Chapter 8: Words

[ Setting the scene: Éowyn and Faramir have acknowledged their love and their eventual intention to wed. Faramir is preparing the city for Aragorn’s return and coronation.]

1 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“You may do that again.”

“I don’t know if I can. Time grows short, and there’s so much I have to...”

“You may do that again.”

“Remind me who rules this city?”

She giggled. Her laughter blossomed like bright sun after a cleansing rain, warming both of them with beams of long-suppressed mirth, and her eyes twinkled with mischievous delight. “Is there any question?”

“There is naught but question when we’re together. Nonetheless, for the sake of harmony between our peoples I will accede to your request, just this once.” He moved the scant inch necessary to again press his lips against hers. Hardness against softness, blood warming blood, their arms gripped ever more tightly as their mouths spoke wordless entreaties to the other.

After a very long while they broke the kiss. Breath returned in short, sharp gasps, and her eyes flamed.

“You may do that again.”

“ ... I will be a shield-maiden no longer ... I will be a healer...”

Éowyn chuckled at herself. Is it too late for me to take back those hastily spoken words? I’m very, very far being a maiden these days, but I would be a shield-maiden still ... just no longer to the exclusion of that which nurtures and is nurtured by love. Nay: I am besotted, and will no doubt be prone to such grandiose yet ridiculous declarations for a time. May the good Steward forgive me when, as is inevitable, he catches me fondling a sword. She blushed at the direction her imagination took her. Well, fondling something other than his sword, that is.

Even as the thought fired her arousal she reminded herself of another, albeit still-unspoken, vow. As for that promise, which so far I’ve made only to myself, I shall endeavor to keep it as soon as Faramir can spare the necessary time. Sooner, if possible. For did I not also pledge to love “all things that grow”?

She grinned with delight at the innuendo. Oh, I am most certainly besotted.

Her breath fled as his body pressed hers against the wall ... his lips insistent, hers pliant and eager.

“What... ?” she managed to gasp.

“I came back to say goodnight.”

“Well then,” she challenged, wrapping her hand around the back of his head and lacing her fingers through his dark hair. “Stop talking and say goodnight.”

3 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“I missed you yesterday.”

“There were pressing matters.”

“I’ve no doubt. I can feel them pressing as we speak.”

“So very forward!”

“Forward is a direction you should consider, should you dare.”

Though he fell silent, his tongue answered for him.

“Did you return to say goodnight again?“

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Aren’t you neglecting your ‘pressing matters?’”

He moved.

“And now, my Lady, do you worry still?”

“I do, for it feels like your problems have grown since you were last here. It might be guilt over your persistent dereliction to duty, for I’d wager you shirk your responsibilities in order to visit me.”

“Perhaps you should look beyond such surface insights.”

“Perhaps I should probe more deeply? Is... this what you’re suggesting?”

“Perhaps so.”

“Perhaps you should stop talking.”

4 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“That was unkind, you know.”

“What was unkind?”

“What you said as we walked in the garden earlier.”

“You know I would spend all my hours with you if I could, but...”

“You understand nothing.”

He paused, confused. “If you would only...”

“I repeat: that was unkind, what you said as we walked in the garden earlier.”

“What ... ah, light dawns in the East! My apologies. Is there aught I can do in recompense for my error?”

“Your question is well-asked. If you will but stand still for a moment it will be well-answered.”

“What do you... oh!“

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I find it impossible to feel particularly sorry at the moment.”

“Nevertheless, I require an apology.”

“I still don’t feel sorry ... uh... oh!“

“Now do you feel sorry?”

5 April 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“There’s unfinished business between us.”

She turned, her airy skirt a flirty swish of insouciance.

“Unfinished?”

“Perhaps I presume.”

Her look turned unfathomable. “Or perhaps you don’t.”

Taken aback by the quick change in her mood, he stammered, “I ... I don’t wish to ... that is, I...”

“You are a golden-tongued master of words, aren’t you?”

His mouth stayed open, but only silence emerged. She moved closer.

“Oh dear. I appear to have broken you. This will never do.” Her lips pressed against his neck, and he groaned.

“There we go. Let’s see what else I can make you say.”

“Again? But it’s so late!”

“My sincere apologies. I didn’t realize the time.”

“I doubt that. Nevertheless you are here. Have you come to tuck me in? For I must say that while your customs may not be mine, it seems a somewhat menial task for a man of your position.” She leaned back into her pillow, sinuously moving and stretching beneath her blankets until he was entirely distracted.

“I didn’t mean...”

“Oh yes you did.”

His head fell. “Indeed, I’m utterly transparent. Despite years of successful stealth and subterfuge on the very doorstep of the Enemy, I’m apparently helpless against your keen powers of observation.”

“I may be paying closer attention than most.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe I should leave you to your rest, the better to ponder how I may evade your scrutiny in the future.”

“That would be a shame, for you still haven’t done what you came to do.”

“I’ve been distracted. Remind me?”

Her bare arms escaped the coverlet to cross behind her head, revealing pale, unclad shoulders. “You were about to tuck me in.”

“It seems this task has already been accomplished, and quite adequately.”

Her smile was inviting and more than a bit wicked, and her eyes smoldered. “Well ... to answer you truthfully, the self-directed result has proven somewhat unkempt and uncomfortable for my current purposes. You might achieve a more satisfying result by starting from the beginning.”

Nervously, he lowered the coverlet to her waist. His breath caught in his throat, and it was long before he found his voice. “You are ... I...”

“Golden-tongued indeed. I will assume that was a compliment. Now, pray: finish your task, for I feel a chill. And then let us have no further interruptions of my essential rest.”