe to reveal it, but he just gazed at her expectantly until, wincing, Éowyn finished.  “Boar.”

“Boar?  What boar?”  His voice rose.

 “I went hunting today in the hills.”  There was in her stance and words a warning that if he fussed, she would rage at him.  Faramir was horrified but held his tongue. 

“Oh?”

Éowyn answered firmly, if a little confused.  He knew from her mind that she’d expected him to reprimand her.  Éomer did…  “Yes.”

Instead, Faramir asked, “Does it hurt?”  Leaning down, he ran his finger close to the discoloration.

“Not really.  Not anymore.”

He put all his relief that she’d not been further injured into his reply.  “Good.” 

Éowyn looked at him and he felt her soften and accept that he wasn’t going to rebuke her.  She spoke with pride; “We brought home three without losing too many dogs.”

“You did?”  He was impressed and yet still aghast.  What is too many dogs?  Faramir had hunted in great parties with his brother plenty of times but rarely such dangerous game as boar…or bear.  He eyed her, wondering if the kills would mean new pelts draped over his floors and finding the idea slightly abhorrent. 

She smiled and dropped her cloth entirely, reaching for the clean, soft-looking shift that lay on the table.  Faramir forgot his thoughts and admired her body until she covered it with the thin white garment.  She slipped clean stockings over her feet and reached for her simple overdress.  It was another cream one, which she covered with a warm, deep blue tunic, its slides slit to show the cream dress, which made him lament the memory of her golden hair spread against his mother’s star-studded mantle.

Éowyn clasped the silver, flower-shaped buckle on a slender, dark blue cord that hung low around her waist, cinching the gown.  Looking more closely, he noted these were rich garments, better than most he’d seen her wear.  Faramir also noted the cord held a ring of keys as she glanced at him, still bashful in a curious way, “Are you going to get dressed?”

“Yes.”  He watched her a moment more as she ran her fingers through her darkened mane and slipped her thin-soled shoes on.  Éowyn was ready and as she passed him, she plucked up the untouched wine.

“I’ll meet you in my rooms?”

He felt a pang of suspicious fear.  She wasn’t retreating from him, was she?  Please no…  Faramir was aware he spoke a little too intensely, but was helpless to stop himself.  Twisting his cloth between his fists, he asked, “Where are you going?”

She tucked her hair back.  Éowyn’s eyes didn’t quite meet his, but she was gathering together her clothing and, more gingerly his dirty clothing, so he couldn’t be sure.  “I told you.  To fetch someone to shave you and to see when the evening meal will be ready.”

“Oh.”  He hesitated, “All right.”  Faramir watched her leave him and tried not to give way to his dread.  She is just taking care of me again, I should be grateful and happy…not…afraid.  Surely he was overreacting.  Faramir clad himself in the simple trousers and shirt, trying not to brood.  She’d left his boots, so he stuffed them on his bare feet.  He walked to her rooms, head down, frowning to himself.  Éowyn had seemed all right, but prior experience made him wary.  It would hurt more than ever if she pulled from him now.  He remembered the words of her sweet song; she could express herself that way, at least.  And she is learning how to speak to me…why was his chest so tight with tension, then?  Every time…every time they’d shared an intimate moment she’d pulled away after.  He felt his stomach churn.  Please, no… 

Faramir was so deep in thought he nearly walked into the Rohirric man who stood quietly beside Éowyn’s door.  The man’s hands were full of shaving implements while a boy held a basin of gently steaming water.  He was asked patiently, “Min Hlaford?”

“Gea.”  He led them to the room were the flowers were and sat, allowing the man to do his trade.  The smell was delightful, sweet fragrance of roses in the slowly cooling dusk.  Faramir stared out over the foothills of the mountains and once more thought himself favored by some great fortune.  What other woman would seek to please me so?  To assuage every unspoken need?  He tried to remember the women of his City but few faces came to his inward eye.  He’d never been interested in them, quickly bored and repulsed by their endless gossip or simplicity of mind.  They’d all been eager to wed him, their fathers eager to draw up contracts, offering no challenge, guaranteeing no depth of feeling.   

Yet that fortune is cruel; I am favored, but I must endure a parting with each gain…  He felt his heart hurt in silent anticipation and he thought to her.  I love you, don’t pull away… 

Of course there was no reply.

***

After sending a girl after the man she’d found to shave Faramir, Éowyn took his filthy, stinking clothes to the women who kept the laundry and deposited them.  Glad to hand over the garments, she rubbed her hands briskly, not noticing how the women quieted when she walked into the room.  How did he get so soiled?  She was unsure if he would want the simple garments but did not take her chances.  “Have these taken to Faramir’s rooms.”

One of the women smiled.  “Yes, my Lady.”

Carrying the wine in the crook of her arm, and stopping one of the lads that turned the spit in the kitchens as he ran by, she learned the evening meal would be soon, but not terribly so.  Pleased to have more time alone with her love, Éowyn walked quickly to do the last duty before she could return to him—replacing the keys to the room where she and Faramir had bathed within the King’s chambers.  Opening the heavy door, she stopped and stood there, quiet. 

This room was behind the throne in the Hall.  It was dusty in places, she knew her brother kept few hours here but that was to be expected.  There was no council of war, no arguments over where to send armed men or how much food to hoard in case of siege atop the exposed hill of Edoras.  It should be dusty, that was a sign of peace.  But I remember…  Éowyn remembered running into the chambers as a girl, often barefoot and dirty, greeting her Uncle with a happy shout.  She’d been allowed to stay at the meetings, to sit by Théodred and listen.  She’d even been allowed and encouraged to voice an opinion or add to the discussion as her brother and cousin grew to participate in them.  Théoden had always taken her seriously, though her additions had rarely been more than to remind them of the state of Edoras and to include it within their deliberations.  She’d desired to ride out and do more, but as the days grew dark they’d forbade it entirely.

Oh, envy…  It was not until Gríma that she’d known what true envy was, to stare out of the great doors and wish with all her might that she, too, could mount a horse and gallop away to pure and honorable service.  Touching the long table and banishing all thoughts of that foul creature, she looked at the grey dust lingering on her fingers.  Oh, I miss you, Uncle…my father in spirit…and my cousin, Théodred, my brother in all but blood…  She missed them indeed; the strong and honorable men who’d cared for her like she was born in their house.  With a deep breath, she left her memories behind and walked to her rooms.  Faramir was waiting and she didn’t wish to be melancholy.

There was no sound, just quiet with faint birdsong through the open shutters.  The wooden tub had been taken away, the bearskin rolled out and spread in its proper place; the sunlight was fading and the fire in her hearth was dead, leaving her quarters dim.  It looked cheerless and oddly morose, making her frown and call, “Faramir?”

“Here.”  He was in the back, with the flowers still, and alone.

“You’re finished.”  Éowyn was surprised when he turned his dark head. 

“Yes.”  She approached to stroke his shaven cheek, finding the look of him to be just as odd as when he’d had the beard.  The bruises her brother had placed there were fully revealed, making her sad and a little annoyed but Éowyn brushed her feelings aside.  It was too late to act on them, anyhow.  Careful not to touch the bruises, she caressed his jaw and ran her thumb along his cheekbones, testing the skill of the man she’d sent—he’d been good, Faramir was quite smooth.

He didn’t speak, just looked up at her very soberly.  Teasing to hide her unease in his silence, she said, “My lad again.”  Faramir smiled, but he seemed off.  There was a watchfulness she didn’t understand in his eyes.  He felt braced for some hurtful outcome.  Had she displeased him in some way?  Éowyn searched her mind anxiously but could think of nothing.  “Oh!”

He asked in a slow voice, “What is it?”

Éowyn went into the other room and grabbed up the bag he’d left her.  She deposited it in his lap and stood smiling.  “I didn’t look.”

Faramir smiled faintly, “You were curious?”

What was wrong with him?  Tension coiled in her belly like a snake, making her stomach turn and her playful tone sour.  “Arwen tried to tempt me with hints.”

“Did she?”  He laid his hand over the bag, fingers fiddling with the knots.

In the afterglow of their happiness, Éowyn couldn’t stand this any longer; she blurted, “What’s wrong?  What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.”  He looked guilty and confused.  It’s not your fault, really…

She didn’t understand.  Anxious, she said, “You’re not happy…”

“I’m happy…I’m very happy…it’s just…” Faramir looked away; his fair face was deeply saddened.

This was odd; their positions were reversed for once and he wouldn’t talk.  Éowyn took his warm, pliant hand, leaning against the chair.  “What?”  What is so wrong?

“I just don’t want to be surprised when…you…” He looked at her dispiritedly and admitted in a very low voice.  “It hurts too much when you pull away.  I want to be ready for it.”  Éowyn was aghast.  She felt her eyes fill with tears. 

“I’m sorry.”

He replied dully.  “I know.”

“But, I’m not…” She wasn’t pulling away, she was fine…

Faramir’s keen eyes were on hers.  “Will you, though?” 

Bewildered, her chest tight, Éowyn said, “I don’t know.”  She didn’t feel afraid and, until she’d seen his dreading mood, she had felt very glad, blissful even.  The intimacy they’d shared hadn’t frightened her but a little and that was only when he’d been so rough.  She’d initiated it, had wanted his touch and been thoroughly pleased by it.  You didn’t hurt me or do anything I didn’t ask; I loved what you did…why would I pull away?

Faramir’s face was resigned.  You did last time…he gestured into her bedroom.  And the time before that…he glanced up.  By the river.  You said you liked what I did then, too.

Éowyn felt herself flush with deep shame.  “I’m sorry.”  He didn’t tell her it was all right, because it wasn’t.  She was so full of humiliation she wanted no more than to sink to her knees on the stone floor and weep into her hands.  What could she say to ease his mind?  Éowyn knew of nothing but to entreat, “I’m sorry I did that.  I won’t this time.”  Faramir didn’t reply and she insisted, feeling her heart twist with misery and, sounding like a pleading child even to herself, Éowyn whispered.  “I won’t.”  Her throat was tight; fighting the hot swell of a sob that burned in her middle.  Won’t you trust me? 

For a horrible moment she thought he would say no, but Faramir sighed and laid his bag on the floor.  He looked up at her, eyes sad, and opened his arms.  “Come here, don’t weep, please.”

Éowyn curled into his lap and she did sob once with guilt, holding onto him tightly.  “I’m sorry…”

“Shh…it just hurts…” He spoke into her ear, “It just hurts, is all…I wish it didn’t…I wish so much you didn’t feel you needed to pull away…”

Sitting up to meet his eyes, she said, sniffling away her tears, “I’m not.”

“Truly?”  He didn’t look very hopeful.

“Yes.”  Éowyn tucked her head back under his chin.  Faramir was quiet, one hand rubbing her back soothingly.  To think that she’d conditioned him to fear her actions even before she did them and, even worse, shut himself down to protect himself from the pain she caused him was horrible.  She cried a little, wetting his collar before murmuring, “Swutelod me eower sêfte folm.”

He took a deep breath before asking in a very hesitant manner, “I don’t have to fear?”

Voice shaking with misery, Éowyn vowed.  “No.  Never again.”

Faramir held her crushingly close, pressing his face to her hair.  “Good, good, oh, good.”  They stayed that way for a long time, before he asked gently, nakedly, “You liked it?”

It was odd to hear him so vulnerable; she was used to Faramir being her shield.  “Yes, very much.”

He answered softly in that odd shyness.  “I thought I’d died.”

Éowyn did not respond, too overcome by her own shyness.  After a moment, his hands came back from around her, “Come into there with me where I can look at you while we speak?”  Éowyn nodded and slid off his lap to walk tensely into her bedroom.  She sat on the bed and folded her knees to her chin, watching him sit beside her, putting his little bag nearby.  Faramir turned to her and didn’t speak at first, just looked at her searchingly before he lifted his hands and used his fingers to smooth the wetness from her damp cheeks.  “Don’t weep.”

“I can’t help it…you feel so bad.”  Éowyn glanced at him, “I don’t want to…to make you feel like this.  I’m sorry.”

He looked at the floor and said in a listless voice.  “I know.”

He still did not want to relax, didn’t want to trust.  The knowledge made her assert, in a desperate attempt to make him see, “This is different!”

Faramir’s query was almost hopeless.  “How?”

She turned to face him, to cup his shaven face in her hands, the power of her concern allowing her to voice what she wished to say, “I’m not going to pull away from you.  I…I’m not afraid, I’m all right…you’ve made me all right.  You don’t have to worry.”   

Taking her hands, he held them in his lap, their fingers interlacing.  “You’re sure?”

Éowyn smiled even as her throat constricted.  “Yes.”  She bit her lip, feel?  Faramir gazed at her very seriously and she sensed his mind touch hers, a gentle, caressing touch that made her feel he was very close. 

Yes…  He sounded wondering and still unsure.

Although it embarrassed her, she let him see the memory of her pleasure, her enjoyment, and her admiration of his body; her joy at their reunion and her love, in whole, uninhibited by anything but the shyness born of how unaccustomed she was to their intimacy.  Éowyn smiled at him, hoping with all her heart that he would let go and relax his guard.  It’s all right, see?  I won’t pull away.  I can’t.  I’ve gone too far and made you the thing that makes me complete and happy.
        Slowly, a smile spread on his face and he pulled her close to press to his front.  She felt him relax on the inside, open his soul to her.  His arms wrapping around her waist, fingers interlocking to hold her to him, Faramir leaned his chin on the top of her head.  Éowyn shifted so that her ear was over his heart, listening to its strong, comforting beat. 

After a while, she lifted her head to kiss his mouth, which responded, making her smile hopefully as she touched his smooth cheek.  “This is much nicer.”

Faramir smiled back, gentle and small.  “Is it?”

Éowyn spoke in an encouraging tone.  “You were all scratchy before, like kissing a burr.”  He laughed and she relaxed.  Everything was all right again.

Faramir asked softly, his breath warm against her temple.  “You liked that, truly?”

She shivered a little with the memory of her pleasures, “Oh, yes.”

There was a pause before he inquired, with the smile evident in his voice, “Tell me what I did?”  When she laughed, he chuckled, “Because I’m not entirely sure.”  Éowyn laughed again, great, heart-lifting and relieved laughter, and he wiggled his fingers into her sides, “I remember something like this…” It tickled and she squirmed onto the bed, kicking her feet to lift her skirts.  Faramir turned, too, swinging his long legs onto the blankets to stretch them out, one ankle over the other, and she ended up on her belly, skirts askew with her arms folded over his waist.  He leaned far down to cup her chin, lips meeting hers gently then parting to give her a soft, passionate kiss. 

Éowyn felt her heart melt and she smiled at him and kissed his palm warmly before reaching to grab up a long, snarled and wiry lock of his dark hair to curl around her finger.  “Look at you!”

Faramir gazed down at her and his face, if not merry, was at least tranquil again.  “What?”

“You’re all tangled.”  Éowyn glanced at her brush sitting on her dresser, which also held the clothes she’d fetched.  They were some of Théodred’s, rich clothing he’d never worn but once, and suitable for her prince.  She felt her mood try to darken and pushed it away.  Her beloved cousin would have been happy to learn his clothing went to attire her dear love for a day rather than lying useless in a wooden chest.

 Sitting up and working past her infuriating skirts to the edge of the bed, Éowyn fetched the brush and carried it back to him.  Faramir looked at her as she flapped a hand, “Move over.”  Scooting behind him to rest her back on a pillow, she guided his shoulders with a touch to sit him between her outstretched legs.  His back felt solid and very firm with muscle as she squeezed it with her thighs, almost like a horse, just differently shaped.  Faramir’s hands slid aside her skirts to rest warmly about her ankles. 

“Don’t yank.”  He turned his head and she pushed him back, fingers to his jaw.

Scolding lightly, Éowyn parted his hair into sections.  “I’ll be gentle.”  It was horribly tangled, if clean.  “You didn’t brush this once did you?”

“No.  I don’t have one with me.”  He angled his head, listening to her; she straightened him out again. 

Éowyn teased, “And I thought you were so courtly, such a well-groomed, well-spoken man,” She clucked her tongue, grimacing behind his back as she began to brush the very ends of his long, raven-colored hair, holding the locks up so she didn’t accidentally pull on him.  “And you’re no better than the men of my land…all filthy, boorish creatures.” 

Faramir laughed and his hand reached back to catch her wrist; he turned to look at her, eyes serious.  “You don’t have to…you’ve done everything so far,” He smiled, “And I am capable of some things.” 

“I’ve already started.”  Straightening him yet again, Éowyn brushed the snarls out gently, teasing, “And I don’t trust you to do it rightly.”  With her palm, she smoothed the little section she’d managed to untangle.  “You brushed mine, remember?”

“Before…” He sounded mournful enough to make her snort.  It was just hair. 

Éowyn went to her task willfully, soon able to run her fingers unimpeded through half his mane.  The part she’d tamed was thick, soft and full, gleaming with health.  She smiled to herself, thinking of how one could tell a stallion’s virility from the way his coat shined. 

Hmm…she ran her fingers through Faramir’s sable locks; they shone brilliantly in the fading light of the sunset.  His hair was very straight and though she wrapped it around and around her finger, wouldn’t hold a curl.  There wasn’t a single grey strand, which made her sober.  Faramir was young for his folk, and perhaps even, for all that he’d walked the earth longer, he might be thought younger than she was.  But such thinking was foolish; Éowyn put it out of her mind and concentrated on ordering the rest of his hair. 

Gradually, she became conscious of Faramir’s hands.  He slipped off her shoes and laid them aside, stroking her feet through her stockings before removing them too.  Éowyn didn’t speak, curiously allowing him to do as he wished.  Faramir reached to grasp his bag and drag it to his side, fishing out things.  She couldn’t see past his shoulders, of course, but she could hear the rare sound of a scratch of pen to paper and feel the muscles in his arms moving.  He was drawing her feet, like he’d said he’d wanted to.  Éowyn thought it was silly, but kept brushing out the snarls in his hair; if that was what he wished to do, she had no objections.  Suddenly, she asked,

“Will you show me what else is in there?”

He answered absentmindedly, “When you’ve decided you’re finished.”

Finally, her brush’s stiff horsehair bristles moved smoothly through his dark mane and she could set it aside.  Éowyn leaned forward onto his back, resting her chin on his shoulder to peek over it.  He was drawing her bare foot as it lay on the bed, her leg stretched around him and angled very slightly inward, toes pointing out.  Faramir’s hand moved swiftly, the slender, brown reed pen scritching as he made the tiny lines that characterized her foot.  She glanced at the bag and wondered what else he had in there; he’d used a sort of charcoal or black chalk pencil to draw her nude.  Comfortably resting against his warm back and enjoying their simple, physical closeness, she watched for a while, awed by his skill.  His hand moved fast, effortlessly and as though it had a mind of its own.  Faramir had drawn the shape of her foot perfectly and was carefully shading and adding details, one bit at a time—wee wrinkles in her skin, the faint lines of the relaxed joints in her toes, translucent toe nails and the shadowed underside of her heel.  You’re so good… 

Thank you.  Even his mental voice was absentminded with concentration.  Faramir added shadows below her arch before he tipped his chin to look at her and ask softly, “Finished?”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, “Am I acceptable now?”

        Éowyn nodded against his shoulder.  “Mmm-hmm.”  She pointed one finger at her dresser. “Once I get you into those clothes.  They’re much better.”

        Faramir chuckled and turned his upper body just enough to kiss her, his hand propped across his waist.  “I can’t go like this?”

        She curled her body against his, wrapping her arms around his front and murmuring, “They’ll think you don’t have a woman to care for you properly.”

        His smile widened and he looked amused.  “They would be wrong.”  Faramir kissed her again, “Very wrong.”  His eyes turned kind and his voice was quiet, his plain statement filled with an appreciativeness that made her heart warm, “I can’t remember a time that I have had better care.”  He gestured to the paper, adding with a more casual smile.  “I’d like to finish the other…”

        Éowyn smiled.  You just want me naked.

        That, too.

        Can I see now?

        Yes.  He scooted forward, lying his drawing aside for the moment.  “What did Arwen say?”

        “She said it was something I would never guess.”

Faramir grinned.  Éowyn smiled in return, “And that she wanted to play with it.”

        He laughed and said firmly, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”  She obeyed, biting her lip with a smile.  There was a rustle as he withdrew something from his bag and she giggled with anticipation.  Something light and cool, hard to her palms, was placed in them and Éowyn’s eyes flew open.  It was an oddly shaped object, narrowing at one end to nearly a point with the other end widening to encompass a rounded opening.  Dark brown, tan and chestnut striations ran around it in regular bands with rounded triangular bumps; the color beneath them was a pale cream.  The great curved, nearly round, opening was all but the size of her palm, the interior a bright shade of pink she’d never seen before except in tiny flowers or the throats of baby birds.  Éowyn slid her fingers over the slick surface wonderingly.  The closest her mind could come to the feel of it was a comparison to a snail shell’s cool, polished exterior. 

        “What is it?”

        “A sea shell.”  Faramir was obviously delighted at her reaction. “One of the great ones.  I found it in the marketplace.”

        “It’s beautiful.”

        He grinned broadly and watched her, “Put it to your ear…I’m told that’s the sound of the Sea.”

        Éowyn did so and found herself listening to a sound without description, a low, rhythmic rushing…my dream.  She was awed.  He looked at her inquiringly.  “I dreamt you were showing me the Sea, this was the sound…”

        “You did?”  Faramir was suddenly intent, sliding across the bed to sit beside her.  “What was the dream?”

        “You were behind me, leading me up a tall staircase…I could hear the Sea…” Éowyn put the shell to his ear and watched his face.  “You told me not to open my eyes.”  She hesitated, asking finally, “Will you take me soon?”

        He held the sea shell, fingers spanning it, and then looked up to smile at her.  “Whenever you wish.”  Abruptly Faramir lifted the great shell up and grinned.  “Come here.”  He scooted off the bed and vanished into the flower room.

        Éowyn followed, curious.  “What?”

“Listen, the man who sold it to me showed me how to blow it.”  Giving her a mischievous smile, he put the narrow end of the shell to his lips. 

She looked at him in amazement.  “Blow it?”  To her delight, he did and it sounded almost like the call of a low-pitched horn.  Faramir did it twice, the sound very loud, undoubtedly carrying for miles.  She laughed, enchanted by the gift, then laughed again; surely the folk below in Edoras were listening in confusion. 

Faramir handed it to her.  “Here, try.”  Éowyn put it to her lips gingerly; the end tip of the shell had been cut to a small, smooth hole.  He was watching her closely with a smile on his face, making her smile back and caress the glossy outside of the shell.  Faramir laughed almost with embarrassment.  Taking a breath and firming her lips around the small hole, she blew gingerly, making it honk.  He guffawed and came to stand behind her, one hand pressing to her belly,

“From here.  It’s more difficult than a horn.”  Éowyn tried again, this time managing a long, muted and reverberating blow before she ran out of breath.   “Good!”  Faramir’s arm squeezed her waist.

She turned to put one hand under his chin; he met her kiss warmly.  “I love it…” Éowyn stroked the shell, pleased by the gift.

“I’m glad.”  He nuzzled into her neck, whispering, “I’m so glad.”  Faramir didn’t speak of his present to her now and she knew it.  Éowyn put one hand over his; weaving together their fingers, then looked up to his handsome, gentle face,

“I am too.”

He smiled just as her brother called her name anxiously from the other room.  “Éowyn?  What is that noise?”  She burst into guilty, delighted laughter, as did Faramir.  Giggling, Éowyn pushed his chest, slipping by him while ordering. 

“Get dressed.”

He smiled playfully.  Yes, my dearest.  She snorted at him and went to pacify her brother.

***

Éomer stood just inside her quarters, shifting his feet nervously.  He’d heard her voice speaking to someone, he guessed Faramir, and it made him uncomfortable not knowing if he was intruding or not, and even more so in not knowing how he felt if he was intruding on something.  At any rate, Éowyn had come from her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and he caught only the briefest look at Faramir moving in the other room before what she carried in her hand took all his attention.  “What is that?”

She was smiling and her expression was that of a very happy, contented woman.  “A sea shell.”  Éowyn handed it to him, and Éomer cradled the strange, light thing in his hands wonderingly. It reminded him at once of a horn and a snail’s shell.  His sister moved past him to poke futilely at the mass of ashes in her hearth.  “Put it to your ear.”

He did, not expecting anything, and was surprised.  The sound was strange; a rushing, yet muted booming that seemed to come in rhythms.  Eyeing the empty, gleaming shell, Éomer was unsure if it was real or his imagination.  “What is it?”

She was lighting a candle, giving some illumination to the slowly darkening room.  Éowyn halted briefly to beam at him, the bliss in her eyes and voice shining out much brighter than the tiny flame.  “The Sea.  Faramir brought it for me.” 

The way she said the Steward’s name gave him pause; it was different than before, with more radiance and love within her voice.  For a moment, Éomer forgot the shell and just looked at his sister as she went from one candle to another—she was light of step and seemed more than glad, positively joyful.  He felt a great surge of emotions fill his heart; an aching sorrow for his pending loneliness that tore at him and a great, warm happiness for her obvious high spirits.  With a feeling of wonder, he realized, this is how my sister should have felt…all those long, dark years when she grew hard and cold and pale…  His chest swelling with equal parts pain and happiness, Éomer looked back down at the shell before she could meet his eyes and see the conflict within.  Ashamed, he was well aware there should be none.  I am a horrible brother to have objected so…  Éomer glanced at the closed bedroom door; behind it was his redeemer and a man worth rewarding twice over with every piece of gold within his coffers.  “Is…” He swallowed past the remorseful lump in his throat.  “Is it?”

She’d lit the candles in their holders and was working on clearing the ashes from within the hearth, putting new hunks of wood within it and using bits of kindling to light a blaze.  Éowyn turned, kneeling on her bearskin to give him a smile.  “I hope to find out.”  She smiled eagerly.  “Very soon.”

Éomer blurted, his vocal cords tightening so much that his words came out as croaks, “Very soon?”

Éowyn slumped a little, some of her lightheartedness vanishing, to his dismay, as she reassured him, “Well, not that soon…”

He tried to put on a brave front, to act as though the thought weren’t almost unbearably hurtful. “But soon.” 

“Yes.”  She looked at the struggling flame, hands on her thighs and said no more.  They were quiet as Faramir finally stepped from her bedroom. 

His expression held just a trace of caution as he greeted cheerfully, “Éomer.”

Éomer looked at him and his heart twisted painfully yet again.  She’d dressed him in Théodred’s clothes.  They fit well enough; the shirt was slightly too big at the shoulder and in girth, while the sleeves and legs of the trousers did not extend as far as they might.  They were of good material, colored in the dark green of their country with a pattern of bright gold stitching about the collar and the ends of the sleeves.  He tried not to betray his discomfort, inclining his head and saying pleasantly, “Faramir.”  Éomer noted the man’s shaven face, his combed hair and managed to coax up a bit of humor along with a smile.  “You look much better now.”

Faramir laughed, his stance relaxing minutely.  Though his sister was not looking up and putting another bit of wood on the fire, he could tell Éowyn had relaxed as well.  Éomer wondered if they’d been waiting on him to comment and that made him feel downcast.  He fiddled with the slick shell as the Steward replied, “You can thank Éowyn.”  And though his voice, too, turned warm and loving on her name, Éomer got the sense that Faramir was being careful, holding back to make sure he would not be upset by too much of a show of affection. 

Anxious at the situation and wishing he knew of a solution so that they three could interact naturally, instantly, he held the shell up, directing his question to them both, “How did you make the sound?”

“It’s like a horn.”  His sister finally rose, the small fire in her hearth burning merrily.  “Just blow it.”  Éomer did so and was surprised at the volume of the sound that came from it.  It was akin to one of the great war-horns but slightly deeper in tone. 

Faramir perked up, “The man I bought it from said men out at sea use it to call across the waters and signal things of importance.  They even order battles on the Sea with them.”

Éomer was fascinated and he looked at the shell, wondering aloud.  “How?”

The Steward replied as though he, too, were fascinated.  “He said code, that there was some way to make it sound differently.”  Silent, Éowyn eyed them with watchful optimism.  Éomer understood; the last time they’d spoken before her had hardly held this much easy civility.  He smiled at her reassuringly and handed the shell back as Faramir added,

“I hope to hear it when I go to the Sea.”  His sister’s eyes were immediately on him and again he felt his throat tighten, but Éomer swallowed past the great lump and changed the subject with as much lightheartedness as he could muster.  Faramir glanced at them both and his face grew uncertain.

 He turned to his sister, a false smile nonetheless firmly in place, “I came to find you to see if you were even going to eat of those great boars you killed.”

Éowyn smiled.  “They are great, aren’t they?”

“How great?”  Was it Éomer’s imagination or was there an edge to the man’s question?  He felt at once protective of his sister and sympathetic to the feeling.  A laugh filled him; this is but the beginning, Steward…

Éowyn answered with the tiniest bit of ire, which fortunately turned to teasing amusement as she waved a hand in his direction.  “About my brother’s weight…except that they are twice as beastly,” Her eyes twinkled, “And he’s only half as ugly.”

In return he said drolly, “Thank you for that.”  Éowyn laughed.  Faramir smiled as though he wasn’t sure if laughing was wise.  For a moment none spoke; he shifted his feet, “Do you want me to go on…?”  He added more hesitantly, offering what he could in good will, “The meal is ready…we are waiting…but…”

She shook her head and gave Faramir a discerning once over that made Éomer smile despite himself and the Steward look slightly peevish.  “No, we’re ready.”  To his pleasure, she took his arm; Éomer noted with some discomfort that Éowyn took Faramir’s hand in her other.  As though she thought nothing of it, she walked between them and he could see that the Steward looked slightly uneasy before his expression smoothed.  Éomer wondered if she’d wanted to take the Steward’s hand, but not make him feel alone…he wondered if he was thinking too much.  They’d use to walk like this when Théodred had made up the third, his sister in the middle, only without the contact.  My brother, my cousin were that you here to help me let go…

Luckily, Éowyn broke their flustered silence by tilting her head to speak to him, her voice very cheerful.  “I taught your horse to lead.”

Faramir listened on the other side of her, his eyes alert.  Éomer tried not to pay attention to him.  “Did you?”

“Yes, he’s very smart.”  A frown touched her face, “I forgot his name…”

“Blâcfÿren.” 

Faramir asked immediately,  “What does that mean?”

“Shining-fire.”  The Steward nodded to himself and Éomer smiled, asking a question he found to be easy, as it involved neither his sister nor her looming departure, “Have they named you, yet?” 

“What?”  Éowyn looked between them, curious, her face full of an odd hope.  After a moment he decided it was because he and her paramour were conversing in a civil fashion.  Éomer allowed the man to answer.

“Gaer thinks my name is bad luck, that I need one in your tongue.”

Éowyn shook her head, “I think it’s a pretty name.”  Éomer snorted and at the other end, Faramir laughed.  His sister frowned in mild irritation and huffed, “Oh, what?”

The Steward smiled, “Pretty?  He told me it meant death, destruction…”

Éomer sobered while, to his surprise, his sister argued immediately and vehemently. Éowyn rolled her eyes, stating in a firm tone.  “No, it does not.”

Faramir looked baffled.  “Then what…?”

Éomer frowned and shook his head.  Nonsense.  He interrupted them both to insist, “It does.”

“Not if you say it…”

Éomer interrupted her again, stressing, “Fa means outlaw, criminal, a foe.”  The Steward looked between them, his face showing how very engrossed he was as they walked slowly to the Hall.

His sister countered hotly, “Farameans one who is a traveler.”  Éowyn scoffed, “What is bad luck in that?”  She added, “If you want to say it differently, Fera means to be a companion,” Her gaze met his earnestly as she emphasized, “A friend.  To use it other ways it is to travel, too or to conduct oneself properly or suffer unjustly.  It is a word for spirit, one’s soul.”

Scoffing in turn at her lighter interpretations, he added firmly, “Fær is danger, warning, a terrible thing.  The very word for fear!”

His sister’s eyes flashed, “Fær is also a journey, or even the word for the notion of life, of being.  Færa is the word for raven.”  Faramir stared at her.

Éomer snapped back, “It is the word that means to frighten, too.”  Darkly, he added, “Ravens feed on corpses left in the fields of battle, sister.”

Unconcerned, Éowyn argued further, “Mearh means horse, steed.  Mære means splendid, a declaration of greatness or shimmering and pure and light.”  She glared at him in exasperation, “It is even used as a word for the Sea in some of the old songs!”

He countered dismally, “Yes and mære is again the word for nightmare, a terrible thing or person.” 

Her voice was quick to retort, even proud, and she spoke as though some new meaning had come to her.  “And Fara is also the word to describe one who suffers loss and overcomes it or does not bow to it.”

 He could hear the swell of conversation in the Hall growing as they rounded the last corner before entering the great chamber.  Éomer argued in rising displeasure, “Ridiculous.  A name is not a riddle and you would have it so, Faramir as Faramære.  They make no sense as Sea-great-traveler because we have no such name and no one would understand it.  And the others make less sense.  Feramearh?  Steed-soul?  Færmære?”  The word mære had no perfect translation, being a cross for pure, light and the great Sea was merely a metaphor to help clarify something that could not be fully turned to the Common Tongue.  Éomer continued with the best that he could translate, “Unsullied-life?  Those aren’t names, they are just words strung together.”  Firmly, he said, “The only way that makes sense is nightmare-warning.”

Faramir looked startled at his indignant outburst, then very thoughtful.  Éomer’s mind put them all together.  Warning traveling on horse of sea’s nightmare…  He glanced sideways; if one judged by both views the meanings almost did become a riddle of sorts…foolishness.  Éomer put it from his thoughts.

The Steward finally spoke up, “That is how you see it?”

He was suddenly aware of how it might seem, his arguing so hotly, and Éomer hesitated, not wishing to incur Faramir’s wrath.  I’m not sure how I see it…  He phrased his reply carefully; “I see it as the only translation that would make sense to our folk.”  Which is why Gaer said it so!  His sister was just being fanciful.  He added in an unconcerned voice, “It does not matter to me.”

To his relief, Faramir did not appear to be angered, merely reflective.

“It matters to me.”  Éowyn shook her head stubbornly before stating in a righteously angry tone.  “It is how you wish to see it and you are seeing it wrong, brother.”  She looked up at Faramir and smiled brilliantly.  Éomer stiffened a little as his sister became quiet.  He could sense some communication between them, subtle hints in the language of their eyes, the way Faramir smiled for no reason.  It was the first time they’d done it in front of him, with his full knowledge, and he found it disturbing.  His sister added in a voice softened with tender emotions he’d never heard her express, as she loosed her hand from his arm to touch Faramir’s brow, and turned back to assert, as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened.  “It is a beautiful name and well chosen.”

Éomer did not disagree, though he felt like doing so.  They were within the Hall now and Arwen rose from her chair, calling to him in a lightly scolding tone, “You are a terribly lax host, Éomer.  Imrahil and I have been waiting with naught but wine.”

Quailing a little at her bright eyes, he put everything from his mind, saying smoothly, “My apologies, Lady Arwen,” Éomer nodded at the Lord of Dol Amroth, “Lord Imrahil.”  His gaze swept the hall.  The servants were already moving at the arrival of his presence, carrying in trays piled high with the boar’s rich, steaming flesh.  It smelled delicious and he remembered how long it had been since he’d eaten boar.  Éomer glanced at his sister and added, more humorously as he seated himself in the great chair, “I had to fetch them or likely they wouldn’t have come.”

Arwen shook her fair head, gently chiding.  “Young lovers are inconsiderate creatures.”  Faramir smiled and chuckled, as did Imrahil; Éowyn gazed at her dish with a smile of a more surreptitious nature touching her lips.  Hiding his discomfort, Éomer sipped at his cool, sweet wine and felt himself momentarily craving the sharper taste of a foaming ale.  His eyes wandered about the banners in the hall, women carrying trenchers of food, mugs of ale and the benches full of loudly laughing and jesting Riders and Knights and he felt weary.  Soon the high table would be very empty.  He should make the most of what company he had.

His sister protested, her voice teasing as she glanced at her lover sitting at her side, “I was quite ready.”

Their eyes met, then Faramir admitted to the table, “It was I that caused the delay.”  He smiled and bowed his head courteously, “I apologize, Uncle, my Queen.”

“No matter.”  Imrahil looked at him and said warmly, “You look more like your Father’s son now than the scapegrace I saw walk into this Hall.”  He chuckled, “The fullness of your services are, Lady Éowyn, beyond my poor comprehension to work such a marvel and to find my nephew within the coat of filth and wild thatches of hair he bore.”

Éowyn smiled and flushed a little.  Éomer beamed at her proudly.  Faramir did as well, but his face had an odd cast to it, a shadow, before it cleared and he praised, “My dear Lady’s talents are beyond even my poor comprehension, as well.”  He gave a small bow in Éowyn’s direction and grinned broadly.

“I might request the secret of those services, once my Estel returns to me.”  Arwen laughed, “He is oft trice as filthy and disagreeable than you Faramir…though less marked with bruises.  Tell me, who or what did you such harm, my dearest Steward?”

Éomer sensed his sister grow rigid in her seat and he waited to be blamed but Faramir easily met the query.  Carelessly, he said without pause and without full truth, “A game of this land.  The rules,” He smiled ruefully, “Or lack there of, escaped me at first.”

The Queen’s eyes fell upon him and Éomer looked away, unable to meet her penetrating elven glance with a lie.  She, too, kept the illusion and went on as she took a dainty bite of the fine cuts of boar placed upon her dish, “This is delicious…well worth the effort.  Éowyn, you must teach me the art of hunting.”

His sister looked at once uncomfortable, which puzzled Éomer, and delighted, which he recognized well.  Her voice began lightly, “I would love to…I want to ride the lands around the City again…” Her eyes touched upon Faramir briefly and anxiously and her tone grew heavy.  “But it will depend on if I have…time.”  He had the impression she’d been more about to say permission and Éomer looked at Faramir, who met his gaze with puzzlement, diffusing his instinctive rise of anger.  His sister should not have to ask permission…and if she did, this man would break her spirit.  Faramir’s face was open and guileless, which reassured him again.  Eomer admonished himself…he is a good man, stop being foolish…you know this. 

Imrahil appeared interested.  “The mountains are very beautiful…” A sudden thought seemed to occur to him, “You should visit Denethor’s old estate near the Sea, Lady, if you like travel.  It is near the hills and the sea.”  He smiled slyly, “It would please me if you came…and it would give me more time to spend with my nephew.” 

“What estate?”  Faramir looked utterly perplexed.  Arwen paid them a quiet, melancholy attention that made Éomer wish to comfort her, though it was not his place.

“It is an small legacy of my family, a great, rather simple house near to the beach with a high tower to look out at the sea, stables and a beautiful garden that has probably run to weeds long ago.”  He sighed, “My sister lived there only a very short time before she went to the City.  Her flowers are probably long gone.”  The Lord of Dol Amroth paused.  Éowyn’s eyes had widened for no reason Éomer could discern and he watched her discreetly.  “It was your mother’s property and part of what she brought to Denethor…” Imrahil looked saddened, “Your father and she never visited it once beyond the first year of their marriage.  It is still well staffed with servants, per his commands, but unoccupied.  It might have done him good to visit it, but he never did no matter how many times I entreated him to come and let the Sea air clear his heart.”  Imrahil sighed again, “Perhaps if you came the house would not look so empty and cheerless.”  His eyes twinkled, “And the laughter of children would brighten it even more.” 

Éomer stiffened against his will and he tried to hide it with a quick drink of his wine.  At his left, Éowyn flushed with an uncomfortable laugh.  Faramir gazed at them both and smiled in a pensive, yet still hopeful way before asking, “What is the name of it?”

“Umbarwa Arcoa.”  He translated, "Fateful Palace." 

There was a moment’s silence and Éowyn smiled gracefully, “I would love to come as soon as I, we could.”  Again her gaze turned to the Steward and met his almost pleadingly.  Faramir frowned and turned to him, grey eyes questioning.  Éomer understood—this was the time to mention their agreed upon idea.  He nodded imperceptibly, fingers toying with his knife.  Éomer could not think of a reason why not to or why it would trouble her to speak of it before Arwen and Imrahil. 

The Steward spoke, his usual care tempered with hope, “I see no reason why we could not come whenever we wish…my duties at Council are few enough, it is the building of Ithilien that would hinder us…”

Éowyn gazed at him and asked with some anxiety, “When would you begin?  Winter will come soon…”

Arwen interjected, her voice in such lightsome dissimilarity that it brought the nervous tenseness of the Steward and his sister’s tone to the open and they fell silent.  “Are you so anxious to leave me in the City with no one but Lothiriel to enjoy myself?”  Imrahil smiled and Éomer only absently wondered whom they were speaking of, he was busy trying not to flinch or voice the protests that gathered to burn acidly in his throat at all the talk of his sister leaving.

“My daughter does like to enjoy herself, sometimes to excess.”  The Lord of Dol Amroth glanced at him.  “She is fond of horses.  I should have brought her.”

Faramir cleared his throat, trying again.  “The winters of my country are usually mild…we could build with but a short delay or two.”

Imrahil asked, “Have you picked an area, then?”

“Yes.”  The Steward went on, looking at them all in turn even though Éomer knew his words were really to his sister.  “I was hoping…that you would like to be involved with the undertaking…” Éowyn just frowned and said nothing.  Faramir added almost timidly now, “I don’t know if you would be bored or not at Court…”

His sister finally spoke, her voice very low.  “Neither Imrahil or Aragorn could think of something the Lady Steward could do.  We have no court, I would not be used to it.”

Arwen smiled at her, seeming to catch on swiftly to Faramir’s idea and, Éomer felt, approve.  “You wouldn’t like it, my friend, I have yet to see you sit idle and gossip…though I expect there is little gossip in a land with no other noble families.”  She laughed, “I found it interesting for a while but I’ve since grown tired of hearing of such and such rumor.”  Imrahil chuckled.

Finally, Faramir turned to Éowyn and only her.  “I was thinking the same…and Éomer agreed.”  He nodded at Éomer, who suddenly understood that the Steward was very nervous.  He tried to help, though he found it painful, breaking into the man’s explanation,

“I think it is a great task, worthy of you, sister.”  She smiled at him, then her lover, more in exasperation this time.

“What task, tell me plainly, please?”

“If you wish, my love,” He smiled small and endearingly, “You may head the building of our home and leave the City to travel the lands as much as you wished.”  His voice lowered, “I don’t want you to feel confined with the walls…” 

Éowyn cut him off, her question firm and quick with astonishment.  “You would leave it to me, only me?  The building of Ithilien?”

“Well, I would appreciate the chance to help you…or give an opinion.”  Faramir smiled slightly, his tone much more relieved, prompting Éomer to believe he’d sensed some clue of approval within Éowyn. 

He smiled in satisfaction.  I knew she would like it. 

Imrahil laughed heartily, “You just gave her free rein, my dear lad.  Do not expect weekly reports.”  He chuckled, “I anticipate she’ll have it done long before you’ll imagine, if the Lady Éowyn’s resolution in ordering you, and the skill in managing this city are as mighty as they has shown themselves.  Edoras is quite well run and I recognize my nephew once more.”

Éomer jested dolefully, as he could see Faramir floundering again in his sister’s extended silence, “Indeed, I shall have to set runners to the City to learn what to do with my kingdom.”  Éowyn smiled at him a trifle sadly, her grief echoing that within his soul. 

“As if I would answer you, brother.  You should have learned long ago.”

The Lord of Dol Amroth shook his head, “Nay, you need a Queen of great worth.”  His eyes twinkled again, “I did mention I had a daughter of wedding age?”

The table laughed; Éomer smiled though he felt acutely uncomfortable in this line of discussion.  He tried to hide the tenseness in his reply.  “You did.”  I do not need a wife and when I need one I will find one!  He had more to be concerned about at the moment, such as orcs in the Mark, the constant threat of fires and what to do with Faramir.

Imrahil teased, “She likes horses and she has little interest in the men of the City…perhaps she would find a home in Rohan more to her liking.”

Faramir smiled in an astonishingly devious fashion, as though he sensed Éomer’s discomfort and intended to tease him.  “It would add a new tie between our families, insuring peaceful accord for many ages.  I’ve no doubt Elessar would leap at the chance to bind you and my cousin in wedlock.”  He chuckled and added more playfully.  “Though I suppose in observing fairness you’d have to visit Dol Amroth and learn the way of the sea men.”

Éomer smiled, thinking more of his curiosity with the shell than his discomfort.  “I don’t think I would have an objection to traveling to the Sea, though I’m not good with boats on the river…” He disliked the water almost as much as he disliked heights, hating the feeling that came without solid ground beneath his feet.  Éomer found he couldn’t even imagine the Sea, which piqued his curiosity more.

Imrahil shook his head, “Ah, those little things I’ve seen your fishermen with are nothing to riding on the deck of a proper ship.  You must come,” He gestured to indicate Meduseld.  “I insist on repaying this generosity.  You can stay in my home.”

Arwen had fallen quiet again at all the talk of the Sea.  Glancing at her, Éomer answered graciously, “I would be honored.” 

For the rest of the meal his thoughts wandered and he spoke little.  I don’t know what to do…  Éomer sighed.  Tomorrow they would ride to the harvest festival, tomorrow he would be confronted with days of watching his sister and Faramir’s obviously growing love with no prospect of escape. He silently and sincerely hoped that he would do nothing foolish.  I am a man grown, it is time to act like it…

He watched them covertly, helpless not to notice the almost constant silent intercommunication; in fact, it was so obvious that Éomer wondered how he’d ever not seen it.  Éowyn and Faramir did not speak to each other but rarely, more often sharing glances and smiles and only replying aloud to the others’ queries or comments.  Once Arwen caught his eye and she nodded furtively to the pair and rolled her eyes, mouthing, “Rude.”  Éomer chuckled.  He’d been thinking somewhat of the same thing himself.  The Queen spoke up, setting her empty dish aside.  “When are we leaving?”

“To where?”  His sister managed to tear herself away from her lover for a moment; she was so carefree and happy that he ached, wishing strongly that he could stop his hurting heart.

“The harvest!  You would know if you could lift your eyes from yonder Faramir’s,” The Queen eyed the Steward, “And he from yours for a moment!  Selfish young lovers, open your ears!”  Arwen slapped the table in exasperation.  Imrahil smiled.

“You were no better, my Queen, as I seem to remember a newly crowned King ignoring his waiting people…”

Arwen narrowed her eyes at him.  “You lie, Imrahil.  I have never stood between Estel and his people.”  She giggled in a surprisingly girlish fashion, “Estel and his door, perhaps, but never his people.”  She was laughing, “Now, when are we leaving, Éomer, my friend, will you not tell me?”   

They looked to him and Éomer shrugged and fiddled with his all but empty wine, gazing down at the rich gold of the goblet to hide his prevailing discomfort at any and all mentions of his sister and Faramir.  Stop it, you are being a child…  “Tomorrow.”  He glanced at the Steward, who looked unperturbed; he remembered Aragorn’s concerns and wondered if he was weary of riding.  Éomer added, “If no one objects.”

Arwen smiled.  “It sounds wonderful.”

“I can’t wait.  It is wonderful.  I haven’t been in years!”  Éowyn looked to Faramir and smiled.  He smiled in return but did not speak aloud and Éomer was forced to actually ask him,

“Do you agree?”

The Steward gazed at him and seemed to sober.  “Yes.” 

He smiled a little, anticipating.  He hadn’t been free to visit one of the gatherings for many years, either.  “Good.”  Éomer surveyed his Hall; all but a few Riders and Knights remained at the lower tables.  Kitchen lads and serving women moved freely, the women laughing and talking as they cleared the mess, dancing aside from the occasional grasping hand of a Rider or Knight, their voices rising to reprimand while the men’s lowered to plead. 

Beneath the tables, dogs fought for scraps, snarling and barking, only to be shooed away or placated with a bit of something or other.  The fire in the great hearth was popping and burning merrily, the peasants’ stew pot still above it.  His sister’s hunt had provided meat even for the lower tables and Éomer speculated that most had gotten a taste of the boar, at least.  It is no wonder they love her, what do I do?  He glanced at the bone and meat-laden trays on the high table and for the first time noticed a tiny black nose pop up from Arwen’s lap.  Is that…?  Éomer laughed aloud.  Rusco was secreted there, lying still across her thighs.  He asked in amusement, “What are you going to do with that dog?”

The Queen pulled Rusco to her chest to cuddle him, holding him back from leaping onto the table.  The puppy opened sleep-heavy eyelids, then wiggled and whined, eyes fixed on the nearest platter of meat scraps.  “Take him with me, of course.” 

“Take him?  How?”  He watched her pluck up a bit of boar’s flesh from her plate and feed it to the wildly squirming dog.  Imrahil made a face, prompting Arwen and Éomer to laugh while Éowyn grimaced in agreement. 

The Lord of Dol Amroth shook his head.  “You’re spoiling that creature.” 

“He can ride in her saddlebags.”  Éowyn smiled, gesturing, “And stick his head out the top.”

Arwen cuddled her puppy to keep him from leaping to the tabletop.  “He won’t jump out?”

His sister shook her head, “No.”  She rose, “I think I’ll retire.”  Faramir smiled at her, and then Éowyn bent to kiss him, only once, but warmly enough and without reserve as to make Éomer avert his eyes.  They met Arwen’s and the Queen smiled at him gently, almost compassionately, making him feel ashamed.  He stared at his lap and listened to his sister say sweetly and lovingly, “Goodnight all.”

Éomer looked up because he did not wish to appear indifferent.  “Goodnight sister.”  She laid her hand on his shoulder, squeezing once and giving him a happy smile.

It was not long before Imrahil and Faramir went to their beds, or in the Steward’s case, wherever that he would prefer not to speculate on, and Éomer would have said his own farewells but Arwen’s eyes fell upon him and he bade the two men of the South a good rest and did not rise.  The Queen stroked Rusco’s brown, floppy ears, glancing down at the dog indulgently as she fed him another bit of meat.  When she lifted her head, her lips were curved in a smile.  “He is a wonderful present.”

Éomer nodded in agreement; he had the feeling that she wished something of him but he was not bold enough to ask what.  Arwen was very fair in the simple light of the candles on the table and the fire in the great hearth, making him conscious anew of her incredible beauty.  Almost immediately he was tongue-tied. 

The Queen’s smile faded and she looked at him in a very serious manner, putting one hand to her breast as she asked quietly, “Tell me, Éomer, please, what is so wrong to make your heart ache such that I can feel it so terribly?”

He tensed and for a moment his throat filled with words that burned to be released but Éomer could only voice the lie, “Nothing is wrong.”

“Come, I know you are too old for your kind to act like that.”  She put the dog on the floor to gnaw at a bone and scooted her chair closer to his.  “Speak to me, tell me your sore cares.”  Arwen smiled broadly with her gentle teasing and cuffed his shoulder in a playful gesture, “I will not have such a sad heart to escort me to a festival!  Come, speak and unburden yourself.  It pains me to see you.”

Éomer looked down the table, watching his servants.  “Nothing is wrong.”

The Queen challenged him at once.  “I call it wrong when you are unhappy.  Éowyn is happy, Faramir is happy…” He winced and she fell silent only to heave a great sigh of exasperation.  “You remind me of my father.”

The elven lord?  The sheer ludicrousness of her statement made him ask, “How?”

Arwen answered, her eyes fixed upon his as mercilessly as her words came, “Though you know better…in the face of contented love you see only your own grief.” 

He flinched, deeply ashamed.  It is the truth. He knew it as well as the elven woman who sat at his side.  Where is my gratitude?  Where is the joy in my heart?  I am selfish, indeed…  Suddenly he was close to weeping with frustration and despair. 

She took his hands quickly, “Hush, I mean not to shame you.”  Arwen squeezed his fingers when he would have withdrawn and did not release him.  “Éomer, why are you so saddened?”  Her fairness was touched with a distress that only made her more enchanting as she listed, “You have you lands, your folk, your sister is happy with her love…” She smiled, “To my eye you lack only a Queen.”  He stiffened and she frowned, “Why do you grieve?”

He couldn’t stop himself this time, snarling bitterly.  “What is there to rejoice in my lands?”

The Queen recoiled at the sharpness in his tone, then asked, “Explain it to me?”

Éomer looked away and felt her squeeze his hands again.  “I earned them not by greatness, but by the death of those I loved.  Why should I be a happy King?  I never wanted to rule the Mark as its Lord and now I shall do so in this Hall alone.”

“Ah.”  He couldn’t look at her, staring blindly at the dark wood of the table.  “You are my brothers, as well.”  Arwen spoke softly, “They do not want the burden that is Imladris, nor the task of mending the hole in our people’s minds that my father will leave as a great and honored elf.”  She took a breath and said more lightly, “I wish to give you another generation of Men to learn your heart and grow into your crown but I cannot, nor can any of this world.”  She loosed one of her hands and touched him with her slender fingers skimming his brow, making Éomer raise his head.  Her face was very somber.  “This is the way things are.  Even my folk must recognize it.  My father set a test for Estel…” Arwen smiled and it turned bitter as she spoke, making him wonder.  “You’ve set a lesser one for my dearest Steward, thankfully, as there are no crowns for him to fetch you as a payment for his prize.”  She gazed past him for a moment and he felt there was a great vexation within her, then their eyes met again and she was composed.  “Tell me the flaws Faramir carries to bring such anger from within you whenever he comes into your sight.”

Éomer said tiredly, “There are none…” He sighed.

The Queen arched an eyebrow, “But the ones you see give you grief…”

Nearly snarling again with fury he replied, “The flaws are mine.”

If Arwen was at all intimidated by this outburst, she didn’t show it.  Instead, she asked almost speculatively, “Why such rage in one so young and from where does it spring?”

Éomer did not answer for a while, and she did not prompt him.  Eventually, he realized the idea of his out-waiting an elf was very foolish and he spoke, not knowing the words until they sprang whole from his heart.  “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then don’t.”  When he glowered at her, she laughed, “Who is Lord in the Mark?  Where do you wish to go, Éomer?  I could mind this lovely, simple land in your absence!  It is naught but horses and families of men.  Find yourself a trusted Steward…”

“A Marshal.”  He corrected her and said darkly.  “I have one and his name is Elfhelm.”

Arwen continued, “And spend half a year or a year within the City.  Go with Imrahil and see his lands.”  Her face was drawn with a sudden grief that concerned him.  Éomer moved closer as she said quietly, with a melancholy smile, “Look upon the Sea…for me.”

Éomer bowed very slightly, “If you wish it of me.”

“Oh, dear.”  Arwen smiled, still melancholy even as she pretended to be horrified, “Do not say now that you love me, Éomer…”

He smiled in return, “Never.”  She was the most beautiful of women, fair of face and form, her laugh only sweeter than her voice, but he couldn’t love her.  Éomer asked as gallantly as he could remember to be, “May I say yes, if the love offered is as a friend alone?”

Arwen’s sadness faded with her smiling reply.  “I insist.”

He gazed at their clasped hands.  “I don’t know if I can…” The Queen did not speak and Éomer felt warm, almost painless tears well in his eyes and spill down his cheeks as he whispered, “What if she dies in childbirth?  What if…?  My sister is my only blood, my only…”

“Shh, Éomer.”  Arwen brought their hands to her lips and then pressed them, warm and soft, to his knuckles.  Her silken voice was roughened, “Listen to me, my love-friend.”  He looked up, not bothering to wipe away his tears.  “I understand…but she is happy.  You cannot take her happiness away to satisfy yours…or the only thing Éowyn will carry within her heart for you will be hatred.  My father realized that, so must you.”

He nodded, feeling wretched.  “I know, but…” Éomer was as helpless to stop his protest as he was his heartbeat, as though it was bone-deep, meshed with his very soul.  The feeling terrified him, making him think that he could never be truly soothed.

The Queen sighed, “It hurts, yes.  I miss the golden leaves of the mallorns, the peace of Imladris, Galadriel and Celeborn, my brothers, Elrohir and Elladan…I miss my father,” Her words caught in a sob, “My mother…so much…” Anxious, Éomer squeezed her hands, not sure of what to do to comfort her further.  He gazed powerlessly at her bent head as she regained her composure.  Finally, Arwen smiled at him, tears making her bright eyes glisten, “I am no better than you.  I would have it both ways as well.”  She looked down again, then met his gaze, “Now listen, and I will give you my wisdom such as it is, to a great warrior from a maiden soft of hand and arm…” They smiled at each other.  “It shall hurt.”  She bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly before continuing, “The heart heals slowest.  But it shall heal and you will be whole and well, Éomer.  You will be alone, yes, until you choose not to be.”  He laughed a little, embarrassed for no real reason he could pinpoint, and she smiled, “I could aid you in that, if you wish.”  The Queen beamed at him, “The women of the City would love to wed such a handsome man who cares so much for his family that he would torment himself while all others rejoice…” When Éomer gazed at her, subdued, she chuckled softly, “Or maybe not.  But they would love to wed the noble Lord of the Mark when he has decided he has earned his lands and has cleared his heart of its desire to suffer.”

        He sighed, “Yes.”

        Arwen sighed as well and asked quietly.  “How long will you keep him?” 

“I don’t know.”

She cautioned gently, “Estel will return soon…he will want his Steward.”

He nodded, weary with all the emotions that had passed his heart.  “I know.”

“If you agree to do one thing for me I shall argue your side and win you a few more weeks at least.”

Éomer gazed at her in stupefaction.  “What is that?”

“Smile.”  The Queen smiled while he just blinked.  “Smile for me, Éomer, and see how happy your only blood is now.  Smile for your sister and yourself.  I told you, I would not have a sad heart escort me to a harvest celebration and I mean it.”  She touched his cheek, “I don’t think I have seen you smile in real happiness once.” 

Éomer was silent before he summoned the strength to smile faintly and tease, “Escort?”

Arwen’s eyes flashed, “Estel is otherwise occupied and if he takes objection, it is his own fault.”  He laughed at her and she rose, squeezing his hands once more before releasing him.  Her tone was more purposeful now and less intimate as she gathered Rusco up.  “What time shall we ride tomorrow?” 

He took a deep breath, trying his best to cleanse his heart and soul.  “In the morn…but not too early.”

“Good.”  Arwen beamed at him and commanded, “Smile.”

Éomer did so and laughed at himself.  “Good night, Éomer.”

        “Sleep well, my Queen.”

        He walked the darkened corridors by memory and paused at his door, stricken.  In his sister’s room there was laughter that carried faintly through her iron-reinforced door and into the hall.  Éomer listened for a moment, hearing Éowyn laugh again and her voice, though of course he could not make out the words, was joyful. 

        It hurts…but when have I heard her laugh so?  He smiled in the dimness, having to force it some, but less than he would have expected and with that, Éomer sought out his bed.  The peace of sleep had never seemed so inviting.

***

        He’d come to her rooms after leaving the Hall, as she’d said he might, and Faramir had found Éowyn already half undressed, the dark blue tunic put away and the cream one folded in her arms.  When he’d walked into her bedroom she’d paused and smiled at him in such welcome that he marveled and smiled back, feeling how his heart leapt with happiness.  Finally, finally, oh finally I meet with joy…all his patience had brought a reward sweeter than he could have imagined.  He was happy just to stand idle and watch her pull off her stockings and toss them aside.  Éowyn lifted the hem of her shift, giving him yet another chance to stare, like a glutton did a feast, at her exposed flesh, and replaced it with one of her basic nightgowns.  Faramir frowned and broke their comfortable silence, “Isn’t that the same thing?”

        She looked at him, puzzled and tying back her dye-darkened hair in a simple fashion with a short length of red ribbon that, for all its simplicity, he still found delightful.  “What?”

        He gestured at her, sitting on one corner of her bed and folding his leg under himself.  “What you just took off.”

        Éowyn shook her head and crossed her bare legs, leaning lightly against her dresser.  He frowned at her bruises, wishing briefly that he could heal them with a touch, disappearing their purplish marks from her otherwise fair skin.  I doubt even Aragorn could…  He almost didn’t hear her, charmed by her natural, artless pose that with no effort made him both desire and dote upon her.  “No, that was a chemise, this is a nightgown.” 

        “They look the same to me.”  When she rolled her eyes and smiled as though he was very foolish, Faramir elaborated, “They’re both white, thin, they come to the same place on your leg,” She smiled at him, an eyebrow raised, and he grinned in return.  “What?  I just noticed.”  Faramir finished to her light laughter, “They are the exact same thing!”

        “Oh, what do you know about a woman’s clothes?”  She slapped his shin playfully as she moved by.

        He admitted, while turning to watch her walk to sit cross-legged, resting her back against the bed’s carved headboard, “Nothing.”  Faramir could just make out the shape of her body through the diaphanous gown; the padding of her bare feet had made him smile.  Admitting further, he said simply, “I know nothing about women…I never had one close to me besides my mother.”

        “No?”  Her eyes were unreadable, but soft.

        Faramir wanted to come to her, but held his peace.  He liked looking at her, the unconscious way she sat, and knowing that even if he did come, she wouldn’t tense at his new movements.  Éowyn had carried their untouched wine into her bedroom, setting it onto the little table beside her bed.  He glanced at the table, noticing the long cord from her gown and all the jewelry he’d given her lying there, the jade bracelet, the blue-stoned ring, the color-changing bracelet.  Faramir was pleased; she obviously wore the gifts.  And his shell sat on her dresser, pillowed on a folded bit of cloth to keep from rolling away.  He glanced around the room again…this is more of a woman’s room…Faramir smiled to himself.  Despite the bear. 

        Éowyn was still gazing at him, now she laughed and patted the smooth blanket beside her.  “Come over here and sit with me.” 

“All right.”  He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but Faramir decided quickly that he didn’t care.  In hopes that he could stay the night, he unlaced his boots, kicked them beneath her bed and stripped his overshirt off to toss it over the side of the bed as he went.  From her spot, Éowyn looked at the garment and sighed in mild exasperation.  He smiled at her, bemused, and ventured to send, you might as well get used to it…I’m not half as orderly as you.

Her eyes sparkled with good humor.  Oh, I doubt you’d be much harder to train than my brother’s horse. 

He laughed and she smiled, entreating with a girlish, playful pout, “Come here and kiss me.”  She’d blown out most of the candles in her quarters, leaving only a few to shine with the warm firelight painting every other surface with shifting reds and golds.  The blaze popped and crackled distantly, giving him an odd sense of peace.  Éowyn sat cross-legged but when he came to sit before her, she shifted to meet him immediately, making his heart glow with delight.  She leaned against the headboard, propping herself on a pillow and curling her legs under her while her hand reached to touch his lips.  Her thumb stroked, gently depressing his lower lip before she lowered it to the blanket.  In the dimness her smile gleamed as she said softly, but so without reservation that it startled him, “I love it when you kiss me…have I told you that?” 

Faramir stared at her wonderingly.  “No, you haven’t.”  Éowyn smiled and he teased in a whisper close to the cup of her ear, “I shall plan many small trips in the future…if they all reward me so well.”

“Don’t you dare.” She snuggled closer, her hand worming its way beneath his shirt to lie against his skin.  Faramir placed his own hand over it, feeling her cool fingers.  The curl of her palm was hotter, making him shiver.  He hadn't lied, he’d thought his heart would stop when they’d done their acts of intimacy.  Her voice was in parts excited and curious, “What do you know?”

“What?”  He didn’t follow her at first, too mesmerized the way she was smiling.  Her fear was gone and her nervous tension had faded to nothingness or at least a measure too tiny for him to sense.  Faramir took a deep breath, unable to express the depths of his thankfulness or curb the joyous hope that was expanding in his chest.

“About women…” She laughed, but it was different, full of self-awareness and when she said, “You know how to kiss me so that I want to faint,” Éowyn’s voice was breathy.  Her eyes were full of as to now held back emotion and he asked, a trifle shakily with the burden of both their hearts,

“Is that so?”

Her eyes were shining with anticipation.  “Mmm-hmm.”  He leaned and she met him halfway, lips touching lightly, then with growing passion; her mouth was so responsive, so warm and willing that he almost couldn’t believe he was kissing the same woman he’d met in the City.  Is this my Éowyn?  Or is it the real Éowyn who hid so long within, my wild Shieldmaiden without care of fear?

“You…” Faramir was without speech, only able to kiss her again and again in a poor display of his delight and devotion.  She laughed as he unfolded, pressing her back to the headboard.  Propping his hands on either side of her body, he rose to his knees, feeling her slim legs.  Without thinking, he laid his hand on them, sliding down to cup the inside of her hot lower thigh with his palm.  She squealed but didn’t protest.  Éowyn’s encouragement, with her arms wrapping about his neck, amazed him,

“Yes, yes…” She was laughing between kisses.  Her fingers ran through his hair, over his shoulders, under his shirt, everywhere, almost massaging his upper arms.  It felt like she was testing his muscle, his body, measuring his deserving of her maidenhead and Faramir’s heart beat faster, helplessly responding to her touch.  Éowyn smiled as her hand came to rest on his jaw, fingertips caressing.  She touched his cheek and murmured, “Much better.”  

Faramir nodded, feeling that, for as long as he had craved her willing intimacy, the emergence of it was making him almost embarrassingly aroused.  He tried to ignore it, breaking the kiss to touching his nose to hers, nuzzling in a more playful and less passionate way, “Tell me what else I know.”  But it was too late; she’d noticed and Éowyn smiled more shyly,

“You know how to make me feel wanted.”

“Too much…” He hesitated, trying to think of a way to speak what he wished without hurting her.  “I don’t want to spoil this…” She nodded solemnly, sitting up a little.  Faramir sat back on his heels and gazed at her.  She seemed only a bit disappointed, not hurt and he relaxed but was at a loss of what to say or do next.

Éowyn glanced aside at the wine and smiled.  “I wonder what you are like when you are in your cups.”

“Foolish.”

Playfully, she picked up the bottle and held it.  “Let’s see.”

He hesitated, mindful of his eager arousal.  “I don’t know…” 

Her openness made his spirit leap with bliss.  “Why not?  I trust you.” 

        Faramir hung his head for a moment before meeting her eyes and stating plainly, “I don’t trust myself to act properly.”  The fact that he hadn’t so far, made it only more of a concern.  I push you, I ask for liberties I shouldn’t…
        “Drink.  I trust you.”  Éowyn’s firm voice hushed, “You wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t want.”  His heart choked him.  Faramir did not even try to analyze her words, instead nodding dumbly.  She smiled and he fancied he saw her very soul within her blue eyes, shining brilliant and good and with love, not fear.  “Drink with me…” Éowyn took a breath, adding in a much lighter voice than the deep and rending emotions he felt within her would indicate, “And tell me about Ithilien and how we shall be a husband and wife.”  She peeked at him between pale lashes, saying timidly, “I wish to hear it…I wish to know.”  Her inward continuation was tinged with yearning desire behind which he could sense her strength.  Éowyn had power within, great reserves of strength that would aid her in whatever became her chosen task.  I want to make you happy, like you’ve made me, no matter what.

        Faramir stared at her, unbelieving, his mind awhirl with what he sensed was being offered.  You make me happy.  He couldn’t refuse her request, taking the wine from her hand to drink as he thought.  It was sweet.  But Faramir soon had to admit, “I don’t know what to say…I have no picture in mind, no plan.”

        Éowyn prodded gently, like she’d given far more thought than he to the subject, “What do you want your house to have…since you wish me to arrange it.  Tell me what you desire of your country,” She smiled, a lighthearted expression belying the intensity he felt within her, “And of how you see me as your wife.”

        Faramir tasted the wine again, then handed it to her.  Éowyn drank swiftly, then held it in her lap.  She was waiting raptly and he felt how she felt, like Éowyn was a bow drawn just waiting for a target to spend its force.  He couldn’t quite comprehend and he felt strangely powerless under her intent gaze.  I want…

Éowyn smiled at him, her entire attention focused.  “What?  Tell me, please.”  Again he had the same sense he felt when he pulled back on his bow, his Captain’s bow whose pull was greater than any other and which could send a dart flying farther and faster than he could see. 

A stray drop of wine made her lips gleam.  He smiled at her and leaned to kiss it away before saying from his heart, his eyes locked to hers, “I want the gardens in my dreams.  I want what I saw, my happy wife, and my laughing children.  The rest matters not.”

        She shared his smile, but it faded to a frown and he didn’t understand how his words could have displeased.  Éowyn looked briefly away.  “That is all?”

        They passed the wine twice before he could find another way of expressing his desires, “I’ve done enough of war, of service.  I want peace, with you, and time to visit the Sea, to sit in my garden.”  Éowyn smiled faintly and did not answer.  Faramir felt her silent, hastily suppressed dissatisfaction.  Quickly, he asked, “What do you want?”

        Her eyes were resigned, which made him worry.  “I want to do…to accomplish things of worth.  What I’ve always wanted.”

        At once he saw why Éomer had had his idea and pushed for it for his sister’s happiness.  Faramir said the only thing he could think of that might please her.  “I have given you Ithilien.  Do with it what you will.”

        “I know.”  Éowyn smiled, but her eyes did not change until she finished and then they became hopeful.  “I know, but you’ve yet to tell me what that is.  I can’t do it alone, I don’t think I’ll be allowed.”  She paused, “I want to make you happy, to give you everything…you freed me…do you understand?”  Éowyn spoke haltingly, trying to communicate her heart, “I would see you as you see you, in your gardens, by the Sea, with me and…” Her smile was embarrassed.  He answered it with a smile of his own, wishing he could help.  “With your children…but I don’t want that alone…I…” She gazed at the blankets for a long while before her words broke free from her throat, “I have to do…something.”

         Faramir gazed at the bottle of wine, trying to answer, but he could think of nothing.  He simply didn’t understand.  Éowyn was not sad, nor afraid; he’d healed her heart and he could do nothing to soothe her.  Her mind was full of frustrated strength, making him confused anew.  She needed something to release it, but he could think of nothing more to offer.  “I give you my country and you do not think it is enough?”

        Éowyn smiled tenderly and tugged at his shirt, pulling him to sit at her side.  Her voice was low as she leaned her head on his shoulder; “It is enough…more than enough.  Please, do not think I am…ungrateful for all you have done and suffered…and will suffer at my brother’s fool will.”  She laced their fingers, then lifted their hands to kiss his, and laughed very soft, “Most women have only their house and their children and do not even get offered more.”  Her voice quickened with anxiety, “Faramir, I want to make everything as you wish…”

        He tried to comfort, “You don’t have to do it all…”

        “I do.  I can’t sit idle.”

        He laughed, putting his arm around her shoulders to squeeze, “Building my house will not be idle work.  Ithilien is half-wild still, and some of it is spoiled and will take much effort to renew.  Do not worry, there will be plenty.”  Faramir nuzzled her hair.  “I want to help you, do not deny me that right.”  She hugged him back.  He teased in hope, “I’m beginning to worry if I can keep up, though…”

        Éowyn laughed.  “I doubt you can.”

        “I want to be happy, with no worries…I’ve worried enough.”  Faramir sighed, “I want to rest.”

“I don’t.”  He sighed again, feeling her struggle.  Éowyn’s worry came out in a single, desperate question, “Will they, the folk in your City, allow me to do as I wish or will they bid me sit with the women?  I can’t…”

        Faramir felt a stab of jubilation.  That is what she means.  He sat up, making sure she heard him and saw his eyes and how much he meant his words.  “They will do as I command…and I shall command them to follow your word as though it were mine.  And if that is not good enough for you, I will beg Aragorn to do the same.”

        She bit her lip, “Truly?”

        He asserted, almost with exasperation, “Yes.  Yes!”  Faramir smiled, “Do not worry, please…be happy with me.”

        Éowyn smiled and cupped his face in her hands, “I love you.”  You are too good a man…what fool women passed you by?

        I passed them.  He smiled and kissed her; I was waiting for you.  Then teasing, Faramir kissed her cheek, murmuring into her ear, “I’m not so foolish, you see, to wait only for the richest woman or the one with the greatest of noble families…” He chuckled, “Nay, I was wise and chose instead the one most willing to please me.  All I had to do was ride to her country, pacify her brother, endure a large amount of taunting in another language…” He gasped in mock dismay, “Why, I could have had a wife months ago and with no trouble at all!”  She laughed, squirming as he nibbled her earlobe. 

        Éowyn smiled up, her arm wrapped around his chest to hold him close.  “Has it been so much trouble?”

        “A terrible amount of trouble.”  Faramir added, “But worth it, I think.”  He cackled fiendishly into her ear, “None of those women would listen to the idea of planning my house, ordering my country and bearing my children and still ask for more.  I think I have discovered some great secret—the women of Rohan are tireless.”  He chuckled again, “I expect to not lift a finger and grow quite fat in my Stewardship.”

        Éowyn huffed.  “You expect wrongly.  In fact, the moment you set foot off this bed you are picking up that shirt and doing something with it.”

        She met his kiss, the bottle of wine tilting between them.  Faramir smiled, his statement only half in play.  “We shall see who picks it up…I wager I can stand it lying there longer than you can.”  But Éowyn didn’t answer, just stared up at him in growing dismay and Faramir began to laugh.  “What do you want to wager?  Anything, anything at all!”

        She glowered at him and picked up the wine to gulp some down.  “Play a game with me.  Whoever wins picks it up.”

        He grinned at her cockily, feeling the first warmth from the alcohol spread over his body.  “All right.  What kind of game?”  He added lovingly, “Ambarinya, alassënya?”  At her curiosity, he translated, “My world, my joy?”

        Éowyn smiled, “It is a drinking game of my people.”  Her smile was mischievous but he grinned.

        Faramir slid down to lay on the bed, pulling a pillow with him to hold as he got comfortable.  “As long as there are no riddles, I accept this challenge.”

        She lifted the wine and smiled cheerfully and very confidently.  “Good.”

 Translations:

Full Lyrics to Faramir’s Song

Falewende…

Is ná eower locfeax.

Blæwen

Is ná eower êage.

Ge eart ná of min,

Ac ge eart min ánum ond á ðý deórwyrþran.

Á-hwæðer seld-cûð byrSen-strang diór

Bídfæst æt flæsc, rifjaðr æt ísen

Gênhynsce æt êage ond tarn.

Swutelod me se leoht æt eower sâwol

Swutelod me eower sêfte folm.

Hwâ gefreódan me ac Faramir?

Hwâ lufaþ me swâ fægre ond gelustfullîce?

Nân.

Eall se is min, Ic an tó ge…

Ic ná gemnyt hit gehú elles.

Se is ná ege æt eower earmas

A circul má strang ðe se múntas

Eower reord oforllce,

Min ceóce tó eower cest—eower heorte swingað tó se hlêoðor æt min lufian

Hrinon me, spræcon me, Ic eom eower…

Ic eom a fealcen hwâ gemnyt ná ôðer bodere,

A collen-ferð ðingbyrneð æt wind ond rodor

Min abal is wiðinnan

Wíflíce wæpen, min folmum ná behófen æt hrinan swyrd.

Collen-ferð,gên eower. 

Ânig Faramir

Translation of Lyrics

Yellow-colored…

Is not your hair.

Blue…

Are not your eyes.

You are not of mine

But you are mine alone and ever the more precious.

Some rare beast strong to bear burdens, firm in flesh,

Ribbed in steel, yet tender eyed and tame.

You showed me the light in your soul,

You showed me your gentle hand.

Who freed me but Faramir?

Who loves me so well and willingly?

None.

All that is mine, I give to you…

I would not have it another way.

There is no fear in your arms,

a circle stronger than the mountains,

Your voice comforts,

my cheek to your chest—your heart beats to the song of my love.

Touch me, claim me, I am yours…

I am a falcon who would have no other master (teacher).

A fierce thing, born of the wind and sky

My strength is within,

Womanly weapon, my hands need touch no sword.

Proud, yet yours.

Only Faramir.

(Q) Nya enda, nya alassë oialë—my heart, my soul, my joy eternal

Ic eom eadig…--I am blessed

(Q) Estelion allen…--I trust/believe in you

(Q) Meleth e-guilen—love of my life

(Q) Vanimelda—dearest beloved

Swutelod me eower sêfte folm—You showed me your gentle hand

(Q) Ambarinya, alassënya—my world, my joy