New Beginnings for shirasade (Faramir/Éowyn, R)
Posting in sugaredarsenic's stead...
Title: New Beginnings
Author: sugaredarsenic
Written for: shirasade
Rating: R for non-explicit sex scenes.
Prompt: First time after a bit of sadness, preferably post-quest.
Summary: The New Year and his wedding is coming up, but Faramir is feeling a bit under the weather, both physically and mentally.
Other notes/warnings: Flangst. But mostly fluff. With this being Middle-Earth, I made all the characters speak in a slightly old style of speech; I hope that's okay. The time lapse between when Faramir and Eowyn were betrothed and when they were married may be a teensy bit long (or maybe not?) , but both are important people, and unlike Aragorn and Arwen, have not known they wished to marry each other for over half a century. Also, this is my first time writing smut of any kind, and may be a bit (or a lot) cheesy... But hope you enjoy this!
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings are Tolkien's property, not mine.
The New Year was to be heralded by great celebration in Gondor; and in Minas Tirith, in particular, the people had outdone themselves. Ribbons and banners were streamed across the city, with everyone pitching in to help; and music and laughter climbed through the sky. Though there was still a week before the date, the energy and joy exuded in the White City was palpable.
Leaning against his window, Faramir gazed at the city, marvelling at the change since the year before. The mood was such a change from merely a year before, and Faramir nearly felt like a stranger in the city he had spent most of his life in. He had wandered around the streets two days before, and had barely recognised it, not only because of the rebuilding that had taken place, but also because many familiar faces he had expected to see in certain areas were no longer there.
Faramir felt a brief pang at the though, so he quickly brushed it away, turning his minds to other things.
For instance, the fever that was currently plaguing him, forcing him to be confined to his room, and more specifically, his bed.
(Aragorn had shaken his head in exasperation at the Prince. "You have been working entirely too hard. As a healer, I would order rest; and as a friend, I would tell you to stop pushing your body's limits so much.")
"When I heard last, 'standing by the window' was not exactly the same as 'bed rest'," a tart voice behind Faramir spoke up.
Straightening from the slouch he had allowed his body to mould itself into, Faramir grinned. "As I recall, I once knew a maiden who had interpreted the selfsame words as 'finding means to help fight a war, even with grievous injuries'."
"Comparing yourself to when I had been behaving in such a foolish manner does not bode well for your state of mind right now," Éowyn observed, as her arms snaked around Faramir's waist.
"Perhaps not," Faramir agreed in amusement, as he turned around and hugged Éowyn back, before savouring the beauty that the evening sun wrought, making her hair seem like sheets of silken, spun fire. "But what are you doing here? Should you not be with your brother?"
"Her Majesty was kind enough to inform me of why my betrothed was not there to greet me when I arrived, and I wished to see him. Surely such a thing is allowed?" Éowyn smiled, before her expression turned into concern. "You are alright?"
"My liege has assured me of full recovery, in the next couple of days," Faramir reassured her.
Éowyn’s smile returned. "Good. Were you to be sick during our wedding, I do not think I would be able to forgive you. Now go rest. I must oversee the wedding preparations, in the absence of the groom."
--
Boromir stood there, laughing at Faramir's abysmal first attempt with a bow. Faramir flushed with shame, feeling the full five years that separated them.
"You have a long way to go yet, little brother," Boromir teased, as he slung an arm around him.
"It was still better than your first attempt," Faramir muttered sullenly.
His brother winced in remembrance of that embarrassing memory (and it was many years later that he confessed just how bad it had been to Faramir, and then only after having drunk one too many mugs of the best mead in Minas Tirith), before grinning again. "I'll help you master the bow. Though I still think the sword is the superior weapon."
Faramir woke up.
This, he thought sourly, was why he had worked himself so hard in the first place. Remembering Éowyn's words earlier that day, he grimaced. While meant in jest, her words of his state of mind had spoken truer than she realised.
Sighing, he got out of bed, and decided to do something productive. Sleep would be eluding him again.
--
"How exactly do you expect to get well, if you do not allow your body rest?" Éowyn asked Faramir in exasperation as she entered his room.
Looking up from the reports he had been reading, Faramir winced as he noted that she was speaking in the exact same tone as Aragorn had used a few days before. He wondered how bad he looked, for her to berate him as such. "I could not sleep."
"Why?" She crossed over the space between them, her arms folded.
He shrugged warily. Éowyn's stance seemed aggressive and angry, and although she was no mild, even tempered lady, her temper was not usually displayed in such an obvious manner. "My dreams wake me up."
Understanding seemed to dawn in Éowyn's eyes, before they hardened again. "Dreams of the war? Many of us have such nightmares, and you know there are herbs to ease the passage to better dreams. How long have you been suffering through this?"
"They started a month after the last battle. And they are not of the war," Faramir replied, hesitantly. "Had I those, I would have gone to find the prescribed herbs."
Éowyn merely looked at Faramir, waiting for him to gather his and articulate his thoughts.
"They are not bad memories..." he said slowly. "They are dreams of the good times I have experienced. My friends, my brother... my parents, to a lesser degree. The dreams are of happier times I used to have. But..."
Faramir fell silent. The feelings he experienced felt... wrong to him, and sounded even worse out loud.
"I feel... guilty about the memories, if that makes sense."
"For surviving when they did not?" Éowyn's voice pierced softly through his thoughts.
Faramir allowed his eyes to close. "I do not know."
"And that is why you spent the whole year working yourself to death? About something you were not sure about?" Éowyn gave Faramir a cool glance when his eyes snapped open. "Your guards talk."
"...I do not think when I am working. I believe it helps," Faramir muttered, speaking to himself more than to Éowyn.
"Why did you never speak to anyone of this before?" Éowyn asked him quietly. "Someone could have helped."
I could have helped, the unspoken words echoed in the room; reverberating more surely than if she had said them out loud.
"It started about two seasons after the war ended, but it was mild at first. I did not even realise how bad it had gotten until I fell ill." Faramir looked into her eyes, trying to portray his sincerity. "Truly."
After a few minutes, Éowyn’s eyes softened, and she reached out his Faramir's hands in her own. "Alright," she allowed. "But how come you did not tell anyone after you realised?"
"It sounds ridiculous, as I told you just now. They are good memories, yet I feel guilty about them."
Éowyn stared at Faramir for a second, before sighing. "Men!" was her reply to his statement. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm not. It's just... wrong."
"It's a perception in your mind. There are probably many reasons why the good memories keep you awake, and you measured them against the nightmares that plague others, even though it was a different scenario altogether."
Faramir stared at her for a few seconds, before dropping his gaze and muttering, "It seems as though you are not unfamiliar with this."
Éowyn sighed. "You are not the only one to have suffered this before. I've seen it happen before, to one of the riders."
"Really?" Faramir looked up again.
"Truly."
"...Oh."
His betrothed smiled, before whispering softly, "Even if you miss them, it is nothing wrong. But we should to move forward."
"I know."
Éowyn let out an extremely unlady-like snort, before tiptoeing up, and kissing Faramir gently on the lips.
--
Faramir could not pinpoint when exactly when the kiss had turned from a comforting one into something much more passionate, but it had. And he had no desire to stop it.
Éowyn drew back, her eyes dark. "Faramir," was all she murmured.
Faramir's thoughts did not seem coherent, hearing her voice with so much desire in it; desire for him. They fumbled, undressing each other, yet getting in each others' ways in their haste.
"You are beautiful," Faramir murmured reverently, running his hands along her body, feeling the satin smoothness of her skin, when their clothes were finally scattered on the floor. Desire curled, low in his belly, making him less conscious of their state of undress than he would otherwise have been all too aware of. Éowyn, with her eyes closed, did not reply but leaned into his ministrations, her arms encircling him, tracing meaningless patterns on his back.
Leaning down, Faramir began trailing kisses down her neck, pausing to nibble lightly at her collarbone. Drawing her closer, he felt her shudder, with a small sound escaping her lips; felt her arms wrapped more securely around him, and her whole body press and mould perfectly against his.
He shuddered, his hand stroking her hip before going lower. Éowyn gasped, her body going taut. "Faramir," she whispered into his ear, her voice breathy and holding a new note of urgency.
At the sound of her voice, Faramir felt as though he had reached the end of his patience. There would be more time for him to explore her another time, but for now... He manoeuvred her to the bed, so that she was lying down on it. Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, he murmured, "This may hurt a bit, at first."
Éowyn smiled up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes, but soon stamped out by desire. "I can take a bit of pain."
"Alright," Faramir murmured as he positioned himself, bending down to capture her lips before thrusting into her.
It was everything he knew it would be, and more. He felt as though the world had narrowed, and everything else seemed irrelevant. Just them, their moans and cries mingling, their bodies joined together in the intimate act. Faramir let himself feel, let his instincts control the pace; only able to think of the woman lying under him, moving with him.
They moved, faster and faster, until Éowyn let out a loud cry, arching uncontrollably, pushing Faramir over the edge. He felt spasms wrack through his body as he came, distantly noting that he had also cried out.
Spent, he rolled over, before reaching out to take Éowyn in his arms, holding her close.
--
"I suppose I miss them," Faramir mused out loud suddenly, after they had lain in bed for some time, merely holding each other. He wondered why his mind had turned back to their earlier conversation, but felt too content to do much more than blurt out whatever was at the forefront of his thoughts.
Éowyn blinked at the abrupt way he addressed the topic, but took it in her stride. "I know," she replied. "Especially since they cannot come back."
Faramir closed his eyes, feeling the brief flash of pain in his chest. "No, they can't," he told Éowyn softly. The confession to her felt like an acceptance of the fact - the final closing of an important chapter in his life.
Éowyn laughed, and kissed his nose, and changed the topic on him. "You should rest now, unless you wish to remain ill throughout a full ceremony and feast three days hence. I doubt anyone will change the date for your inconvenient illness; they are too set on having it on the first day of New Year."
"By Elvish reckoning, we are already married," Faramir murmured into the shell of her ear, before settling down comfortably beside Éowyn, tucking her closely to him. It was a new beginning, and Faramir felt that he was finally moving forward.
Title: New Beginnings
Author: sugaredarsenic
Written for: shirasade
Rating: R for non-explicit sex scenes.
Prompt: First time after a bit of sadness, preferably post-quest.
Summary: The New Year and his wedding is coming up, but Faramir is feeling a bit under the weather, both physically and mentally.
Other notes/warnings: Flangst. But mostly fluff. With this being Middle-Earth, I made all the characters speak in a slightly old style of speech; I hope that's okay. The time lapse between when Faramir and Eowyn were betrothed and when they were married may be a teensy bit long (or maybe not?) , but both are important people, and unlike Aragorn and Arwen, have not known they wished to marry each other for over half a century. Also, this is my first time writing smut of any kind, and may be a bit (or a lot) cheesy... But hope you enjoy this!
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings are Tolkien's property, not mine.
The New Year was to be heralded by great celebration in Gondor; and in Minas Tirith, in particular, the people had outdone themselves. Ribbons and banners were streamed across the city, with everyone pitching in to help; and music and laughter climbed through the sky. Though there was still a week before the date, the energy and joy exuded in the White City was palpable.
Leaning against his window, Faramir gazed at the city, marvelling at the change since the year before. The mood was such a change from merely a year before, and Faramir nearly felt like a stranger in the city he had spent most of his life in. He had wandered around the streets two days before, and had barely recognised it, not only because of the rebuilding that had taken place, but also because many familiar faces he had expected to see in certain areas were no longer there.
Faramir felt a brief pang at the though, so he quickly brushed it away, turning his minds to other things.
For instance, the fever that was currently plaguing him, forcing him to be confined to his room, and more specifically, his bed.
(Aragorn had shaken his head in exasperation at the Prince. "You have been working entirely too hard. As a healer, I would order rest; and as a friend, I would tell you to stop pushing your body's limits so much.")
"When I heard last, 'standing by the window' was not exactly the same as 'bed rest'," a tart voice behind Faramir spoke up.
Straightening from the slouch he had allowed his body to mould itself into, Faramir grinned. "As I recall, I once knew a maiden who had interpreted the selfsame words as 'finding means to help fight a war, even with grievous injuries'."
"Comparing yourself to when I had been behaving in such a foolish manner does not bode well for your state of mind right now," Éowyn observed, as her arms snaked around Faramir's waist.
"Perhaps not," Faramir agreed in amusement, as he turned around and hugged Éowyn back, before savouring the beauty that the evening sun wrought, making her hair seem like sheets of silken, spun fire. "But what are you doing here? Should you not be with your brother?"
"Her Majesty was kind enough to inform me of why my betrothed was not there to greet me when I arrived, and I wished to see him. Surely such a thing is allowed?" Éowyn smiled, before her expression turned into concern. "You are alright?"
"My liege has assured me of full recovery, in the next couple of days," Faramir reassured her.
Éowyn’s smile returned. "Good. Were you to be sick during our wedding, I do not think I would be able to forgive you. Now go rest. I must oversee the wedding preparations, in the absence of the groom."
--
Boromir stood there, laughing at Faramir's abysmal first attempt with a bow. Faramir flushed with shame, feeling the full five years that separated them.
"You have a long way to go yet, little brother," Boromir teased, as he slung an arm around him.
"It was still better than your first attempt," Faramir muttered sullenly.
His brother winced in remembrance of that embarrassing memory (and it was many years later that he confessed just how bad it had been to Faramir, and then only after having drunk one too many mugs of the best mead in Minas Tirith), before grinning again. "I'll help you master the bow. Though I still think the sword is the superior weapon."
Faramir woke up.
This, he thought sourly, was why he had worked himself so hard in the first place. Remembering Éowyn's words earlier that day, he grimaced. While meant in jest, her words of his state of mind had spoken truer than she realised.
Sighing, he got out of bed, and decided to do something productive. Sleep would be eluding him again.
--
"How exactly do you expect to get well, if you do not allow your body rest?" Éowyn asked Faramir in exasperation as she entered his room.
Looking up from the reports he had been reading, Faramir winced as he noted that she was speaking in the exact same tone as Aragorn had used a few days before. He wondered how bad he looked, for her to berate him as such. "I could not sleep."
"Why?" She crossed over the space between them, her arms folded.
He shrugged warily. Éowyn's stance seemed aggressive and angry, and although she was no mild, even tempered lady, her temper was not usually displayed in such an obvious manner. "My dreams wake me up."
Understanding seemed to dawn in Éowyn's eyes, before they hardened again. "Dreams of the war? Many of us have such nightmares, and you know there are herbs to ease the passage to better dreams. How long have you been suffering through this?"
"They started a month after the last battle. And they are not of the war," Faramir replied, hesitantly. "Had I those, I would have gone to find the prescribed herbs."
Éowyn merely looked at Faramir, waiting for him to gather his and articulate his thoughts.
"They are not bad memories..." he said slowly. "They are dreams of the good times I have experienced. My friends, my brother... my parents, to a lesser degree. The dreams are of happier times I used to have. But..."
Faramir fell silent. The feelings he experienced felt... wrong to him, and sounded even worse out loud.
"I feel... guilty about the memories, if that makes sense."
"For surviving when they did not?" Éowyn's voice pierced softly through his thoughts.
Faramir allowed his eyes to close. "I do not know."
"And that is why you spent the whole year working yourself to death? About something you were not sure about?" Éowyn gave Faramir a cool glance when his eyes snapped open. "Your guards talk."
"...I do not think when I am working. I believe it helps," Faramir muttered, speaking to himself more than to Éowyn.
"Why did you never speak to anyone of this before?" Éowyn asked him quietly. "Someone could have helped."
I could have helped, the unspoken words echoed in the room; reverberating more surely than if she had said them out loud.
"It started about two seasons after the war ended, but it was mild at first. I did not even realise how bad it had gotten until I fell ill." Faramir looked into her eyes, trying to portray his sincerity. "Truly."
After a few minutes, Éowyn’s eyes softened, and she reached out his Faramir's hands in her own. "Alright," she allowed. "But how come you did not tell anyone after you realised?"
"It sounds ridiculous, as I told you just now. They are good memories, yet I feel guilty about them."
Éowyn stared at Faramir for a second, before sighing. "Men!" was her reply to his statement. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm not. It's just... wrong."
"It's a perception in your mind. There are probably many reasons why the good memories keep you awake, and you measured them against the nightmares that plague others, even though it was a different scenario altogether."
Faramir stared at her for a few seconds, before dropping his gaze and muttering, "It seems as though you are not unfamiliar with this."
Éowyn sighed. "You are not the only one to have suffered this before. I've seen it happen before, to one of the riders."
"Really?" Faramir looked up again.
"Truly."
"...Oh."
His betrothed smiled, before whispering softly, "Even if you miss them, it is nothing wrong. But we should to move forward."
"I know."
Éowyn let out an extremely unlady-like snort, before tiptoeing up, and kissing Faramir gently on the lips.
--
Faramir could not pinpoint when exactly when the kiss had turned from a comforting one into something much more passionate, but it had. And he had no desire to stop it.
Éowyn drew back, her eyes dark. "Faramir," was all she murmured.
Faramir's thoughts did not seem coherent, hearing her voice with so much desire in it; desire for him. They fumbled, undressing each other, yet getting in each others' ways in their haste.
"You are beautiful," Faramir murmured reverently, running his hands along her body, feeling the satin smoothness of her skin, when their clothes were finally scattered on the floor. Desire curled, low in his belly, making him less conscious of their state of undress than he would otherwise have been all too aware of. Éowyn, with her eyes closed, did not reply but leaned into his ministrations, her arms encircling him, tracing meaningless patterns on his back.
Leaning down, Faramir began trailing kisses down her neck, pausing to nibble lightly at her collarbone. Drawing her closer, he felt her shudder, with a small sound escaping her lips; felt her arms wrapped more securely around him, and her whole body press and mould perfectly against his.
He shuddered, his hand stroking her hip before going lower. Éowyn gasped, her body going taut. "Faramir," she whispered into his ear, her voice breathy and holding a new note of urgency.
At the sound of her voice, Faramir felt as though he had reached the end of his patience. There would be more time for him to explore her another time, but for now... He manoeuvred her to the bed, so that she was lying down on it. Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, he murmured, "This may hurt a bit, at first."
Éowyn smiled up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes, but soon stamped out by desire. "I can take a bit of pain."
"Alright," Faramir murmured as he positioned himself, bending down to capture her lips before thrusting into her.
It was everything he knew it would be, and more. He felt as though the world had narrowed, and everything else seemed irrelevant. Just them, their moans and cries mingling, their bodies joined together in the intimate act. Faramir let himself feel, let his instincts control the pace; only able to think of the woman lying under him, moving with him.
They moved, faster and faster, until Éowyn let out a loud cry, arching uncontrollably, pushing Faramir over the edge. He felt spasms wrack through his body as he came, distantly noting that he had also cried out.
Spent, he rolled over, before reaching out to take Éowyn in his arms, holding her close.
--
"I suppose I miss them," Faramir mused out loud suddenly, after they had lain in bed for some time, merely holding each other. He wondered why his mind had turned back to their earlier conversation, but felt too content to do much more than blurt out whatever was at the forefront of his thoughts.
Éowyn blinked at the abrupt way he addressed the topic, but took it in her stride. "I know," she replied. "Especially since they cannot come back."
Faramir closed his eyes, feeling the brief flash of pain in his chest. "No, they can't," he told Éowyn softly. The confession to her felt like an acceptance of the fact - the final closing of an important chapter in his life.
Éowyn laughed, and kissed his nose, and changed the topic on him. "You should rest now, unless you wish to remain ill throughout a full ceremony and feast three days hence. I doubt anyone will change the date for your inconvenient illness; they are too set on having it on the first day of New Year."
"By Elvish reckoning, we are already married," Faramir murmured into the shell of her ear, before settling down comfortably beside Éowyn, tucking her closely to him. It was a new beginning, and Faramir felt that he was finally moving forward.