These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
Warning - this chapter contains content of a sexual nature
With grateful thanks to Raksha for her help with this chapter
Chapter 13 - See Spring, smiles in the room! – Wagner – Die Walküre (siehe, der Lenz lacht in den Saal!)
Immersed in his task, Aragorn continued to treat his now willing patient, his sensitive fingers kneading Faramir’s sore muscles in slow circular movements.
Gradually the light faded, until only the dancing firelight illuminated the room. Éowyn’s golden hair shimmered in the reflection of the flames, making it appear like burnished gold. Faramir shivered as he looked at her. This time: it was neither from cold nor feeling ill at ease. A new dread seized him, a fearful, yet pleasurable sensation that intensified as he gazed upon his wife.
Éowyn gradually became aware that her husband was watching her. She turned her attention away from the King’s hands to look Faramir straight in the eye. Her gaze was filled with a hunger akin to his.
Suddenly afraid of the strength of the feelings she kindled within him, Faramir looked away and resumed staring shyly at his hands.
“Does it take a lot of study, this Elven healing touch?” Éowyn asked Aragorn, her voice unsteady, as she struggled to contain her emotions.
“Not for the simplest way of doing it,” the King explained. “There are different variations used, depending on whether a servant, an acquaintance, a friend, or a kinsman dear to your heart is being treated. The technique varies depending whether you are using it for healing, bonding or comforting. It does not work very well for lovers though; there is nothing erotic about it.”
“And which sort are you using now?” Éowyn enquired in a steadier tone.
“This is how I would ease my foster brothers when they were in pain or distress.” Aragorn smiled as he answered her question.
Faramir felt a warm glow permeate his entire being. He had been certain he would only merit the treatment reserved for a servant, though the tenderness of Aragorn’s touch was how he had always imagined a loving father should treat a child.
Seeing Faramir was obviously enjoying the Elven treatment, Aragorn started to gently massage his forehead. The King suddenly paused in his ministrations and stared unseeingly straight ahead.
“Aragorn, do you feel unwell?” Faramir asked in alarm. “This must be too tiring for you!”
The vision surprised Aragorn in its suddenness and clarity. First, he saw a battlefield with two armies engaged in bitter conflict. To his horror: they were those of Gondor and Rohan, each trying to destroy the other. Then the scene changed, and he could see two children of about the same age; a dark haired boy whom he somehow knew to be his son, and a fair haired girl, with grey eyes, who was clearly Faramir and Éowyn’s daughter. He saw them laughing and playing together as children, and then hand in hand as adults. He knew then that he saw two possible futures, the happier one of which contained their future children united in wedlock, and the friendship between the two realms maintained, if only Éowyn and Faramir could overcome their inhibitions sufficiently to produce offspring. Or maybe the vision portended a rift between Rohan and Gondor if the marriage of Gondor’s Steward and Rohan’s Princess remained troubled? Foresight was rarely clear.
“I am well.” Aragorn smiled at Faramir reassuringly and continued rubbing circles across his Steward’s forehead. “Sometimes, I see things if my hand comes into contact with your head.”
Faramir started in astonishment; the same thing had happened to him a few days before.
“It is our shared Númenorean lineage,” Aragorn explained, cupping Faramir’s face in his hands and looking him straight in the eye. “Accept it as a rare gift in these latter days. I am descended in direct line from Elendil, while the blood of Númenor runs true in your veins as well. There is so need to shy away from me because of it.” He released Faramir.
Éowyn shuddered. Such feyness made her uneasy, and yet it explained why her husband and the King were so uncannily alike. She wondered if that meant any child Faramir might give her would have the same unnerving abilities.
“Turn around and I will ease your back now,” Aragorn told Faramir in an abrupt change of subject.
“It breaks all protocols to turn my back on the King!” the Steward protested.
Knowing what was really troubling the younger man, Aragorn placed both hands on Faramir’s shoulders. His eyes were full of tenderness and compassion. “We are far from the Court here,” he said gently. “We are both now as scarred as any miscreant; there is no shame in such for innocent men.”
“My father lost his wits towards the end as much as our assailants,” Faramir spoke so softly that the King could only just make out his words. “My house is dishonoured!” He bowed his head as he spoke.
“Sauron destroyed your father’s mind. There is no taint upon you,” Aragorn said gently, “Now turn around!” He began tenderly kneading the most damaged areas with his skilled fingertips. Faramir had tensed again. Aragorn could detect so many knots in Faramir’s muscles; he feared even the gentlest touch might cause his Steward pain. “Easy now, just take deep breaths,” he said, using an Elven calming technique to rub the back of the Steward’s neck. “Your stripes are healing nicely. I hope you will permit me to give you a further Elven treatment to heal them completely, together with your old scars too; once we return to the City. I know they pain you, and you have suffered with them too long, mellon nîn.”
Relaxed again, Faramir nodded an almost unthinking assent.
“Does that feel better now?” Aragorn asked, when finally convinced he had done all he could to ease his Steward.
Faramir turned his head for a moment to face Aragorn again and cautiously moved his arms. To his amazement, he found he could move freely without pain. He fought back the urge to impulsively embrace the King. Taking a deep breath, he exercised his usual formal restraint, somewhat to Aragorn’s disappointment.
“The pain is gone! Thank you!” the Steward exclaimed with a rare smile. ”And the treatment was very pleasant, and pained me not at all. I should not have feared it.”
“You are most welcome. It troubled me to see you hurting so much from your wounds,” Aragorn replied, tracing a finger tenderly across Faramir’s scarred shoulder. “I only wish I could have spared you such cruel injuries. I swear you will never be harmed at my hands.”
“Thank you!” Faramir suddenly knelt in front of his King, clasping both his hands and looking straight into the compassionate grey eyes, before impulsively kissing the hands that had eased his pain. He was surprised at his boldness and flushed slightly.
Aragorn was delighted to see Faramir finally shed some of his habitual reserve. The Elven treatment was obviously starting to work. He hoped that one day Faramir might become as easily affectionate towards him as a son towards a loving father. “I will treat your hurts again soon,” he promised.
Faramir suddenly felt very sleepy and had to fight not to yawn.
“You need to rest now,” said the King. “If you feel you must weep, or even laugh, do not try to hold it back. It is all part of the treatment.”
Faramir reached for his shirt and tunic to put them on again.
“You should finish undressing and lie down in your own bed,” said Aragorn. “It will help your wounds to heal if you just wear your nightshirt. The treatment I have been using tonight should make you sleep for an hour or so, then wake feeling refreshed.”
“I will fetch my husband’s nightshirt,” Éowyn offered, hastening to the next room and quickly returning with the garment. She helped Faramir ease it over his head, wishing as she did so that she could feast her eyes on the lean, muscular frame for a little longer. She forced herself to concentrate in settling the King back into bed with her husband’s assistance, and then excused herself to see to the horses.
“Goodnight and thank you again.” Faramir hesitated, and then kissed his lord lightly on the brow. “You will call me if you have need of anything?”
“I shall indeed, but I believe I can get out of bed now if need be,” said Aragorn. ”Your lady can sit with me while you rest.”
000
Éowyn now found herself alone with Aragorn for the first time since she had contemplated using his own sword against him. She sat on the edge of the large chair by the fire, nervously twisting her hands together. “Thank you for helping Faramir. I hate to see him in pain,” she said at last, breaking the tense silence.
“So do I, my lady,” Aragorn replied. Much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he still felt rather uneasy with her, though his forgiveness was genuine.
Éowyn took a deep breath, knowing she must speak openly, if matters were ever to be truly made right between them. “I am truly sorry for all the pain and distress I have caused you, these last days. I know I was not gentle and it shames me now to think of it!” She flushed scarlet as she blurted out the words.
“You saved my life and Faramir’s too, which is all that matters,” said Aragorn, tactfully avoided a direct reply. He could still remember the pain when she had torn his skin away with the bandage. That was just one of many unpleasant moments.
“I was so blind, I could not believe that you and Faramir could be as noble as you seemed! Even though, that was why I first fell in love with you, and then with him.”
It was Aragorn’s turn to colour slightly. “Love and hate can be mirror images of each other,” he said gently. “I hope now we can enjoy the love that a brother and sister might share. If I had spent years living under the shadow of Wormtongue, I would also hesitate to trust easily.”
“I should like you as another brother!” Éowyn replied. She shuddered to recall those dark days when it seemed that Wormtongue’s desires would prevail over everything, including her body. She thought instead of her brief happiness with Faramir, which had all too soon been clouded by bitterness and suspicion. Her temples throbbed: past fears and present guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She buried her head in her hands.
“What ails you, my lady?” Aragorn enquired.
“My head throbs. It feels as if it will explode!” Éowyn admitted.
“Will you permit me to ease you now, my lady?” Aragorn asked quietly.
Éowyn lifted her head to meet the King’s gaze. Aragorn’s kindly, yet searching eyes seemed to see deep into her very soul. She hesitated to accept comfort from the hands of one whom she had wronged so much. She knew, though, if she refused now, she might never enjoy the King’s friendship. Her mind made up, she moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, sire. I will be honoured to accept your help.” She tensed herself, wondering what was coming next. Unlike Faramir, she had no recollection of feeling the King’s healing touch before.
Aragorn’s gentle fingers brushed lightly across her forehead and massaged her tense brow in small circular movements. Now Éowyn had reconciled herself to accepting his help, she found it oddly, even blissfully soothing. Almost forgotten memories of her mother’s tender caresses returned to her, the only other experience she had known of a touch so pure, warm, and loving. She could understand now why Faramir had looked like a contented cat earlier.
“I have a favour to ask of you, concerning Arwen.” Aragorn suddenly broke the companionable silence that had developed between them.
“If it is within my power, I would gladly grant it.” Éowyn suddenly felt anxious, wondering if after her attempt on Aragorn’s life, she would still be allowed to spend time with her friend and Queen. She had grown very attached to Arwen during the past year. Although the two had very different personalities, they had found much in common. Both ladies were strangers to Gondor, married to its greatest lords, and both vastly preferred trees, grass, and flowers to stone walls. Éowyn had, until yesterday, believed that she and the Queen were both victims of Aragorn’s deviousness. She now realised that the beautiful and sweet-natured Peredhel had a husband truly worthy of her.
“I ask this for both Arwen and myself,” Aragorn continued. ”We hope to be blessed with a child soon. Arwen has requested that you attend her, both as a friend, and as a midwife to assist Ioreth when the baby is born. I know how much you dislike being in the City, but it would mean a good deal to us if you would consent to be there for the birth.”
Éowyn glowed with pleasure at this unexpected turn of events. “You would trust me to do this after all that has happened?” she exclaimed in amazement.
“You have the Queen’s trust and mine too,” Aragorn assured her, hoping fervently she would treat Arwen more gently than she had treated him. He was certain, though, the formidable Dame Ioreth would prevent any harm from occurring.
“I will gladly stay in Minas Tirith as long as the Queen needs me,” Éowyn assured him. “I am so happy that you are to have a child and heir! When is it due to be born?”
Aragorn smiled somewhat shyly at her. “Even Ioreth does not know if Arwen will carry our child for twelve months like an Elf, or nine months like a mortal, so I fear you could have a long wait in the city.”
Éowyn smiled back. “It will be interesting to find out!”
“I only hope the child looks like his or her mother!” Aragorn mused wryly.
“You are not that ugly!” Éowyn retorted teasingly. “If I had not seen you beside Faramir, I would even say you were handsome!”
Aragorn grinned at her before changing the subject. “Does your arm ever pain you?” he asked unexpectedly.
“The one the Nazgûl injured?” Éowyn was surprised at the question. “No, why do you ask? It is two years ago now, since it happened. Sometimes it feels a little cold, but it is not painful.”
“I fear I may have neglected your injury, as I was too much of a coward to treat you once you were awake,” Aragorn confessed. “I made certain that Merry and Faramir were recovering, but I was afraid of having to face you. I knew you were in love with me at the time,” the King confessed, looking rather uncomfortable as he spoke.
Éowyn laughed. “I have called you many things, sire, but coward is not one of them!” She started to roll up her sleeve, rather to Aragorn's surprise. “See there is nothing, my arm is quite healed!” She now felt so at ease with Aragorn that she wondered how she could ever have considered his touch so repulsive. He gently felt her bared arm.
The King’s hands were unusually warm. Éowyn felt a sudden sensation of the last vestiges of darkness being melted from her heart. With it, came the lifting of a burden, which she had hardly known she carried; yet now it was gone, her heart felt immeasurably lightened. Aragorn finally removed his hands, trying to conceal his weariness. Éowyn laughed filled with pure joy. “Whatever did you do then?” she enquired. “I felt as if the sun had suddenly shone into a dark room, bringing spring after a long winter!”
“You were still touched by the darkness. It should now be but a fading memory,” Aragorn explained. “The heirs of Elendil have the gift of healing such ills.”
“I would know more of your people!” Éowyn begged, her interest aroused. “Tell me of the Kings of Old!”
Aragorn willingly complied. Soon they were engrossed in conversation as never before. Aragorn spoke first of Númenor; then of Gondor and Rohan, of loved ones long gone, of travels and of horses. Éowyn began to realise how much she had missed in refusing to see Aragorn as a friend. She wanted to tell Faramir that she understood now, why he found the King so special.I know now why Faramir loves and respects you so much,” she said at last, thinking she must remember to tell Faramir of her realization
“The feeling is mutual,” Aragorn assured her with a smile. “I hope he no longer fears me.”
“Faramir was afraid you might treat him as his father had done. I am told you look somewhat alike,” Éowyn confided. ”I hope he is not dreaming again of Lord Denethor, he still has nightmares about him.
“Why not go and see how he fares? I am ready to sleep now,” Aragorn suggested. ”There is no need for you to sit up with me.”
“I don’t like to leave you, sire,” Éowyn said, torn between the two men she now loved, albeit in very different ways. “What if you need something?”
“I will sleep comfortably alone. I am well used to it from my Ranger days,” Aragorn assured her. And, my lady, you have no need to be so formal. You may use my given name!”
“So too may you, Aragorn. I bid you a peaceful night. I shall look in on you again soon, or Faramir will. Sleep well!” Éowyn bent to kiss his hand in farewell.
Clutching her candle, she hurried away before she could change her mind over what she planned now to do.
Chapter Fourteen - A long delayed wedding night
Éowyn hurried to her own chamber. There she undressed, shedding her everyday garments in favour of a silken nightgown from the lands of the Easterlings. Donning a robe over the gossamer-light material, she took the candle and swiftly walked along the corridor to Faramir’s room. To her relief, the door was not locked. Turning the knob quietly, she crept inside. Then she put the candle on the table near the window, and slowly approached the bed.
The man she had, and still loved, her wedded lord, lay asleep. Éowyn stood still, wanting to hold this moment in her heart. She had never studied him before while he slept. He seemed most fair to her eyes. She gazed down at her husband’s face, which seemed to possess an especial beauty in repose. Most men looked foolish when they slept; like her brother or her uncle. But Faramir's features, his long eyelashes and the high cheekbones framed by raven hair, were strangely compelling, with a touch of Elven mystery.
She wanted to be completely possessed by this man she had once misunderstood and scorned. Her desire had been rekindled the night they had lain holding the King. And now it blazed. The feeling she had cherished for Aragorn seemed a pale, weak shadow indeed compared to this flame that rose within her, driving her to the one man she had ever truly desired.
She shed her robe and climbed into bed beside him.
“Éowyn, is that you?” Faramir asked sleepily. “Is it time for me to sit with Aragorn? I feel rested now.”
“He said he wished to be alone,” Éowyn told him. “One of us can see how he is later.” She took a deep breath and planted a passionate kiss on Faramir’s lips.
Her heart pounded wildly while she awaited his response. Would he think her too bold? When his lips hungrily met hers, there was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her too.
Faramir drew her close, caressing her first with his eyes, then with strong yet slender hands that made her quiver with delight. "You are so beautiful!" he exclaimed, as he traced her features with eager fingertips. "May I?" he asked shyly. "Or should we wait until we have the Elven pledge rings?" This was the moment for which he had long prayed. Yet, he wondered if he could give her all the pleasure she deserved, as his beloved, his lady. He had never experienced bodily union before. Like most of his race, he had always shunned casual couplings, preferring to contain his desires until married, trusting that natural instincts would guide him when the moment came. Was it the right time to do this? He never would have thought to take such a step in this unexpected and sudden fashion. But his body seemed to be outracing his mind, tensing, tightening, and yearning to join with the woman beside him. In fact, it was taking some effort on his part not to seize her shoulders and press her down beneath him, make her his wife in deed as well as word.
Éowyn’s lips met his again, giving their own reply before she nibbled his ear and whispered. “We have waited long enough! I want you body and soul! I would be your wife in more than name!”
Faramir was pleased that she felt this need as well. But did Éowyn know that there would be pain? He had heard that much from the talk of other men who boasted of awakening desire in their innocent young brides. "And so I would have it, beloved. But I fear I might hurt you."
“You would only hurt me by denying me, dear one,” she answered with certainty. "I am a strong woman of the North who has spent her life astride a horse, not a statue made of glass.”
Having uttered such bold words, Éowyn felt a sliver of fear as Faramir took her into his arms and she felt his mounting desire. “Am I to lose myself too, Man of Gondor?” she whispered, tensing in his embrace. “Will I no longer be the proud Shieldmaiden of Rohan?”
“You will always be my fair warrior maid!” Faramir reassured her. “It is I who will lose myself wholly in you, if you will but unite with me!”
He rolled away from her, holding himself back while he whispered words of love in her ear and slowly stroked her beautiful throat, shoulders and perfect breasts. If he could increase her desire to match his own, perhaps the consummation of their union would prove easier for her.
Suddenly Éowyn felt a certainty that almost chilled her with its power, that this night would yield more than the fulfilment of their marriage vows. She had never been given to foresight, but she knew that they had to come together now, that their love would have consequence other than pleasure. For one fleeting moment, she had a sense of destiny, and what it required of them, for her, for him. And her own vision matched the demand of fate. She wanted this!
“Give me your child, Faramir!” Éowyn pleaded. “Sow the seeds of new life within me!”
Warmed as she was by Faramir's attempt to hold back his desire for her sake, she would have done with caution! Éowyn smiled up at him, only a little nervously, and lay down on her back. She nodded her assent, suddenly tired of words. Faramir's eyes brightened as he leaned over her. She willingly spread herself beneath him.
When they finally joined, she felt only a brief stab of pain. Then Faramir looked at her, his eyes so full of love and joy that something seemed to melt within her. The pain was gone, replaced by warmth and heat. She was amazed at how their bodies fitted together, as if out of all the world, she were made for him and he for her. They belonged to each other now. They were explorers in a new world of their own, their tenderness and ardour more than compensated for their lack of experience in such matters.
Finally they disengaged, but remained clasped in a close embrace.
“Why was I foolish and fearful enough to deny myself this happiness?” Éowyn sighed.
“I should have told you before, my beautiful wife, how much I loved and wanted you,” Faramir lamented. “Why was I so afraid?”
Éowyn kissed him again, with renewed desire. “I made things very difficult for you before. Don’t you now fear this wild and passionate woman even more?”
“I have a confession to make,” Faramir said shyly. “The night we were married, I was so very nervous, I doubt that I would have been capable of fully making you my wife. I was almost relieved at first that you did not appear to desire me. It was only later, when we returned to Gondor without all the jests and ribaldry that I wanted you so much that it hurt. Yet I feared to approach you in case you rejected me or I could not please you as I should.”
“We have found each other now and I will never let you go!” she pledged, sealing her vow with a tender kiss.
She could say no more as Faramir was smothering her willing lips with kisses of his own. And then, oh then...
Something new happened this time, as he took her. There were strange flutters inside her, tingling like the froth in a cup of mead. The flutters grew stronger; until she moaned with a pleasure so great it was almost painful. She heard Faramir cry out her name in a joy that surely equalled her own.
'Lustful' and 'wild' were only words to her now, not sufficient to describe the delightful shudders that racked her body. She clawed Faramir's back in ecstasy, begging him to take her again.
No longer a Shieldmaiden with a heart of ice, Éowyn rejoiced in yielding to womanly passion at last.
Their desire sated, they still held each other, wanting the moment of bliss to last forever. Éowyn was almost surprised at how suddenly drowsy she felt, but it mattered not, for she would fall asleep the happiest woman in all Middle-earth.
Exhausted now from exercising his husbandly duties, Faramir desired nothing more than to sleep in his wife’s arms. She slept now herself, with a soft, sweet look on her flushed face. Faramir hoped then that they would one day have a daughter. For, as much as he needed a son and heir, he would adore a little girl with that same fair face and proud spirit as Éowyn.
However, the call of nature and his inborn sense of duty told him to rise. He only hoped that Aragorn was sleeping peacefully. Pulling on his robe over his crumpled nightshirt, Faramir made his way to the privy. When he emerged, a sudden feeling of dread assailed him. He raced towards Aragorn’s room.