Chapter Text
She took a deep breath, aware that she had set herself a new and fearsome challenge. To face a legion of orcs in battle seemed easier, or at least more familiar. Will I fail you, love? she wondered. She tried to marshal her memories of what had seemed to please him, and to think what else she might do, as she drew him back down towards her to seal the bargain with a soft kiss upon his lips. The chafe of his clothes against her skin suggested her next move. She sat up, bringing him with her, and began to work at the fastenings of his tunic, while she continued to exchange kisses with him.
She discovered – if she could trust that he kept to their bargain – that his caresses were not, as she had once thought, for her pleasure alone, for his hands continued to roam over her. At each move and turn as she undressed him, she tried to offer herself up to him, taking care to brush herself against him slowly and gently, teasing him with brief touches of her skin against his lips or fingertips. Yet she made sure she lingered long enough that he could capture her and hold her there for a while if he wished. She heard, as if for the first time, what had always been there: the low, happy purr of pleasure in his throat as she allowed him to possess her.
From time to time her hands faltered, as she struggled blindly with unfamiliar fastenings, or as his caresses sent waves of desire through her that swept away all reason. Though she wished to give satisfaction and not take it, she could not ignore her own delight at the tender brush of his fingertips and mouth. She quivered and hardened under his deft strokes despite her efforts to close her mind to the distraction. Each time she was forced to pull herself back from her own enjoyment to concentrate again on his needs, she marvelled at the depths of the self-control he must have shown in their lovemaking: to focus on her pleasure and not simply be caught up in the moment, as she had been before. Ever more keenly she understood how truly he cherished her and sought her happiness in all things.
Perhaps her fumblings with his clothing became an irritation to him, or perhaps he simply wished to speed the task, for he soon brought his hands to aid her, fingers tangling with fingers, until his tunic and undershirt had been cast aside. When she had tugged the last of the fine cloth away from his wrists, he circled her with his arms and pressed naked flesh to naked flesh, his lean muscles hard against her soft curves. She heard him let out a long, happy sigh as he nuzzled her neck. She closed her eyes and rejoiced for a while in the feel of his warm skin on hers, before she turned once more to her task.
Gently, she ran her hands over and over his back and arms, feeling him tremble under her touch. His skin was roughened here and there with old scars: arrow-wound and sword-cut and knife-thrust. Beneath, she felt the muscles of a swordsman and an archer, grown strong and skilled over long years of weary toil. She was filled with the need to make their marriage bed a compensation for all the cold nights he had passed on bare earth or in hard cots in Ithilien. She murmured his name and felt his arms tighten around her. He gave another of those heartfelt sighs, before he breathed "Éowyn" in reply. In the single word she thought she heard all the shades of their love: passion and desire were there but also respect and friendship, shared laughter and the meeting of quick minds.
For a time she simply held him close and listened to his slow breaths, before she pulled away a little and rested her hand on his chest. She felt the deep beat of his heart under her palm. Looking up into his face, she saw it had lost the hard, defensive edge it had worn earlier in the morning. A rush of joy welled up in her that she had succeeded for a time in banishing the demons that had plagued him.
Smiling, she brought them to their feet. He bent his head to press his lips to hers and she allowed him to exchange a few more teasing kisses before she drew back. Holding his gaze, she ran her hands down his back to the top of his hose. Slipping the tips of her fingers under the cloth, she slid her hands round to the front where they were laced. An expectant grin lit his face as she began to tackle the knot that bound the cords. She strove again to check her own responses as his fingertips once more trailed gently, yet with confidence, across her skin. She saw that he perceived her resistance, and that he too began to understand something of what his own concern must mean to her. Her joy turned to a more profound satisfaction as she saw how the bond between them was strengthened.
With her eyes otherwise occupied, her fingers could not help but touch him through the cloth as she pulled at the fastenings. She felt him stir under her hand and he took a deep, shuddering breath. She looked down then, to allow her to work more quickly. Soon he was as naked as she was.
Putting her palms on his shoulders, she guided him down to perch on the edge of the couch. She knelt before him again, sitting back on her heels and resting her hands lightly on his spread knees. She examined him, in all his pride, as she had never done before. Looking up, she saw he was blushing slightly and she reddened herself that she should make such a frank appraisal of him. Yet he did not seem displeased, but as if he was tautly waiting for her next move. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing the base of her neck. She felt his tension in all the places where they touched.
She looked back down. Her heart was beating rapidly and she ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. Slowly, she reached out to carefully cradle the tender flesh at the root of him. He gave a small gasp and his hands tightened. Since their wedding night she had been hesitant to touch him like this, for it seemed to undo his control; with her pleasure in mind as well as his, she had thought he had not welcomed it. Now she gently moved her fingers and saw how he stirred in response. She heard his breathing grow quicker and shallower. She felt a thrill at the power she had over him: power she had scarcely realised she possessed. She had only dimly understood how his discipline and strength of will had allowed him to keep control, masking the same wild passions he aroused in her as he brought her to fulfilment.
Now, thinking of what he had done for her, she leant forward, breathing in his sweet musky scent. Cautiously, she touched her tongue to him and found that the taste of him that she loved was stronger here too. As she slid the tip of her tongue along him, he gave a moan and his hands gripped her shoulders still harder. She felt an answering tug deep inside her, an ache to feel him within her. Encouraged by her success, she repeated the caress, making her stroke longer and firmer. This time he choked back his groan, and she knew he was attempting not to cry out so loud that the servants would hear, even through the thick wood of locked doors.
She glanced up and saw that his head was thrown back, his eyes closed, his face set in the slight grimace that she knew meant pleasure. She felt the same burst of elation she had experienced when, after many frustrating days of bruised knees, scrambling for the reins and ignoring the occasional burst of derisive laughter from her brother and cousin, she had managed to weave Windfola through the training poles in the correct sequence with only her legs to guide him.
Faramir's hands stirred restlessly on her shoulders, breaking her from her contemplation of his face. Exultant, she bent back down and began to track soft kisses along the length of him.
"Éowyn!" His voice was ragged, trailing away. "Ah, love, do not tease me!" A quiver ran through him as she touched her tongue lightly to the very tip of him. "Take me in, I beg you, take all of me in."
Does he mean…? She hesitated for a moment, and then she understood what he was asking. Of course it should be so! Are not men and women made differently? And yet…. A little afraid, scarcely breathing, she shifted so that she could slide her lips around him. He shuddered and let out another stifled cry.
It felt strange and uncomfortable, and she had to concentrate, fearful she might hurt him. She tried to make her lips soft, to hold her teeth away from him, as she carefully moved her mouth over him. How deep does he expect…? His hands were bearing down on her, and at each stroke she made it seemed he tried to push further into her. She put a hand on him to steady herself – or to hold him back from pressing deeper, she was not sure which. She struggled to match the rhythm of her own breaths to her movements, to keep her mouth wide and gentle, to ignore the growing pain in her knees as she knelt before him and the tightening grip of his fingers on her shoulders. She scarcely noticed that her own need for him had fled.
How much longer…? she wondered. His shivering moans spoke of his growing satisfaction, but she was not sure if she could continue long enough to bring him to release. Her movements felt jerky – surely I will cause him pain? – and dizziness assaulted her. I wished to give you the same pleasure you gave me, yet I did not think I would dislike it so. When…?
Just as she thought she could bear it no longer, he was pressing his hands down on her even harder and thrusting into her. Her mouth filled with something and she gagged and pulled away from him. Without thinking, she spat the mouthful out. It landed on her thigh, white and viscous. Even as she choked, Faramir clamped one of his hands hard around hers. She turned back to him and caught his look of ecstasy as the last of his release swept over him.
At least I did not deny him this, she had time to think, before she found herself coughing once more at the bitter taste still in her mouth. A shudder ran through her at the memory of what it felt like to have him within her. Faramir, breathing hard, looked down, and she saw distress spreading across his face.
"Beloved," he gasped, "Did I hurt you?" He released his hold on her and touched her cheek for a moment, before he let his hand drop lightly to her shoulder. Glancing down, she saw that the white spots where his fingers had dug into her still showed, though they were beginning to fade. "Forgive me–." He slid off the couch and cradled her lightly in his arms. His touch was now very gentle, but she could not help shrinking from him. "Forgive me," he murmured again, his voice filled with sorrow as he stroked her hair. "Never before have I felt so much joy from release that way, yet I would not purchase any joy of mine at your expense."
She was weak and trembling, and she wanted to lean against him and take comfort from him, yet the shock of what had just occurred made her wary. She held herself stiffly in his embrace as she tried to sort through the confusion in her mind. She found herself once more coughing and swallowing to rid her mouth of the vile taste.
And should I not like that also? she asked herself, hardly noticing that Faramir had let go of her and was standing up. He took such delight from this, and did I not say I wished to give him pleasure even though it pleased me not? And still I would. She heard the clink of glass and metal behind her. Yet to do this thing again…!
Tears made hot tracks down her cheek as Faramir returned and knelt beside her. He pushed a goblet full of wine into her hand, and passed her a napkin, while he held out an empty cup for her to spit into. "Rinse your mouth out," he suggested quietly, as if she were a small child who had been sick.
Her hands were shaking and she spilt a little wine over her fingers as she drank. A wave of shame rolled over her as she swilled the wine around her mouth and then carefully spat it into the other cup. Should Faramir not now be lying in her arms in bliss, not acting as nursemaid to a foolish, frightened girl? And yet how could she have known it would be so terrible? Why did he not warn me – nay, how could he have even asked me to endure this? Did he not know it would pain me? Ah, other women must have done this for him and not made complaint. Perhaps they are made of sterner stuff? Or perhaps I am a poor lover….
Not really noticing what she was doing, she thrust the goblet back at Faramir. He set it carefully aside, while she used the napkin to wipe away the other evidence of her failure. She sensed him waiting for her to finish, but she could not meet the disappointment she thought she would find on his face, and she was struggling to keep in check her own anger at his thoughtlessness. How could he not notice that I was suffering? she thought bitterly. I would not have been so indifferent to his discomfort!
At length, when it must have been clear to him that she had no more need of the cloth, he took it from her hand and tipped her chin up so that he could look into her eyes.
"Love, believe me. I did not think you would dislike it so," he said softly, his sorrow so evident in every word that she had not the heart to stay angry with him, "or that I would like it so much that I would forget myself. I would not have asked it of you if I had known it would be thus."
"Yet other women cannot find it such a trial, or you would not have wished it of me," she answered, her voice sounding very small and unsteady to her. Her anger at him was flowing away as a new realisation seeped in. She was discovering that, although it would be a rare event, her wise and kindly husband could sometimes be as foolish and mistaken as herself. Yet the knowledge of his folly did not allow her to excuse her own. "The fault must lie in me," she admitted. "I will try to do better next time."
"Nay, there is no fault in you," he answered quickly, shaking his head. "Perhaps all women dislike it," his face fell and he bit his lip thoughtfully, "but those I have known before would have kept silent because I paid them for my pleasure, not theirs." She read his shame in the way he slid his gaze away from her. "I would have had less pleasure in it had I known." He looked back at her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "But you are not such as they and have no reason to do what I ask if it is distasteful to you. You are my wife and always I would place your happiness above my own. There will be no next time unless you wish it also. If there is no delight in it for you, how can I take delight?"
"Yet I wished to serve you, to please you." She lowered her head, feeling once more the burn of self-reproach that she had not fulfilled her promise to him, and that she was still so ignorant of the way things were between a man and a woman that she had not understood what the cost would be when she made her offer.
He shifted to sit with his back to the couch and held out his arms to her. She hesitated only for a moment before she came into them and let him wrap them around her. He began to rub her back to soothe her, and this time she leant against him and drew comfort from him, feeling the tension at last drain away from her. “Éowyn–,” he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, “there are many other ways we can be together that we already know bring joy to both of us. There are other things I might teach you – and it is my part to teach you, and not expect that you should know what must be done or how it might be for you. The fault here lies in me.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Yet I will not blame you if you do not trust me enough now to try these other things. And if you do, there will be no shame if you do not enjoy them all. I do not delight in all that I was shown when I wished to learn the many different ways of coupling, so that I might please my future wife as well as myself.”
Tipping her face up to watch him as he spoke, she saw his grave, troubled expression and was once again aware of how blessed she was to have found such a husband. She did not think her uncle, in his dotage, would have chosen well for her. King Théoden’s chief counsellor had spoken softly and to please in public, but she suspected that, if her uncle had yielded to his suit and given her to him, Gríma would have delighted in discovering what she most disliked, and then demanded it from her as her duty.
Reflecting on her good fortune, she now asked Faramir, “What things do not please you?” Seeing him frown, she added hastily, “I would be sure I do not ask of them of you.”
“I do not think you will.” He paused. “I learnt that there are some women who wish their men to be rough, even if it is only in play.”
She stared at him in surprise. There are women who enjoy such pain? Still feeling the soreness in her shoulder where he had gripped her, she could scarcely credit that it might be so. Then a new thought occurred to her. “Perhaps there are also some men who are rough,” she shot back acerbically, “even if their women do not desire it.”
"Think you I am one of those men?" he asked, flushing. "Aye, I know some use their women so, but I hope I never gave any woman cause to think I wanted that." He lightly touched her shoulder. The marks of his fingers had faded, but not the memory. “I hope I did not give you cause to fear me. I am ashamed that I forgot myself so.”
Knowing only too well how he must be suffering from the censure of his own conscience, she smiled to reassure him. “I know it was not your intent, love, and that you would never seek to harm me.” She settled her head against his shoulder, still watching his face. Her smile grew broader as a new thought sprang into her mind. “Perhaps I should rejoice that it seems I have the power to make you forget your own nature? Has any woman ere this ruled you so?”
“Nay,” he returned her grin and stroked her hair back from her face. “Maybe for my sake, as well as yours, you should not present me with such temptation.”
“I think that would be wise,” she said with a grave air but a glint of laughter in her voice as she teased him. Then her mood turned sombre. “What else should I not ask of you?”
Again he paused before he answered. “To use bonds.” He looped his hand around her wrist gently for a moment and then released it. A shiver ran through him. “Pain and fetters I saw too much of in Ithilien to wish to seek them in the bedchamber, or ever to find pleasure in them.”
Éowyn remembered sights from the past year: the scarred wrists of a man who had been freed from the rowing benches of the Corsair ships; a rope burn on the neck of a boy led like a dog by his Dunlending captors; her own brother made sullen by imprisonment at Gríma’s command. And though no one had laden her with chains, she knew what it was to be trammelled like a wild thing, at the mercy of others. She could not believe she would relish giving herself over into any man’s power, even in the pursuit of pleasure. She too shivered. “I think those people must have led strange lives to wish for such things,” she said quietly. She gave a small shake of her head. “Do not fear that I would want them!”
She thought for a moment to ask him what did please him, but was afraid that it would prove unwelcome to her, and that she would not be able to conceal her dislike. Nor should I do so, she reflected. Since, she did not wish to break the mood of reconciliation between them, she instead allowed a companionable silence to fall between them. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, calmed by the gentle circles his hand was making on her back.
There was no single moment when she realised his caresses had turned from comfort to renewed play; they had simply slowed, become feather light, lingering. He did not need to speak of it but, as she met his gaze, she knew the mood between them had shifted once more.
He drew them down onto the floor amongst the tangle of their clothes, holding her close but lightly. She pressed herself gently against him. Face to face, they were silent, reading all that needed to be shared in each other's eyes. His free hand was absorbed in learning the contours of the span of roughened skin on her forearm that marked where she had been wounded a year before. Her fingers were investigating the slope where his neck met his shoulder. Though their reconnaissance extended no further, she could feel him stirring and hardening against her, while she grew ready for him. She noticed how her breathing had slowed to match his, and the way his pulse now kept pace with her own.
He did not need to make any gesture to signal his readiness or question hers; she simply knew when it was the moment for her to turn onto her back, bringing him with her. She welcomed him easily as he sank into her, filling her rekindled need. They moved quietly together. She drank in the sight of his face, his clear grey eyes laying bare his soul and speaking of love, while his lips whispered her name and other endearments. She answered him with sweet words and sighs of her own.
Her release when it came at last was not, as it had always been before, like a waterfall crashing down up on her; it was like the unhurried ripples of a slow flowing river, carrying her in gentle eddies until she was cast up on a sandy shore as the water ebbed away. His cry, a moment later, was muted and more heartfelt than she had heard before.
Afterwards, she lay in his embrace, her own arms wrapped around him, feeling drowsy and at peace. They were silent until Faramir gave a sudden low laugh. “My love,” he murmured, his breath tickling her cheek, “I fear you have failed in your mission. Before, I shunned this room because it was my father’s and filled with memories of him. Now I must shun it because I have such sweet new memories that I shall scarce be able to read two sentences together for thinking of you.”
Hearing the contentment in his voice, she tightened her hold a little. There were still many challenges ahead: taking her place in the court of Gondor as wife to the Steward; shaping her role as Lady of Ithilien; running houses whose ways and servants were strange to her; and other trials she could not yet foresee. She knew she would probably not meet all as successfully, though she believed she had skill and understanding enough not to fail entirely. She was at least confident that, no matter what lay in the future, she and Faramir would face it together, drawing strength and solace from each other. This first test had been the greatest – and she had passed. Now she smiled to herself and answered, with a low chuckle, “I think I shall have to find ways to ensure you cannot concentrate in any room in this house.”