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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[shieldofrohan]

She lets out a laugh of surprise and delight at his swearing, so unlike him and so thrillingly deep with meaning - but the laugh turns into a moan at her lips, a throaty and ecstatic moan that is every bit as wanton and as carelessly passionate as his curse. Something about the angle of it, the weight of her own body pressing down on against his thrusting cock, presses against new and wonderful parts of her, and she tightens her muscular thighs around his hips, one arm flung around his shoulders while with the other she rakes her touseled hair out of her eyes, before returning her mouth greedily to his.

"Fuck me," she urges, between hard and searching kisses, and her cunt tightens around him, her hips rolling and sending a delicious wave of feeling through her. "Ai, Faramir... husband... fuck me harder!" And as she says it, she winds both arms around him again, her nails digging hard against his shoulder while her other hand pushes insistently at the small of his back, urging him to thrust deeper and faster. Her mouth is on his again, and she bites at his lip, sucking on it as he sucked on her neck - which even now is rising into a dark and livid mark, bright against her skin.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir would have said he did not care much for coarse language, for all that he's more familiar with it than most people credit him as being. But it takes on an entirely new meaning here, in her mouth, an eager demand as she wraps around him, thighs and arms and cunt and mouth, nothing unclaimed.

And the profanity spurs him on as a gentler request would not have done. Between his arm, her legs' grip around his waist, and the wall holding her weight, she is balanced enough for him to thrust freely. And he does, hard and deep, as she urges. She bites at his mouth and he groans, the hand supporting her digging into her skin hard enough to bruise. "Eówyn, my wife, my shieldmaiden...fuck, I need you, need to hear you...feel you..." Oh, he is close he can feel the tension building and tightening, but it's not enough for what he wants. He reaches to pull her hair, forcing her head back so he can latch his mouth once more on her neck, her ear. His breath is ragged and hot, desperate in his urgency. "Eówyn, Eówyn--" With harder thrusts every time he says her name, slamming her back against the wall. "Come for me, scream for me, ride me--fuck, Eówyn--" Need blinds him and steals his words, his sight, a dizzy torrent, but he still feels her legs wrapped around him, her nails gouging into his back. Everything is too hot, their skin sparking wherever they touch, every time their hips meet. "Eówyn--""

[shieldofrohan]

Every thrust he gives, she answers, her muscular thighs tensing around him to jolt her own hips forward into his, as if to bring him closer, though already they are close enough for each thrust to bruise bone on bone. When he pulls her head back, the pain sharp and echoing through the pleasure, she cries out again with wild abandon, her eyes rolling back into her head as she moans and bucks against him. The hardness of the wall at her back, the pull of her hair and the rough press of his fingers against her flesh... all of it is only a seasoning, any pain he may cause bringing the pleasure into sharper relief, until all the world is down to the two of them, the heat of his mouth on her throat and the friction of his cock inside her, and the almost unbearable need that roils inside her.

"Faramir..." One hand continues to claw for purchase on his back, raking raw lines with her nails. With the other, she fumbles blindly at his neck and his face, wanting to touch him more, to draw that gentler and more intimate connection between them even as wild passion claims them both. Ecstasy is etched on her features, and her fingers tremble with it as she clasps his jaw. "Faramir, Faramir, Faramir...!" Again and again his name tumbles from her lips, like an invocation or a blessing, until at last she can no longer keep herself from seeking his mouth again, leaning against the leverage of his arm and her own thighs' grip on his hips to catch his lips with her own, a messy and desperate kiss.

[whattheydefend]

She scratches at his skin hard enough to mark, but it only adds to the intensity of it all--the more so when it is contrasted by her fingers on his face, not gripping but caressing, shaking as they touch him. He is shaking too, all over--so close, too close, try to hold it back as he may. She pulls him in for a kiss and he breathes it in, breathes her in, he can't breathe, it's too hot and there's not enough air, and he lets go of her hand and reaches between them to find her clit, circling it with his thumb as he takes the deeper thrusts that herald the end. He mouths her name into their kiss, unable to say the word aloud, a silent prayer.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn hangs from his shoulders, from his mouth, and she deepens their kiss with a low gasp as his thumb finds her clit and sends jolts of electric pleasure through her, making her tense around him and against him, her chest heaving with exertion as she pulls him in, her tongue exploring the cavern of his mouth, her fingers now tangling in his hair. Her toes curl and flex behind him, her breath coming in raw little gasps, but she has a little more time left to her than he does, and she uses it to rut harder still against him, rolling her hips experimentally as she does so. At the last moment - or so she hopes - before his climax, she pulls away from the kiss as much as she can in the limited space she has, hooded eyes fixed on his face, to watch him.