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Hungry Eyes and a Blade of Steel (NC-17) 
Written by December16 June 2018 | 18315 words | Work in Progress
Chapter 9.
“I am all ears,” Éowyn said icily, preparing to showcase her full arsenal of verbal weaponry. The lords of Gondor were about to find out the daughters of the Mark could wield outrage and contempt with no less gumption than sword and shield.
Faramir and her had both had enough bitterness earlier in life, and theirs had always been a marriage where people went out of their way to be patient and kind to each other. Tactful even when frank, and more often than not happy to accommodate rather than to speak their mind.
Perhaps they had overdone it a little, perhaps it was time for a change.
“So I was told you were dying to explain something to me,” she prompted, pointedly ignoring Aragorn as though he had spontaneously vanished into thin air together with his stubborn cock. She was going to deal with them one by one, she would not let them outnumber her.
Faramir took a deep breath. “With all due respect to our lord, I believe there is rather little space left for explanation.”
“Yes, quite. When one takes to sleeping around, the deeds tend to speak for themselves loud enough.”
This was a good one. Faramir’s eyes flashed, and his face went a shade paler. She had never seen him like this, and it strangely excited her. Let it be new, let her put a different side of herself forth, let them go beyond the known territories.
Yet he withheld himself, and spoke sternly but without heat. “While this does not lessen my fault before you in any measure, still I would have you know that I am not sleeping around. I have not known another woman since I met you, Éowyn – and I have never known another man but Aragorn.” She almost flinched at how casually he referred to the King in this intimate way – just Aragorn, just as she did in thought. “Nor have I wanted to,” Faramir added – and this, too, was a good one. Although in themselves his words should have reassured her, they held a seed of accusation. Perhaps it was not even there, perhaps it was only her own guilt whispering over her shoulder: he may not have wanted to touch other women, but she… she had dreamt of another man, willingly and often.
Of the two of them, which one was truly more at fault before the other?
Éowyn scowled. Whatever she may have done in thought – she had never wronged him in deed. Although, to be honest, had it been she whom the King had directed his advances at, would have her resolve withstood? Except he had never deigned to look at the Steward’s wife the way he did at the Steward.
She felt bitterness curl the corners of her mouth, and did not trust herself to speak in just that moment, lest her voice betray the whirling mess behind her exterior bravado.
So in way of reply she only made a dismissive face and crossed her arms, as though Faramir’s comment did not deserve a word of response.
Faramir sighed as if he had not held much hope for a different outcome.
“Of course,” he said, “we should have never come to discuss this in such circumstances, and that too is fully my fault. I had delayed speaking with you, hoping – foolishly, it seems now – that a time might come when you would not be ailed so much by the knowledge.”
“Ah, how noble of you to go out of your way to protect my feelings.” It was so tempting to finish off with a sarcastic huff, but no, oh no, she was not going to huff, or scream, or make suffering gestures with her hands. These men had seen her fall to pieces before, and she would not honour them with a repeat performance. Never had she desired anyone’s pity – least of all that of her husband and his lover.
“Éowyn, please –”
Her next line had already come to her, and she could not be stayed. This was bound to breach his infuriating composure, surely it did not require a big man with a big cock to do that.
“If you were so keen on not upsetting me, perhaps you should have refrained from spreading your legs behind my back.”
She was pleased to hear the sharp ring of provocation as the words rolled off her tongue.
Only as her quick-baked remark landed, as a slap across his face, did she realise how low it hit.
Faramir took it as someone well used to being slapped, caught unawares not by the strike itself but only that it should come from her hand.
How in the world to take it back. She glared at him with her lips parted, willing him to understand, directly from her mind to his, that she did not mean it as how it came out. It was an unfortunate turn of phrase and nothing else, not at all aimed to ridicule him for the vulnerable role he as a man chose to perform in bed with another.
Helpless she watched as his gaze dulled and turned inwards, as his whole face froze over and shut off from her. She had seen a distant shadow of that expression before, when in their conversations he had to touch on some painful memories of his upbringing. To now be the cause and recipient of this look stung with such acute shame that she almost thought to call the whole thing off.
In spite of herself, she even glanced to Aragorn – but he only raised his brows and looked away. It seemed she caught a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes. Well, then speak, do something, don’t just stand there.
Useless, as usual.
She opened her mouth, not even knowing yet what to say, but Faramir either did not notice or chose not to, and spoke over her as though to spare her the need to say more, as though she had already said everything that needed saying.
“A better man may have indeed done as you say – or at the very least would have found a way to tell you sooner. Yet even now it is still hidden from me how it could have been done, for I did not deem it anything but hypocrisy to come asking beforehand if you would mind that I loved the King, to assign you part of the responsibility by thereby asking. Then once it was done, for I did not have it in me to stay myself – once it was done, I tarried, for I saw no way out, yet believed there must be one. None would blame you if you took it as insult that I thought such a thing, but in fact I had been quite successful at convincing myself that you might…”
It seemed to her he was going to say ‘understand’, but he paused and in his eyes she saw that to him, she was about as anatomically capable of understanding as a horse of climbing a tree. He shook his head, and waved the end of his sentence away.
She narrowed her eyes, wondering where this was going. There had to be a hitch of some sort, for Faramir had still not sued for pardon as such, and the longer he spoke, the less likely it seemed that he was going to.
She felt a hunger in her palms then to have her sword back, the reassurance of the cold hilt in her grasp – to ward off the mounting unease. This was not the fight she had gone in for. She did not even need to spar with him, he was beating himself well enough all on his own. Then why did it feel that she was the one losing? She could sense the threat, but could neither see nor name it.
Éowyn raised her chin another notch, and said nothing to oppose his words, unwilling to speak before it was clear to her what was coming.
Strangely, it seemed as though Faramir smiled at her. “Nevertheless, and I hope you forgive my boldness, I’d still allow myself to ask for one last favour from you.”
She studied him warily, but his face betrayed nothing, and so she said slowly, “Pray say, what would that favour be?”
“That we do not part in bitterness.”
“What?”
Faramir spread his arms. “However much you may detest me now, Éowyn, I shall still tell you that I have, always, loved you – to the best of my limited ability – and respected you, and never have intended to cause you sorrow or humiliation, directly or incidentally. Aside from the wasted time, I do believe that indeed not much harm has come to you in the short term of our union.”
She shook her head to get rid of the surreal fuzziness in the air. “What are you even talking about?”
“I am saying,” Faramir replied slowly, ever patient, “that I recognise the hurt that I have caused you, and I intend to do justice by you to every extent of my power, for which I hope you might one day find some respect for me again. The very least I can do is clear you of all blame the unkind tongues might try to place on a lady in your position – I assure you ’tis in my power to prevent your virtue and merit from being questioned. All shall know the separation has come through no fault on your behalf, and there shall be no encumbrance to your finding happiness in a new marriage.”
Only then in the course of the whole bizarre night did it occur to Éowyn to wonder is she was, in fact, asleep and having a nightmare.
“You… you are letting me go?”
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This is simply fantastic! I really do have a soft sport for Eowyn and you’ve written her wonderfully, I love how she goes from anger to disbelief to curiosity right through to arousal!
— Eora Monday 13 September 2010, 19:35 #This was very hot ;), and beautifully written, and I can’t wait for this to continue (I want to know what happens when Faramir and Aragorn realise they were being watched!)