Faramir Fiction Archive

For You I Will Burn (NC-17)

Written by Geale

27 August 2010 | 6041 words

Title: For You I Will Burn
Summary: On the eve of her wedding day, Éowyn discovers that her future will be brighter than she thought.
Pairing: Faramir/Éowyn
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: No slash, lots of het. The tiniest bit of violence and just as much blood, but these are mere coincidences and aren’t really related, technically.
Disclaimer: For ones belonging to Master Tolkien, these characters spend an awful lot of time at my place…
A/N: OK, so now I also write pure het. No further comments.

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For You I Will Burn

The silken veil slid to the floor in the same moment as Éomer lifted his glass in a toast in a small chamber somewhere in the King’s Houses. She did not know it to be so, but she painted the picture in her mind: how a low-burning fire lent its golden sparks to the fine glass, to the red wine – how her brother and the other men drank to her happiness, to her fertility, no doubt! And they all clapped Faramir on the back and said… whatever men said on such occasions.

A moonlight that should have blended with the white shift she was wearing seemed to avoid the City and around her was only the blue night. She bent down, her fingertips brushing the soft silk, then she too sank down onto the floor and hugged her knees tight to her breast. She sat staring into all that blue.

In wintertime, darkness filled the plains of Rohan swiftly, and now, when it was nearing high summer and the moon was two days from full, silver would flood them like running water. She thought now that it was Minas Tirith that swallowed all the darkness of night and that was why Edoras could stand aglow in silver. She envied her brother and despised her own sex that forced her to move so far away when she was married. Éomer could take three wives for all he liked and would still have his home in Rohan.

Married! The word was like a curse and yet she had herself willingly taken it upon her.

She picked at a corner of the crumpled veil. It went well with her dress; torn between pleasure and distaste, she had embroidered it herself. White thread upon white silk, the very banner of innocence she would wear tomorrow though she was far from pure. A true bride had no qualms, felt no revulsion for the prison wrought for her, a true bride looked forward to her wedding day with the only wish that she might please her new lord as best she could.

In a flash of anger she snatched the veil from the floor and thrust it away from her, glaring at it as it floated through the air and landed only a few feet away in a soft flutter. She would scream but then her waiting-woman would come running, or the guards… or any of the other thousand people that inhabited this place. Eyes were always on her, there were always hands ready to steady her when she walked down the stairs – as if she were a toddler trying her feet for the very first time. Éomer was handing her off to this city and she hated it, and she hated herself for wanting it.

She pushed herself to her feet and stared at the veil. Then she stepped on it, crushed it completely against the floor with all the self-loathing she could muster. She watched with grim satisfaction as it twisted helplessly under her bare feet. This night at least she was free to do her own will.

A soft knock on the door almost made her jump. All day her chambers had been overflowing with foolish women who would speak of nothing but dresses and ribbons and the handsome young men come to partake in the festivities, and she had no more sweet words to spare. Stomping over to the door she tore it open, a curse already on the very tip of her tongue. But it was no woman she laid eyes on. Faramir himself took a step back when he spotted her rage.

“My lord!” With thoughts suddenly swirling she bobbed a quick curtsy and this her own reaction made her sick.

“Éowyn?” He leaned forward a little. “Something the matter?”

He was not very drunk; his eyes were slightly brighter and since he was standing in the hallway and they were yet unmarried perhaps he should have been more formal but she did not care.

“No,” she said and heard her own contempt clearly.

His lips curved into an amused smile. “Can I come in?”

She lifted her chin. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He leaned a bit closer still and said with a conspiratorial wink, “I know.”

It was the rebellious streak in her that made her step aside and let him inside. He made for the window, his balance in check, but stopped when he came across the abused veil. He regarded it for a moment but said nothing, and he did not pick it up. Silently she dared him to comment but he would not play any game, not even unbeknownst or drunk, and he only circled the crushed silk to come back to her.

Defiantly, she stood glaring as he almost closed the distance between them. His breath was warm, and surprisingly sweet as he spoke, “I wished to see you before tomorrow.”

“To gloat at your prize?” she retorted with a snort.

A wave of genuine surprise passed over Faramir’s face. “My prize?” he echoed her. “What do you mean?” His bright eyes searched her face. “Is that how you think of yourself, my love?” The surprise changed into concern. “Do you think that of me – that I see you as such?”

She knew her harsh words stung and had not really meant to speak thus. Yet she had not been wholly insincere.

He stepped back from her again and frowned. “I thought you agreed to marry me because you wanted to?” The light in his eyes dimmed a little. “I know I am no King…”

More than her own heart’s treachery, she hated this lack of confidence in Faramir. It made her angry to see him so beaten, so weak without reason, when she knew he was really brave and strong. “But I don’t want a King!” she cried, surprising herself, but not knowing how else to pierce all the layers of self-doubt that clung to him. She took a step forward. “I do not want a King!”

Faramir raised his hands as if he prepared to ward off a blow. “You loved Aragorn…”

“Not because he would be King!” she retorted and immediately knew it was a mistake.

Faramir took another step back and he seemed to drift further and further away from her, and his shoulders sagged. “We are not yet bound, you are free to leave… Aragorn is married but…”

“No!” Some power threw her forward and she took his hands in hers and kissed them. “I love you… I just…” She faltered and tried frantically to find the words that would fit. “I fear being locked up,” she said at last. “I want you, Faramir, no one else, but… I wish… I could have you without all the rest of it…”

His blue eyes widened as she spoke and she could feel him trembling. Then he leaned in and kissed her, and it was a kiss of a kind she had never known before. He tasted of wine as he pushed his tongue past her lips and slid it alongside hers. She found herself clinging to him, seeking this new thing, seeking whatever else he could give. He crushed her to him and buried his fingers in her hair. His lips were soft and they parted, and he urged her to taste him. With a spinning head she mimicked what he had done to her and he groaned, and the air, she was sure, was suddenly turned very warm around them.

He pulled away too soon for her liking but again his eyes glowed. “I’ll never tie you down, Éowyn, this I vow to you.”

“I shall hold you to your promise,” she said and was pleased that he did not laugh or jest at her solemnity.

He slowly, reluctantly, released her. “Do you want me gone?”

“Must you return to the men?”

Meeting her gaze he shook his head. “No doubt they are drunk enough to not notice my absence.”

She sighed. “I wish it were custom for women to drink also on the eve of their wedding. The Gods know we might benefit from it.”

A mischievous smile drew across Faramir’s lips. “I’ll gladly drink with you, lady. Though you should know I’m not much of a drinker. Tonight already I have made an exception and tried the Dwarves’ ale…” He made such a face that she could not but to smile also.

“Very well,” she said, “I shall have to kick you out, then, when you are too drunk to behave like a gentleman.”

“Then if you can spare me for a few minutes I shall fetch us something.” He was gone with a deep bow.

When the door clicked behind him her gaze fell on the veil. She stuck her tongue out at it and let it lie. On the floor by the foot of the bed she piled up some cushions and made herself comfortable. She did not have to wait long. Faramir knocked before he entered, carrying a tray with a carafe and two glasses. He did not so much as raise one eyebrow when he spotted her arrangement, but only spared the chairs in a corner a single glance.

Crouching beside her, but at a decent enough distance, her poured the wine which was as golden as a sunset. Silently he handed her her glass and then sat down properly.

“To…” his eyes narrowed at he beheld her, “freedom.”

She grimaced. “Too cliché.”

He grinned. “Alright… to the future… yours and mine… To a future consisting of anything and everything that is not conventional or preordained?”

She shifted a bit closer, smiling up at him. “To whatever may come that we have not planned.”

“To snow at Midsummer?”

“To crows barking in the kitchen?”

With his free hand he guided her glass aside and left a soft kiss upon her lips. “To three full moons in one month.”

“That’d be good at harvest time,” she mumbled against his mouth when he did not pull away. “To rain racing upwards from the grass towards the sky.”

He traced the curve of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and a thrill went through her. “To Éomer proposing to Legolas.”

She giggled and he took the opportunity to delve into her wet warmth. When the kiss deepened she wished she did not have to bother with her glass. She let him devour her, melting against him, sensing the warm skin underneath his tunic.

“To the stars shining in the day-sky…” he suggested as he began to end the kiss.

She did not want to let go; she leaned forward and brushed her mouth against his, revelling in the way his stubble tickled her skin. “To me learning how to spin.”

He chuckled and nibbled at her lower lip. “To me learning Dwarf Speech.”

“You’re skilled in such things!” she protested as he lifted her hair aside and kissed her neck and made her skin tingle. “You already know Elvish.”

“Le annon veleth nín¹,” he murmured softly. “Meleth nín²…”

She shivered when he touched her, when his lips slid lower towards the shallow bay at the base of her throat, and she could not help the sigh that left her. She lifted her free hand to his hair and wanted to push him further down for there was heat wakening in her now, a heat she did not know how to handle. But her touch seemed to sober him and he pulled away, lips reddened in the blue night.

His eyes were burning as he lifted his glass somewhat shakily. “To you…” He guided the glass to her lips and she drank, swallowing down not only wine but also the buzzing energy in her body.

She held up her own glass. “To you.”

As she watched him drink, she was not so sure she was still unwed. This seemed to her more like a binding than anything else.

“Éowyn…” He took her glass from her and set them both aside. “Perhaps I should go or…”

“Or what?” She meant it not as a challenge and she spoke softly. “Or what?” His arms immediately wound about her as she sought out his embrace once more.

“Or tomorrow you will not come to our bed as a maiden,” he whispered hoarsely into her hair.

She barely knew what she was doing as she nuzzled his neck and left a trail of kisses there. “Does it matter to you?”

One of his hands drifted down her back, stumbled over the thin muslin. “How could it?” He pressed down slightly at the base of her spine and it felt to her as if were touching her skin, as if nothing guarded her from him.

She touched his chest, mapped the muscles underneath his tunic. He sighed softly and she moved on, daring herself to touch his belly. She knew if she continued he would not push her away… An icy chill shot through the warm haze that enveloped her and she fought the fear of doing something wrong, of being clumsy. He knew, of course, that this was all new to her… or he could easily guess it by the way her fingers trembled as she explored the creased linen.

With a series of light kisses he coaxed her to lift her chin and he kissed her temple. She thought her heart beat so hard that Faramir must think her a mere child but he did not stop. Nor did he complain when she, in a moment of weakness, avoided brushing against his groin with her fingertips and instead ran them down his thigh. He did, however, break away long enough to catch her attention and hold it.

He leaned back against the bed. “My love, I’d rather leave now than make you do something you’ll regret on the morrow…” His breathing had picked up and his voice was rougher than usual.

She shook her head, for a second too nervous to speak. “I want tomorrow to be good.”

He stroked her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and she could see in his eyes the effect that the mixture of alcohol and desire had on him. Yet he spoke very gently, “Tomorrow is tomorrow and not now. What do you desire for tonight?”

She closed her eyes and wished the world would still. “Can one still belong to oneself even though one is given to another?”

He replaced his thumb with his lips and kissed her cheek. “Give me one chance and I will prove that to you.”

She opened her eyes slowly and knew there was no other way. “I never learned well how to…” she felt some colour settle in her cheeks, “how to express my love… We all had to be strong…” Forcing herself to maintain eye contact with Faramir she pressed on, “But I do love you, Faramir. I do.”

As if she were but a kitten, he scooped her up and she found herself straddling his hips. His mouth sought hers and he kissed her fiercely. She felt the air push out of her lungs but she willingly sank into the dark depths that waited beyond the edge. His hands tugged at her simple shift and she lifted herself up a little so that he could drag it up above her waist. Fear stabbed her again when she was thus exposed and the kiss turned into nothing more than a collision of lips. Embarrassed, she let him drag the thin fabric over her head and when she was completely naked in the blue night, she did not dare to look him in the eye.

He drew a long breath and exhaled slowly. Then he lifted both his hands and traced the curve of her breasts and brushed her nipples, and she suddenly found it easier to look at his face than at what his hands were doing. Her skin prickled at the touch and she was both warm and cold at the same time. Faramir’s lips were slightly parted and all of his focus lay on her unshielded and unadorned body before him.

Unable to bear the silence any longer she longed desperately for him to say something. When he did not, she whispered, “Is it… am I..?”

He came out of his trance at the sound of her voice. “Oh, bless the Gods, Éowyn… You are both sweet and bold, and tough and mild…” She wondered if it was tears that made his eyes glimmer so. “And you are impossibly beautiful.” He shook his head, “We should lie down.”

With relief washing through her, she dared to try a shaky smile. “No, I don’t want to move… I want to stay like this.”

He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Instead, he straightened somewhat and, with his gaze still locked on hers, caught the lower hem of his tunic and began pulling it upwards. Setting her jaw, she aided him, pulling it off and discarding it. His chest was lightly sprinkled with copper hair and he sported several scars, some of them old and white, some of them newer, rawer, redder. He looked strong to her even though he was more slender than many men she had seen. And she had seen bare-chested men before – in the training fields, and she had seen both Éomer her brother, and Théodred her cousin, before he was slain, in no more than worn leggings.

Still it was a wonder to her that this man was hers to touch. Just as she was his… He does not own me, she told herself firmly. I am not a sheep or a mare to be sold or bought.

Faramir silently waited for her to complete her circle of thought. Gathering some courage, she experimentally circled one of his nipples with a forefinger, having partly forgotten that she herself was naked. Faramir’s head fell back against the bed but his eyes stayed open. Deciding this could perhaps be more fun than she had first thought, she repeated the movement and then leaned in and kissed the tender bud. His exhale reached her skin and a tremor ran across it. Her lips found their way to more familiar territory and she kissed his throat and chin and finally his lips, secretly a little proud that she had not run off.

She was so lost in the kiss that she did not at once notice that his hands had begun wandering all over her body. Her breasts filled his large palms and then suddenly he was stroking the insides of her thighs. Some kind of liquid heat trickled slowly down her spine and pooled in the very core of her body. She shifted uneasily against Faramir but stilled when he gasped.

“Éowyn…” his voice held a hint of a warning and his eyes were a deep blue when he met her gaze. It was as if the night had lent them some of its hue. “I am…”

She glanced down and managed to ignore her own state of undress, and saw instead the bulge in Faramir’s leggings. Swallowing past a new thickness in her throat, she desperately wanted to know what to do, but she really had no idea.

“Forgive me, sweetheart, but either we do this tonight or I must leave you now.” There was no jest, only rich desire, in Faramir’s voice.

“I want it,” she whispered. “Tonight. If you’ll have me tomorrow as I will be then.”

With one of his hands, he fingered the lacings. When she did not protest, he pulled at them and in a daze, she saw the fabric fall away and his swollen manhood revealed. In a moment of panic she wondered what she was doing, how he would ever fit inside her, how she could be doing this now – ever – but he quickly brought his hand to his lips and wet his fingertips with his tongue. Before she could ask him why, he touched her more intimately than he had done before, parted the soft folds that guarded the entrance to her body and seemed to search for something. Stunned, she froze for a heartbeat before a jolt of pleasure shot through her and she knew she was trembling.

His touch did not go away, but instead he lingered in that spot he had found and he rubbed her gently. Again that liquid heat collected so low in her body that she thought she might be drained, and it was dragged even further down by a sweet heaviness. His fingers toyed with her, cautiously at first, but soon with more eagerness. Warmth spread through her body and she flinched at her own moan as he dipped one finger into the wetness that he discovered between her legs. Colour sped to her cheeks as he spread it over her tender skin and she, with embarrassment briefly clutching at her, realised she yearned for more. She wanted him to bring her such pleasure as he might and never stop.

“Please…” she breathed when he appeared to be letting go of her. Her eyes had drifted closed and she leaned forward to kiss him, sought out his mouth blindly. “Please… again…”

His voice was ragged when the kiss ended and he spoke, “Yes, my love, soon… but I would have you…”

“Yes,” she nodded, brushing her cheek against his, “yes.”

His hands were shaking also as he coaxed her to raise herself up a little and she knew her balance was fragile. He bent his knees and placed his feet firmly on the floor and she must edge forward to adjust. His hardened flesh was hot against her thigh and fear simmered just beneath the surface. She squeezed her eyes shut when he guided himself to her entrance, the floor unyielding against her knees.

“Relax, love…” he murmured as he tested the muscle.

She felt almost nauseous and knew she was taut as a bowstring. The blunt head of his arousal pressed against her and she hardly breathed as he gave a gentle push and breached her body. She did not scream but her whimper was close to a wail. There was a burning and a stretching and all pleasure was as good as gone now.

“Come… sink down slowly…”

His hands was at her waist and she could only comply for she had not the strength to do otherwise. Tears stung her eyes as the burning intensified as he was buried to the hilt inside her. His moan of pleasure blended with her sob at the pain.

“Sweetness,” He wound his arms around her but otherwise sat completely still. She could feel his arousal twitch and knew he longed to move. His consideration somewhat helped and she could draw a shaky but deep breath. “It’ll pass,” he assured her, “it will.”

And gradually it did. The immediate pain subsided and the worst burning melted away. When she was breathing steadily once more, Faramir did as she had bidden him and touched her again. The new wave of pleasure encouraged her to give in, her muscles relaxing enough to allow him a small thrust of his hips. His deep groan reverberated around her and she shook in his embrace.

“There love… now…” He spoke with difficulty, she could tell, but still his fingers kept up their tiny motions and she felt the heat return.

When she leaned forward a little, he buried his face between her breasts and his warm breath sank into her skin. His desire tangled with hers and some other part of her took over when her mind could lead no longer. His fingers danced on her body and she bucked her hips as pleasure rippled through her. His answering thrust was stronger this time but she felt no more pain. She rocked on top of him, seeking a rhythm that would work and she knew her own breaths was ripped from her lungs in tatters. His head fell back and she dove forward, losing her fingers in his hair and leaving kisses on his stubbly cheeks and chin and his lips. He touched her breasts again, rolling her swollen nipples between his fingers and moaning as she sank down, accepting him fully into her, before she rocked forward again. He thrust into her, but she had more space to move and, dazed and trembling, she found ways to make him groan or grip her with such passion she had never thought existed.

Then his eyes opened and for a second she thought she met the gaze of one of the Valar for such was the power in him that she almost shrank before him. He gently pushed her back so that she leaned away from him, her back against his thighs. Then he pushed into her and the darkness of the night was swept away by lightning. She did not know her own voice when she cried out, only that he had found something in her which made her blood boil and her heart almost leap out of her body.

“My love…” The words spun around her as his seed surged into her and she exploded too, losing her grasp on the world, thrown out among the stars where all was bright and shining.

She landed softly, and felt his arms around her. He was breathing heavily and she knew not whose heartbeat it was that thundered through her. This went beyond her wildest dreams – it was nothing like the stories that those among her boldest women told when they sat a-spinning in her chambers. She had heard tales of shamed maidens and of brutal men, and she knew the herbs that would end the life of a yet unborn child. Also she had heard of a man who failed to be aroused by his woman and how she then had claimed their marriage invalid and they were both set free to bind with others…

She shifted in Faramir’s arms and his eyes fluttered open. He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she shook her head, his concern causing sudden tears to well up in her eyes. She blinked them away but new followed and soon they trailed down her cheeks.

“Sweet Éowyn, darling, what is the matter?” He was thoroughly worried now and he kissed her lips and her cheeks, spreading the salty wetness all over her face.

“Nothing,” she sobbed angrily, “I never cry!”

Then he stopped and took a good look at her as she fervently rubbed her face with the back of her hand. Through the mist of tears, she saw the grin that tugged at his lips and she sobbed even harder and he could not hold it back.

“Then what are you doing now, lady?”

At his teasing, she clenched her hands into fists and punched him in the chest, but he countered the attack and in a deft move, rolled them both onto their sides, and they landed in a tangle on the floor.

“My warrior bride,” he murmured and kissed her full on the lips and against her will, she shifted to accommodate him in her arms. His flaccid length slid out of her and his release, and hers, she realised with a rush of heat to her cheeks, trickled out of her and was sticky between her legs.

They kissed long and he moved on top of her without her fully noticing it. She stretched out underneath him and his kisses grew hungrier and hungrier until he nudged her legs apart with his knee and sank into her, erect and yearning anew. She pulled him down to her, letting him set the pace now and claim her as he wished. He thrust into her with more force this time and she yielded to him completely, locking her ankles around his waist to keep him from withdrawing. His tongue drove into her mouth and she gave up thought as she clung to him, not even feeling the wooden floor dig into her back. He came violently, shaking in her arms, and in that moment it seemed to her that he was Manwë and she Varda, Lord and Lady of Heaven and Earth and all in between and beyond, bound together in perfect union.

When he was shaking no more but breathing evenly, he raised his head and she saw by the faint starlight the glistening traces of tears on his face too.

“Now it is I who must weep, lady,” he whispered, “but not out of sorrow but out of love for you.”

She raised her hand and, without knowing what she did, touched his brow in blessing. “Always I will love you,” she said and knew it was true.

They lay for a time in silence, until the floor grew too uncomfortable and this could be ignored no longer. Faramir slid off her and the empty void he left behind in her she knew she would have to live with until they came together again. He rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching at his breeches and then lacing them up properly.

“Come, sweetheart, I will not leave you on the floor,” he said and there was a twinkle in his eyes.

She took his offered hand and let herself be pulled to her feet, her long hair falling about her and hiding her from view. She winced at the soreness as she stood but when he would have spoken she shook her head. “No, I do not regret it,” she assured him.

He nodded but glanced down. “Did you bleed? It is too dark to see…”

Blushing, and glad he could not see that either, she pointed towards the small table by the window. “Will you not light some candles then?”

While he busied himself with this task, she found her crumpled shift on the floor and pulled it on. Had she ever guessed this could happen, that Faramir, so driven by his love and lust for her, would take her on the eve of their wedding day? No, she decided, never would she have expected it, had the possibility even crossed her mind. She had somehow believed Faramir free of such desire, had thought him too pure to be a slave to his own body. It had come as a surprise… She had feared a dull life as Lady of Ithilien, married to a good man who would give her all that she wanted except for adventure. And now… she glanced over to where he was standing, the first candle flame lending its golden glow to his hair and his tanned skin.

She drew nearer almost shyly as he lit the other candles as well. Ithilien… Ithilien is the Moon Country and I will be its Lady… like Varda is the Star Lady… She quickly banned such thoughts for how could she compare herself to a Goddess? Yet, when Faramir turned to her, she could not shake the feeling that he looked on her as if she were indeed more than a mortal woman.

He gently lifted up her shift and grimaced at the faint traces of blood smeared on her thighs. “I’m sorry,” he began but she silenced him with a gesture.

“Do not apologise,” she said, “for I wanted this as much as you did. And I would have bled tomorrow if not tonight.”

“But on our wedding night I would have been gentler and not taken you on the floor, and perhaps you would not have bled at all.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You had me more roughly tonight than you would have had me had it been our wedding night?”

He lowered his eyes in shame and he let go of her shift that fell to cover her again. “I… I desired you so much… On our wedding night I would have controlled myself, I promise, knowing – guessing – what it must mean to a bride to be shown sweetness rather than pure lust, but tonight…”

He did not see her smile, he did not see her smile transform into a grin. “Then you know me not at all, Faramir of Gondor,” she said. “What you showed me tonight is what I desire for my wedding night as well.” A dangerous note crept into her voice, “If you treat me like a maiden tomorrow I will refuse to lie with you for a twelvemonth and a day.”

He stared at her in surprise and when he realised that she was serious, more or less, he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. She smiled sweetly at him. “It is your choice.”

He raised an eyebrow and then he laughed. “Well, then, my lady, I hope you sleep well tonight for you shall not rest tomorrow.” He caught her in his arms and held her close. “And if you will not beat me for it, I will tell you that I will not think you weak if you shed tears in my presence, for whatever reason.”

She pressed her cheek to his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat. Together perhaps they could build a world where they could do as they wished, without tradition and custom imposing themselves on them. And as if he meant to prove exactly this to her, this very minute, he let go of her and bent to pick up the forgotten veil. He held it up and the candlelight filtered through the fine silk.

“It is pretty,” he said, “but I’d rather not see you wearing it tomorrow.” He smiled and dropped it onto the table.

“Why not?” she asked, watching how the silk gleamed in the golden light.

“Because,” he pressed a kiss to her lips, walked her backwards until she collided with the bed. “I would see the woman I am marrying.” With a new kiss he urged her to sit. “And because you are no maiden,” he added in a low voice that made her shiver.

“But no one else knows that,” she protested meekly, longing for a new kiss already.

Instead he drew back, a flicker of something wild and new and beautiful in his blue eyes. “Care you so what others think that you would thus bend to tradition, sweet Éowyn of Rohan?”

“No,” she was breathless and burning with longing. “No, I care not what others will say.”

He nodded. “Then leave the veil in your chamber. Now, I bid you goodnight.”

“No!” She caught his hands and kissed them, pulling him down so that she could join their mouths together. “Do not leave… stay…”

But he only smiled, reddened lips scant inches away. “No, my love, not tonight. Tonight you must sleep alone…” He straightened and stepped back from her. “But tomorrow…”

His promise slid through her like warm honey. She looked up at him and knew she desired him, having lost herself to him before the designated time had only strengthened their bond. She knew also that she loved him for all that he was, and all that he was not. Should she ever happen to think of him as a God, she hoped the Valar would not be offended, for Faramir had given her what she had always craved: the freedom to choose.

She wanted no King… she wanted what she already had and there was no greater blessing than that.

But she hoped there was moonlight in Ithilien.

End

Sindarin:

¹ Le annon veleth nín – I give my love to you

² meleth nín – my love

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