For drinkupmehearties

[shieldofrohan]

The door to Jack's cell opens just before dawn. Éowyn stands there, dressed for riding - breeches under her gown, her hair braided back close to her scalp - and looks at him for a moment, hand on hip, before beckoning for his things to be brought. His sword will be given back to him: his gun will not. She knows, after all, that if it comes to a fight with swords, she is a more than equal match for him, but her experiences in the Capitol have let her know just how dangerous a gun can be in the wrong hands.

Outside, the horses are waiting. She has chosen a mare for him, docile and easy to ride, with a high saddle that should be easy to stay in. Even with their experience in the Arena, she's loath to trust his riding. There's a big difference between staying in the saddle for an hour or so with adrenaline pumping through your veins, and staying in the saddle for the long day's ride that lies ahead of them.

Her own horse, of course, gives her no such worries. The grey stallion has borne her well since the Pelennor Fields, and she's more comfortable in his saddle than she could ever be with both feet on the ground. As they head out into the courtyard, he raises his head and whickers at her, making her smile.

Faramir stands beside the horses, though he is not dressed for travel. As she approaches, he goes to meet her, ignoring Jack for the moment as he ducks his head to kiss her. "You are sure of this?"

"I am sure," she answers, with a fond smile, and leans up to kiss him in return. "Do not linger here too long, love. Emyn Arnen is not nearly so fair without you in it."

He laughs, low in his throat, and traces his fingertips over her cheek. "How can it be made fairer by my presence, when you are already there to illuminate it?" Straightening up with a kiss to her forehead, he smiles. "I will be a few days, no more. Travel well, my lady. And for my sake, if you should see an enemy, ride away, and not towards them."

Éowyn smiles, shaking her head, and pulls away. "Jack, do you need help mounting, or can you manage?"

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[drinkupmehearties]

He can't help the instinctive, surprised tension that prickles through his body when she approaches like that; when her arms wrap around him, however, drawing him close to her, that stiffness quickly melts away and Jack winds his arms around her in response. Never in his life would Jack admit it aloud, but he did need that, even as brief as it was. Perhaps just as much as she did.

Which makes it much harder, of course, when she eventually pulls away from him. His gaze settles on the fire, too, watching as the flame climbs higher and brighter in the darkness. "Nothin' we can't survive, eh?" Because despite all that had happened -- the blood, torture, death -- after all that, they were still breathing. Alive. Right?

His hand moves to drift softly over across her back, hand eventually wrapping around her shoulder to draw her closer, back to him.

[shieldofrohan]

She doesn't resist - in fact, as he draws her in, she moves closer still, resting her head against his shoulder. She's shivering a little now: the night air isn't warm enough to make up for the fact that her shift is soaked through with cooling sweat. He's warm, though, warm and solid and reassuring, and after a moment, she lets out a long breath and closes her eyes.

"Nothing we can't survive," she agrees quietly, but privately, she wonders if that's such a good thing. She's past those wartime days when she longed for a glorious death, but some part of that still lingers in her. Some part of her still wonders if it might not have been better for her to try to escape the Capitol, to die trying if she had to. Even if it meant never coming home again, at least she wouldn't be like this - weak and afraid, and clinging to a man who was neither husband nor kin, just because he offered comfort.

He's a friend, she reminds herself, as though that makes it all right. There's no shame in it. But of course there is - shame, and more than a touch of guilt.

"We shouldn't be here," she says at last, eyes still closed, not moving. "It should have ended. It would have been easier."

[drinkupmehearties]

He can feel Eowyn shivering against him, the touch of clammy coldness to her skin, and squeezes her tighter against himself. He’s silent for a few weighty beats after she speaks, however, frowning still, then Jack shakes his head. "I’d disagree with you on that, luv. That vile lot have no more control over us, no ownership, much less a claim to our lives. Don’t let ‘em have that, here, still." Easier said than done, he knows, particularly with the nightmares that come. But there was value in trying, in not letting that time in Panem define their lives too much. And he knows she can be strong, even if she feels weak now.

Jack reaches a free hand over to gently turn her face towards his, to encourage her to meet his gaze. “Besides which,” A bit of a humored smile edges into his expression, "I’ve never known you to want the easy way for anythin'."

[shieldofrohan]

If she could, she would make some retort, some argument to prove that he doesn't know what she wants. But... well, he's not wrong, and she knows it. She lets her head be turned, and when she smiles, her eyes tear up all over again.

"Am I so predictable?" She opens her eyes, putting her hand over his. Their faces are closer than she'd be altogether comfortable with, if she were thinking about it - but she isn't, not really. She's thinking that he said the right thing. Not the same right thing that Faramir might have said (and she's sure, truly sure, that Faramir would have found the right thing to say), but the right thing nonetheless. She's thinking that, if the nightmares had to come back in such force, she's glad there's someone here to share them. Looking back later, she'll think about what a compromising position this is to put herself in, but right now, she's only thinking how grateful she is to not be alone.

[drinkupmehearties]

"Sometimes, aye."

His smile deepens, expression just as warm and affectionate as his tone. He's genuinely cheered to see her smile now, to see her to brighten up even just a tiny bit, even if there are still tears welling in her eyes. His thumb brushes softly over her cheek and Jack wavers for a short beat, a second, thinking how doing anything more than this would be unwise. This wasn't Panem, this wasn't home, he was a prisoner here and his freedom hinged on keeping himself in good favor with those that ruled this place.

But he can't help himself. He leans forward and kisses her.

[shieldofrohan]

At any other time, she would stop this here and now, listen to her duty and her sense of right, and push him away. And she should. This isn't Panem, isn't the stables under the Tribute Tower; this is her home, and it's real, and she has no right to need this. To want this.

Even so, she all but melts into his kiss. She's scared, angry, and lonely, and she shouldn't, in the back of her mind she knows full well she shouldn't, but his kiss is heady and his hand is warm and firm on hers. The covers are still between them, but her chest is close to his, and she can feel both their hearts beating. So, yes, she lets him kiss her. And yes, for a moment - a not inconsiderable one - she kisses back, hard and needy, pressing her body up against him, one knee coming up as she curls into him. Her eyes flutter closed again, and she can feel that stirring inside her, that want that ought to be so much more unwelcome than it is...

She pulls away, gasping as if she's just surfaced from deep water. The blush is rising in her cheeks, as reality comes back to her. Only now, too, does she realise that it isn't just their position that's compromising - that her linen shift, damp with sweat, is not only plastered to her like a second skin, but in places is almost transparent. She hadn't thought of it before, but then, before she'd been too preoccupied to even worry whether he might be inflamed by the clear curves of her body, the dark shadows of her nipples...

And do you think for a moment, a sardonic voice deep inside her asks, that he is the only one so inflamed?

Her blush deepens, her lips pressing together, and Éowyn hurriedly covers her chest with one arm. "We cannot," she says, and her voice sounds thin and unconvincing. Or, perhaps, just unconvinced. "Jack. I am married." And again, that voice in the back of her mind: You were married in Panem, too, yet that never stopped you.

[drinkupmehearties]

The hand he'd had around her shoulder had dropped down around her waist when she drew up into him, just about to tug her further onto his lap, his pulse thrumming quick with anticipation and desire. But she pulls away from him, from the kiss, and the breath Jack exhales when she does is sharp, aching. The shift clinging to her body has certainly made this impulse much, much harder to resist (and he can't help but think how, even briefly, he'd love to graze a hand over her breast), but Jack stops himself.

He rests his forehead against hers and momentarily closes his eyes, feeling the soft, enticing curve of her body beneath the fabric, just underneath his hand. "Aye, you are. That's true." His voice is rough, and there's an unspoken undertone of yes, I know, and so? to his words; that fact hasn't stopped him in the past, obviously, but Jack also understands her hesitation. The stakes are higher, too, in this place, but honestly that doesn't seem to be discouraging him at the moment.

"And perhaps we cannot, but ..." He doesn't quite finish the sentence. Instead his palm rests high atop her thigh, face close to hers, that strong desire to kiss her again filling his thoughts.

[shieldofrohan]

"Bad enough to have lied to him once." Her voice is low, hushed and throaty. Every instinct is tugging her in: kiss him, touch him, fuck him. It makes it hard to think, harder still to hold on to that thin thread of conscience. She always was a creature of instinct. She bites down hard on her lip, and the sharp pain of it helps her to focus, if only a little. "I love him, Jack. I cannot go on this way... betraying him, lying to him. I fear I will destroy him, and I... I..."

She swallows, hard, closing her eyes. Maybe if she isn't looking at him... But she can still feel his hand on her thigh, his breath against her skin, her body's reaction to him. She can't ignore that, no matter how she tries.

"...I want you," she says at last, barely even a whisper. "Tonight, right now, I want you so much it hurts. But I love him, and that is not only for a night, Jack. Tell me you understand, please."

[drinkupmehearties]

"An' I want you, Eowyn." His voice is low, husky, and the shameless yearning to just roll her over onto her back and fuck her is palpable in his tone. It takes some great willpower, then, but Jack withdraws the hand from her thigh, instead brushing a strand of her hair away from her cheek. He doesn't want to understand, of course, he'd much rather relinquish to impulse, instinct, to an urging that's almost painful to refuse.

But he does, even if such devotion wasn't something he could relate to much; he's loved women in the past, certainly, but investing himself like that to any singular one was too terrifying, too foreign for him to actually care to attempt.

Another exhale, slower, then Jack lets his hand fall away. The corner of his mouth perks some. "Aye, o' course. I understand, luv."

[shieldofrohan]

"Thank you." She swallows, looking down at herself, and bites her lip again. "I should... I should go." Should get up and go back to her own bed, where neither of them will be so tempted, where she won't give in.

But the thought of going back to that cold, empty bed is unbearable, and she doesn't move to leave. Even with that aching want that she can't satisfy, even with her desire feeling so strong it might drive her mad, this feels safer - to be with someone, to have some protection against the long watches of the night. Faramir, she thinks, as hard as she can, Faramir will return soon, and all will be well.

But soon is yet days away, and she quails at the thought of another night, another hour spent in lonely darkness. She always thought that she was strong, but she feels weak now, weak and foolish and afraid. And she knows, to her own disgust, that this is inevitable - if not this night, then the next, or the one after. She isn't strong enough to hold out against this want for long.

She's quiet for a long moment, then she shifts, curling up against Jack's side and sighing. She looks close to tears again. "Hold me," she says, a little thickly. "Nothing more. Only... hold me."

[drinkupmehearties]

He is fairly quiet in turn, letting her sort out for herself what she wants to do. When she curls into him, however, Jack obligingly wraps his other arm around her and draws her close to himself. He rests his cheek atop her head in the meanwhile, listening idly the rhythm of their breathing for a few long moments.

Eventually, Jack pulls an arm away to tug the blanket away and make space for her to slip underneath. "Come beneath the covers, luv. It'll be warmer." And then, after a short pause, "Would you care to listen to a story? Mayhaps it'd help to occupy your mind."

[shieldofrohan]

She hesitates a moment more, then nods, sliding between the sheets. It's a bad idea, putting herself so close to him, without the blanket between them, when he desire, at least, hasn't much ebbed. But, well, this has been a night full of bad ideas, and at least this one is a comfort. He is a comfort.

She shifts up against him again, pulling the covers back up over herself, and rests her head against his chest. "I should like that," she murmurs, with a little nod.

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack settles beneath the covers with her, wrapping an arm around Eowyn's waist and bundling her warmly against him. It's hard not to do much more than that, so hard to lay next to her and not to let his hand or mind wander. But Jack manages, surprisingly steady, mulling over what stories could distract her troubled mind (and occupy his own thoughts, if he were to be completely honest).

"When I was younger, in me twenties or thereabouts, there were a band o' rogues that refused to keep to the Code." Even if Jack hasn't probably told her much about the Code, or how his father enforced those laws with an iron fist, his tone suggests that such a crime was unheard of at the time. "And we'd had good reason to suspect Borya, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea..."

[shieldofrohan]

She listens, fascinated, and for the moment can forget her fears - even if, at the back of her mind, that awareness lurks of his warmth and closeness and how easy it would be to just let things happen, the way they both want. Those thoughts are harder to put aside, but not impossible. She closes her eyes and lets herself concentrate on his words instead of on him: on those foreign names and places, on the tale he's telling.

She won't interrupt until he's done, but lies there in rapt concentration, just listening. After a while, as she relaxes more and more, her breathing starts to slow and level out. She's not asleep, not yet, but she's close.