For Ashfae

[shieldofrohan]

There is a sadness to being married, a sadness that has hung around all things since the war - a sadness that comes from faces that are not present, spaces that are not filled. Neither of them have parents, and she feels the void at Faramir's side, the shape of a brother she will now never know. She feels Theodred's absence likewise, and Theoden - how he would have loved to see her wed!

But for all that, she is happy. A new day has dawned on her, like spring from a hard frost. The scars on her arm and side have begun to fade, and some of the grief is lifting from her eyes. And now, as she steps inside the Steward's chambers - their chambers - there is only joy in her.

Joy, and a little nervousness. They have kissed, of course, and there is passion there she had only dreamed of ere he came into her life, but they have done little more than kiss. She has her honour, after all, and though she may trust him more deeply than she would ever have imagined, she will do this rightly, or not at all. So she has kept herself chaste, and though she knows not what experience he has - and will not ask - she knows she has none. Nor is she certain of how he will react to the scars she now bears - he knows that she has them, but has not seen more than the edges of the knots of pink-white scars that mar her fair skin.

No. She will not be nervous. She is the Lady of the Shield-Arm, she is the hero of Rohan, the killer of the Witch-King... yet when she turns to face him, she is only a young woman, her cheeks pink and her eyes shyly lowered, her stronger right hand anxiously smoothing the green and white silk of her wedding gown.

"So, my lord husband..." She smiles, worrying faintly at her lip. Husband has such a pleasing ring to it, in this moment. "It seems you have tamed yourself a maid of Rohan."

It feels she has been waiting for this moment for an age. And yet, now it is here, she is unsure what she can say that has not already been said, what she can do that will not overstep the bounds of this unfamiliar new relationship. He has ever been the one of them who can find the better words.

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[whattheydefend]

As she did for him, he holds her through the moment, gently continuing to pull pleasure from her with fingers and mouth, until she collapses limp on their marriage bed, sated and gasping.

He places one last kiss as he carefully withdraws his fingers, then climbs back up to lie alongside her, pulling her into a loose embrace. They are both of them sweat-marked, and now that they are past that point of ecstacy Faramir, at least, is growing cold, so he hooks one of the blankets with his foot and brings it up until he may pull it over them.

That is better; that is peaceful, as he lies holding her, stroking her hair. The lines of light on the walls gradually brighten as the sun rises outside. Faramir smiles and kisses Eowyn's forehead. "Do we declare this duel a draw?" he murmurs, a note of sleepiness creeping back into his voice.

[shieldofrohan]

She laughs, still breathless, and rolls onto her side to lie closer against him, her eyes half-closed. "For now," she agrees, and nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder, kissing the base of his neck. He is hot against her, both of them tacky with sweat, and she remembers, once more, that this is how they can wake up any time they like. This is their life now, and she's hugely glad of it, grateful for this joy that has come out of all the waiting and the pain.

"We could stay here all our lives," she says aloud, with a note of humour, "and let all else be forgotten. Just thee and me, until we can find a victor in this duel."

Of course, it won't happen. She knows perfectly well that it isn't in either of them to leave their responsibilities that way, no matter how tempting it might sound. Still, it's a pleasant thought, and one she luxuriates in as she winds her fingertips in the ends of his hair.

[whattheydefend]

"I think we never shall, my dearest love." He kisses her forehead again, winding her in close. "We will trade victories back and forth joy, but even if we stayed here until the end of days, I do not think either of us would claim a total victory. Not when our shared pleasure is so very great." He breathes in the smell of her and exhales happily, utterly relaxed. "Though the idea still has great appeal. We will have a few days, at least, and I would not mind at all spending them thus."

A few days entirely to themselves, at a hunting lodge a few days' ride from Edoras, a wedding gift from his king and hers...Faramir nuzzles at Eowyn's hair, greatly looking forward to the time. "Although we will need to eat sometime...and other things, I suppose..." Miscellaneous, unimportant things that are so much less appealing than staying in bed with her.

[shieldofrohan]

"Mm. Must we?" She yawns contentedly, stretching like a cat, and nuzzles her face a little more closely against his shoulder. "It has been said that the Dúnedain of old could last many days of fasting, and I have long thought, my lord, that you have much of Númenor about you." Her voice is light, of course, and teasing, through the drowsiness stealing over her. She smiles against his skin, tracing patterns on his chest idly with one hand. "Or we could trade watches, as your Rangers do, and you may eat while I sleep, and let all our other waking hours be spent in merrier pursuits."

[whattheydefend]

He chuckles, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I do not think they were expending such energy as we have been while thus fasting, my shieldmaiden. I will attempt it if you wish, but think how much more pleasure I will be able to give you with all my strength to hand..."

He reaches for her chin and tips her mouth up, kissing her with long, sinuous movements of his tongue, a seductive promise. They may be spent for now, but only for now, and already he anticipates the next time.

[shieldofrohan]

She laughs comfortably, and lets herself be drawn gladly into his kiss, answering it with tender passion. This is comfortable, this hazy post-coital intimacy; comfortable and new and yet, already, growing sweetly familiar. Smiling, she kisses him again, sweet and slow, and nuzzles against his side.

It's a few moments that she lies there, dozy and content, before opening one eye and giving him a crooked little smile. "You have some wisdom in it, my lord. Only one night, and my stomach is already growling. Shall we breakfast?"

[whattheydefend]

He does not want to move, but at the word breakfast his stomach gives an undeniable rumble. Faramir laughs, rueful but amused. "I can hardly refuse, after that." He kisses her once more first, then sighs and pulls back the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It is early yet, I believe, but I do not doubt the kitchens will have been active for some time." Bakers wake before dawn. Though it is possible the kitchen staff will have been granted at least a half-day, to recover from the work of last night's feasting. He looks over his shoulder at Eowyn, smiling at the sight of her, with mussed hair and tangled bed linens. "Will we need to raid the kitchens, do you think? Or shall we use the privilege of our rank to ask that something be brought? I cannot say I like the idea of putting clothes back on, though removing yours again later has some appeal..."

[shieldofrohan]

She considers wrapping the sheets around herself, an instinctive response from one used to sharing space, but there is a certain luxury to not needing such modesty. Pushing her tangled hair back from her face, she shifts and crawls across the bed, wrapping her arms around him from behind. His skin is hot against hers, his hair brushing her face as she leans in to kiss the arc of his shoulder.

"I think on this occasion," she says, after a moment's ostentatious thought, "that we might call upon the privilege of rank. And for more water, too. I am parched."

[whattheydefend]

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, reveling in the felling of her naked body pressed against his from behind, her mouth on his shoulder. It is too soon for his body to react to such stimulus, and he regrets it despite their impatient stomachs. Doing nothing for the rest of their lives but staying in this bed together has more appeal than he would have dreamed possible...

And the sooner they manage to achieve breakfast and water, the sooner they will be able to return to such games, or at least to rest in preparation for more. All the same he turns his head enough to catch her mouth, teasing at her tongue for a minute before pulling away. "You are more likely to be quickly heeded than I, Lady of the Shield Arm," he murmurs fondly. "And more likely to know where one might be found to run such an errand for us. Must we dress for this, or shall we drape ourselves in sheets and bellow out the door like the hedonists we are on this morning?"

[shieldofrohan]

"Mmmm..." Éowyn laughs low against his mouth, catching another quick kiss from his lips before he can pull away entirely. She knows, as well as he does, that the time for such pleasures has passed, at least for now - but even so, it's hard to resist the temptation, and she doesn't make much effort to. Her fingers trail down his chest, brushing over his nipple and the scars that mark his skin. "If I dress myself for this matter, I do not doubt you will take some joy in stripping me of it anew."

With that, she reluctantly loosens her grip on him, and swings her long, bare legs off the edge of the bed, getting to her feet.

"I will go," she clarifies, in case there was any doubt. "And you may wait, and let anticipation sweeten me anew."

[whattheydefend]

"That I shall," he says, his voice a low rumble of agreement and promise as he watches her stand, openly admiring the curve of her hip, the muscles in her thighs. He leans back on the bed, entirely unselfconscious of his own naked state, his gaze smug and appreciative, and not a trifle possessive. "Though I do not think it possible for me to desire you more than I already do." There is a heat in his eyes to support that statement, as his gaze wanders over her. So familiar now, all that skin...impossible to imagine he might ever tire of it, of exploring and tasting and pleasuring her...

His cock twitches a little, and he chuckles. "So take care that you are not long in returning, melda. It would be most unkind to leave me bereft."

[shieldofrohan]

It is the warmth in his voice, as much as the want, that makes her smile and laugh along with him. Sliding one hand around the back of his neck, she leans down to kiss him, long and slow, her other hand running teasingly up his thigh and brushing, quite intentionally, along the length of his soft cock. Cruel, perhaps - and yet, she cannot bring herself to regret it.

"Rest," she advises, smirking a little as she straightens. "You may need your strength, when I return." And, turning away, she bends down to retrieve a robe from the trunk at the foot of the bed. There is some pleasure and teasing in that, too; in how she turns her back to him to bend down, presenting her shapely backside to what she feels quite sure is some advantage - just out of his reach, of course. Still, he may be able to see how she blushes, or how the moisture clings between her thighs, and guess that she is testing herself as much as she is him, with all this playful teasing.

[whattheydefend]

If Éowyn did not intend to fulfill the promise inherent in those teasing strokes, that lingering kiss, then it would be cruel indeed. But Faramir has every confidence that she will, so while his breath catches as his cock jumps a little against her fingers, still he is chuckling as she pulls away.

That she deliberately presents him with such a view does not hurt either. A man of lesser perception than Faramir would see the signs of desire in her, the heightened color and the tilt of her hips. He can see the shine between her legs, remembers its taste..."You had best go quickly, beloved, or you will not be leaving at all," he warns, and means it.

[shieldofrohan]

She hears the sincerity in his voice, and laughs at it, because indeed, she knows he means it - knows that he wants her, and that when she returns, he will be hungry indeed. Smiling, she straightens up and covers herself quickly with the robe, her feet still bare as she pads towards the door. She turns in the doorway, smirking noticeably, and her gaze lingers on him for a moment, taking him in. Gone is any shyness of the night before; her look is one of undisguised, bold interest, and the newfound familiarity of his body thrills her.

Turning away, Éowyn disappears out of the room and down the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir lays back on the bed with a long, drawn-out exhale, more fulfilled than he ever has felt ere this morning. It is a wonder to him, all of it. That he loves Éowyn, he has long known; also that he desired her, for how could he not? But that the two would combine thus to make such joy is beyond all his hopes. Silently he gives thanks to all the Valar, for their mercy and blessings, and to Eru for granting him such a wife.

It is more than tempting to lie in wait for her, to not leave the bed at all but entice her back into it as soon as she returns. But there will be time yet, and he too is parched and hungry. There is a robe for him also in the chest at the end of the bed--there seems little point in donning more complicated clothing, not when he has so little motivation to remain in it--and there is a ewer of water and a bowl in a corner of the room, that he may use to drink and wash his hands and face.

By the time his wife returns he looks marginally more civilized, though there is still more than a little of the smug, well-fucked, new-wedded husband in his air.

[shieldofrohan]

It strikes Éowyn once it is too late to turn back that perhaps she ought to be embarrassed by her state. Here she is, barefoot and clad in little more than a thin layer of linen, her hair sex-tangled and with sweat and sex still lingering on her skin, walking openly through the corridors. By all rights, she ought to be thoroughly humiliated. She's a little surprised to find that, instead, she feels more smug than anything else - and perhaps, too, there is a certain thrill in being unashamedly marked from her marriage bed. She walks through the hallways with her head held high, a faint smile on her face, and is not ashamed.

When she returns, she is carrying a tray covered with a plain white cloth. Underneath is a veritable feast - breads and cheeses and meats, leftovers from the celebrations of the day before. She eats as she walks, and sets the tray down as soon as she is back inside the room, kicking the door closed firmly behind her. Her smile softens and warms as she lays eyes on her husband again, the early morning light catching in his hair and laying across his profile. Ai, how beautiful he is! And, ai, how she still wants him!

"I liked the view better before," is all she says, with a little laugh, crossing over to him to kiss him soundly on the lips.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir chuckles against her mouth, running his hands up her arms, under the sleeves of her robe. "I could not be sure you would return alone," he says. "Else I would have remained there waiting for you. Though it would certainly have delayed our meal further."

Such delay is still tempting. She is so very beautiful, and more desirable than she has ever been like this, lit from within with satisfaction and joy. And to know that he, Faramir, is the cause...there is a low rumble of pride in his throat as he kisses her deeply, and it is with obvious regret that he pulls back. "But if we take but a little time to break our fast, I'm sure we can find a few hours yet to...view one another..." He runs a teasing finger along the curve of her breast as he says it, his grin mischevious.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn lets out a low, breathy laugh, edged with desire, at his touch, and answers his kiss with great enthusiasm. When he pulls away, she follows, as much as she can, leaning up to chase his mouth with hers. She feels as though she could kiss him forever, and sustain herself on that alone; on his love, and her own, and on the heat of his mouth against hers and his hands on her skin.

But alas, it is not so, and she pulls away reluctantly, biting her lip. "Let it be only a little time," she urges him, her voice hushed and throaty, "for I have little patience in me this morning, and I would fain have thee back to bed with me sooner rather than later." And as she says it, her hand is trailing over the curve of his throat, down under the folds of his robe, to trace the planes of his chest. It is hard not to; seems impossible to keep her hands off him.

[whattheydefend]

She chases his mouth and catches it, a series of teasing kisses that only spark more temptation, even before she palms a hand down his chest. Faramir's breath catches, and his eyes darken as he looks down upon her face, the color high and her eyes glinting.

There is a wild moment where he almost gives in, almost, only a hair's-width from it--and then he catches her hand in is, brings it to his mouth and places a slow, open-mouthed kiss on her wrist. "You are a dangerous woman, Éowyn of Rohan," he murmurs, the words low and heated. He nips at the delicate skin, then squeezes her fingers. "Quickly, then, for I have little patience in me either, and would not see the morning wasted."

And at the moment, any activity other than making most passionate love to his wife seems a waste. Logically he knows that food and drink are necessities, but they do not seem so at present.

[shieldofrohan]

That nip at her wrist makes her gasp - and that gasp, in turn, makes her laugh, low and content, at her own want. She cannot remember a morning when she felt so at peace, even with that desire hot in her belly; cannot remember when she last met a day with such luxurious lack of care.

With a conscious effort, she pulls away from him again, her fingertips trailing against the rough-stubbled curve of his jaw. "Quickly," she agrees, and laughs again, not at anything said or done but rather at the sheer lightness of this morning, of the morning light on his skin and the warmth of him and the contentment that spreads through her and the promise between them.

She retrieves the tray and proffers it to him, but doesn't immediately hand it over. Instead, she continues to stare at him, her grey eyes soft and her mouth curled in a faint smile.

"I love thee," she says at last, softly and simply, and means it with all her heart.

[whattheydefend]

"Éowyn--" The name nearly sticks in his throat. Faramir's joy is overwhelming, the well of it so deep that it renders him almost beyond speech. Slowly he takes the tray from her, places it on the bed, steps forward and cradles her face in his hands. He rests his forehead against hers for a moment, his eyes closed as he just...breathes her in, the wonder of her, the wonder of this. "I love thee."

The words seems hopelessly inadequate to capture the depths of his feeling. Perhaps some measure of it comes across in his kiss--not heated this time, though of course desire is still there, always. But this need is a more profound one yet, as is its fulfilment, both present at once.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn turns her face up to his, her eyes not closed but shaded and heavy-lidded as she answers his kiss slowly and with great feeling. The depth of his own feeling she knows, and wonders at, even as she sees it only as a reflection of her own. The strength of his feelings, and of her own, is almost frightening in its intensity - frightening as no battle has ever been to her, and wondrous as no victory has ever been. Even now, it is strange to think that in the wake of all they have been through, such happiness is even possible.

"I love thee," she murmurs against his mouth, and then kisses him again in answer, breathing deeply of the sweat-and-sex smell of him, and that warm and earthy scent beneath that is so much his own. Her laugh is low and quiet, breathless, and to her own surprise she feels the sting of tears in her eyes. "Ai, how I love thee."

[whattheydefend]

"Eówyn, mðdleófu..." He kisses her face, her eyelids, the salt water that slips down her face. He is not far from weeping himself, the joy of the moment is so great. She smells of all the activity of their night together, and underneath that herself, of warmth and green growth and that dizzying, addictive, alive scent he knows only as Eówyn. He breathes her in as much as she does him, kissing her deeply. "Never did I imagine joy such as this," he murmurs before brushing his lips along hers again, teasing at her mouth with his tongue. "Never could I. You--"

His hands slide into her hair to cradle her scalp and the nape of her neck, and he pulls her closer yet, nothing is close enough. Such passion should frighten him, cautious as he is.

But it does not. There is no space for fear in the face of this wellspring of devotion. He is utterly filled by it, no shadow left unlit, no hollow left empty. Such a greatness of emotion he has never experienced, and it leaves him awed and wondering.

Again and again he kisses her in loving astonishment, and that awe abruptly gives way to a hunger almost as intense as the fulfillment that preceeded it, and he clutches her close enough to leave her near breathless, the hard length of him trapped between them, pressed against her abdomen. "Eówyn--" he says into her mouth, voice now hoarse with need, their breakfast entirely forgotten.

[shieldofrohan]

It is not only the strength of his arms that catches the breath out of her. She wanted him already, but what had been a slow-burning cinder has caught on the flame of his desire and burst fully into light; the hoarseness of his voice and the hardness of his cock against her are enough to make her tremble with the fury of her own answering lust, and she kisses him back with no less ardour, her arms coming up around his shoulders, pulling him down towards her, pulling herself up to his mouth, making them into one being even as the brief tears dry on her cheeks.

Words of love, however deeply-meant, are forgotten for the moment. When she closes her eyes, a few more of those stinging, joyful tears escape from under the closed lids, but they, too, are forgotten. All that is on her mind now is her husband, the heat of him against her, and the cloth of their robes that now seems only to be there to try them both. Still clinging to his shoulders, she fumbles to untie her robe, feeling all at once that she doesn't have enough hands - not enough, after all, to hold him and to strip away the fabric from both of them, and at the same time to touch and caress and embrace. Urgency has overcome her, and she laughs at it, low in her throat, as she pushes herself as close against him as she can, one leg hooking around his to bring her even closer.

[whattheydefend]

She pulls at him, wraps around him, as though she wishes to climb him like a tree--a thing he can and does assist, reaching under to lift her so she may wrap her legs around his waist, bringing them that much closer. That occupies his hands, but his mouth he uses, and that forcefully. She laughs low and he chases the sound, sucks at the side of her throat hard enough to leave a mark, his fingers digging into her bottom.

He put the tray on the bed earlier, and releasing Eowyn long enough to move it out of the way he refuses to consider. The table is a few feet away--too far. Instead he turns, taking a few quick steps to the wall, pressing her to it, his teeth still scraping at her neck as he pushes against her.

With the leverage of the wall to aid him he frees a hand, shoves her robes up and his out of the way, takes himself in hand. Her quim is already soaked, and he deliberately rubs the head of his cock against her a few times, just a brief moment of teasing them both, before finding her entrance and sliding in. He groans loudly, his head falling back--she is so slick around him, and he is able to go deep already, and she's hot and wet and perfect, she sheathes him perfectly, and "Fuck--"

He doesn't even realize he's said it, too busy seizing her mouth again, his freed hand moving to press her shoulder to the wall as he starts to thrust.