"Learning to Fall." LOTR FPS. R. Eowyn/Faramir (Eowyn/Eomer, Faramir/Boromir).
Title: "Learning to Fall"
Author: Barbara savageseraph
Rating: R
Pairing:Eowyn/Faramir (Eowyn/Eomer, Faramir/Boromir)
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the places. Never happed. All a product of my twisted imagination
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Comments: Written for foxrafer for lotr_sesa 2011. foxrafer gave a lot of latitude with characters and the following prompts: “landscape,” “touchstone,” and “keystone.”
Eowyn fell to her knees on the scorched earth of Pelennor. Despite the wonders worked by the women in the Houses of Healing, the motion jarred her arm enough that bright spikes of pain shot through it. She bit down on her lip, on a soft moan. Even pain felt better than the numbing cold that stabbed into her when she’d driven her sword into the Witch King’s cowl, cold that iced over when her uncle died in her arms.
Here. In this spot.
Even though the Healers wrapped her in thick furs, kept the fire cracking in her room, plied her with cordials that brought a quick rush of heat, nothing made Eowyn feel warm. Not for long. As the wind tugged at her hair, she wondered if a part of her followed her uncle into the halls of their fathers. If she laughed with Theodred, sat to sup with her uncle and father, listened to her mother singing as she braided her hair.
That sliver of her soul would be happy, warm. Loving and loved. Not alone on a field full of death. The tears that streaked Eowyn’s cheeks burned like ice.
###
The sweat that soaked Faramir’s hair burned like fire. He jerked awake, his throat tight and raw, his fingers gripping the hilt of the dagger he kept under his pillow. Not even the sweet fragrance of athelas could entirely banish the scent of scorched flesh that hung thick in the air around him. He closed his eyes as he fell back against the sweat-soaked sheets. His breathing slowed, almost to normal before he could let the knife loose.
The Healers promised him the dreams would fade as his fever did. They were wrong. If anything, they burned brighter. Hotter. Maybe tomorrow night he would ask the Healers for a draught to help him sleep. Maybe it would banish the dreams and give him peace. Maybe it would just keep under, unable to wake as his father and brother, both enveloped in flame, dragged him into the blaze to burn with them.
If he died in his dreams, burned alive, would the Healers find him cold as barrow stones when they checked on him in the morning? Faramir rolled over onto his side, wincing as the wound from the arrow pulled, and stared at the dark window, waiting for dawn.
###
Eowyn waited for dawn to begin brightening the sky before she slipped into the gardens. If she went out early enough, most of Gondor would still be abed, and she could avoid their gentle words of encouragement or sympathy everyone in the Houses of Healing seemed to have for her. She didn’t want either. She wanted her uncle back or wanted to have died in his stead. Her fingertips brushed against the dewy petals of blush-pink blossoms that offered no consolation or censure.
“Maiden’s modesty.”
Eowyn whirled, winced as her arm tensed to reach for a weapon she was not carrying. The Steward’s son, Faramir, stepped from the shadows. He moved stiffly and gestured at the flowers.
“That’s their name. The stems can be mashed into a paste that can help stop bleeding.”
He stopped near her, close enough for her to see the tightness in his body reflected in his eyes. He unpinned his cloak.
“You must be cold.”
Despite her protest Faramir pulled it off, fastened it around her shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.” If she had, Eowyn would have stayed in her room. She took a step back.
“The gardens are a public place, Lady. You do not need to leave on my account.” There was the slightest hesitation before he added. “Unless my presence distresses you.”
The bitterness in his voice made Eowyn’s fingers itch to smooth away the lines creasing his forehead. Would his hair be as warm as the clock she tugged tighter around her body? She shook her head to dispel such foolish fancies. “I fear I am not good company, Lord Faramir.”
“Is that supposed to spare my feelings?”
Eowyn took a half step back at the flash of anger in his eyes. Her jaw tensed and she stepped closer when she realized what she’d done. “Your feelings?”
He nodded stiffly. “I don’t need your pity, Lady.”
“Pity?” Eowyn laughed, though the sound was not a happy one. “Pity is not what I feel for you. I beg your pardon, my Lord Faramir, for not putting your feelings above my grief.” She felt a warm rush of satisfaction as he flinched at her words.
“At least your uncle died a hero.”
“And that should bring me comfort?”
“There are worse ways to die, my Lady.” He half turned away from her, his gaze distant, weary. Haunted.
Eowyn had heard enough of the gossip to know how the last Steward passed in madness and flames, how he would have taken his son with him if Mithrandir hadn’t stopped him. What sort of father would think to do that to a son? What must it be like to have that as your last memory of man who should have loved you?
“I…” Eowyn stepped closer, drawn to his warmth and his shadows. “I’m sorry.” She raised her hand, let her fingers brush his cheek. How could did he do this to you? she thought as Faramir flinched at her touch.
###
Faramir flinched as Eowyn’s hand brushed his cheek. Her palm was cool, still damp from the blossoms, her touch gentle. His eyes closed reflexively as a light shiver ran through his body. The last person to touch him like that had been his brother, and after the Anduin gave Boromir back, Faramir hadn’t thought he’d feel it again. He still remembered Boromir’s fingers on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, teasing his nipples, stretching his body open for his brother’s cock.
He knew his father would have him killed if he found out. Even though Boromir was the one who began it. Maybe that’s why Faramir allowed it. To have something to throw in his father’s face if he could summon anger enough. Maybe he just craved the touch of someone who wanted him. Someone who didn’t despise him.
Boromir fucked like he fought: hard and efficiently. Faramir felt the ache his brother left behind for days, and even now, more than a year after his last fucking it still was enough to make his cock stir, harden. Some memories never faded. The best and the worst had a power to stand against time.
Faramir heard a soft sigh as a thumb gently traced his cheekbone. His eyes snapped open and a blush warmed his cheek as he realized it came from him.
###
Eowyn saw Faramir’s cheek color, felt his skin warm under her hand. His eyes, when they opened, were startled, dark. Eomer had looked at her with those same eyes, once, one night before he led his eodred on patrol. She’d begged him to let her ride with them, far away from Edoras, from their uncle’s affliction. From Wormtongue’s possessive gaze.
It was an impossible request, as impossible as striking Wormtongue down while he held their uncle in thrall. Eomer had cursed and raged that he could not leave her safe in their home. She only intended to kiss his cheek, to calm him, but Eomer turned his head and their lips touched just before their bodies did. Her brother swore then, he’d leave a woman, not a maid, to stand against the shadows in Edoras.
Like all Rohirrim, he was a man of his word.
He’d murmured encouragement as he watched his cock stretch her lips, until words dissolved into soft cries each time she swallowed around him. He’d made her shiver and moan as he licked his way from the hollow of her throat to her belly, circling her navel, before spreading her legs to taste and tease. Eowyn lost count of how many times her desire crested and broke before he pulled back and thrust inside her, fucking her slowly until pain mellowed into pleasure, until she didn’t protest when he slid out, turned her over onto her stomach and took her as he would a man.
It hurt, but it was a good pain. Enough to burn away doubt and dread. Enough to leave only a sweet, sleepy ache behind. Her gaze went to Faramir’s lips and she wondered how they would feel against her skin.
###
When Faramir noticed Eowyn’s gaze lingering on his lips, his already snug breeches grew even tighter. He had to leave. She was hurt and hurting, just as he was. That’s what drew them together. He’d be a fool to think otherwise. Women like Eowyn belonged at the side of men like Aragorn, Imrahil. Boromir.
Faramir cleared his throat, stepped back. “I’ll leave you to the gardens, Lady.” He bowed, turned to go, his body tense as fought the urge glance back.
“Faramir?”
Faramir stopped at his name on her lips. Names had power. Especially when they were stripped filled with a curious sort of wonder. He heard Eowyn’s footsteps behind him, felt her body press against his back.
“Faramir, I’m cold.”
“Come back to my room with me.” Faramir regretted the words as soon as they’d left his lips. They were too raw, too bold for a daughter of kings.
Her breath tickled the side of his neck as she murmured. “Show me the way.”
When the door latched securely behind them, Faramir curled an arm around Eowyn’s waist, leaned carefully into her. Her hair smelled of sunshine and the wind that carried a gentle rain. He felt her pulse speed up under his lips as he nuzzled her neck, groaned softly as her fingers tangled in his hair. Would they tighten if he nipped at the hollow of her throat? He wanted to find out. Just like he wanted to taste himself on her skin.
“I want you.” Faramir hadn’t meant to say that either. The words were too revealing. Too honest.
Eowyn kissed him softly. “I know.”
###
Eowyn knew she shouldn’t have kissed Faramir, shouldn’t have leaned into him when the tip of his tongue grazed her lips. It felt wrong, the burst of heat and joy that blossomed in her chest. It felt wrong when there was so much sorrow and death. But it felt right, turning from blight and barrow to light and love.
“I need you.” Faramir’s voice broke. He swallowed. His eyes were sad, hopeful. Vulnerable.
He’s braver than I. Braver than he knows. Eowyn bit her lip. Had she looked at Aragorn that way?
Faramir smiled sadly, let her loose. “You don’t have to stay.”
He was right. She didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to risk, to meet his candor with her own. She didn’t have to let down her guard, to let his warmth sink into her skin. She didn’t have to, but she wanted to. She wanted to let go of fear and shadows.
She wanted to live.
“I know. I want to.” Letting go of fear, caution, sorrow, Eowyn fell.
Author: Barbara savageseraph
Rating: R
Pairing:Eowyn/Faramir (Eowyn/Eomer, Faramir/Boromir)
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the places. Never happed. All a product of my twisted imagination
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Comments: Written for foxrafer for lotr_sesa 2011. foxrafer gave a lot of latitude with characters and the following prompts: “landscape,” “touchstone,” and “keystone.”
Eowyn fell to her knees on the scorched earth of Pelennor. Despite the wonders worked by the women in the Houses of Healing, the motion jarred her arm enough that bright spikes of pain shot through it. She bit down on her lip, on a soft moan. Even pain felt better than the numbing cold that stabbed into her when she’d driven her sword into the Witch King’s cowl, cold that iced over when her uncle died in her arms.
Here. In this spot.
Even though the Healers wrapped her in thick furs, kept the fire cracking in her room, plied her with cordials that brought a quick rush of heat, nothing made Eowyn feel warm. Not for long. As the wind tugged at her hair, she wondered if a part of her followed her uncle into the halls of their fathers. If she laughed with Theodred, sat to sup with her uncle and father, listened to her mother singing as she braided her hair.
That sliver of her soul would be happy, warm. Loving and loved. Not alone on a field full of death. The tears that streaked Eowyn’s cheeks burned like ice.
###
The sweat that soaked Faramir’s hair burned like fire. He jerked awake, his throat tight and raw, his fingers gripping the hilt of the dagger he kept under his pillow. Not even the sweet fragrance of athelas could entirely banish the scent of scorched flesh that hung thick in the air around him. He closed his eyes as he fell back against the sweat-soaked sheets. His breathing slowed, almost to normal before he could let the knife loose.
The Healers promised him the dreams would fade as his fever did. They were wrong. If anything, they burned brighter. Hotter. Maybe tomorrow night he would ask the Healers for a draught to help him sleep. Maybe it would banish the dreams and give him peace. Maybe it would just keep under, unable to wake as his father and brother, both enveloped in flame, dragged him into the blaze to burn with them.
If he died in his dreams, burned alive, would the Healers find him cold as barrow stones when they checked on him in the morning? Faramir rolled over onto his side, wincing as the wound from the arrow pulled, and stared at the dark window, waiting for dawn.
###
Eowyn waited for dawn to begin brightening the sky before she slipped into the gardens. If she went out early enough, most of Gondor would still be abed, and she could avoid their gentle words of encouragement or sympathy everyone in the Houses of Healing seemed to have for her. She didn’t want either. She wanted her uncle back or wanted to have died in his stead. Her fingertips brushed against the dewy petals of blush-pink blossoms that offered no consolation or censure.
“Maiden’s modesty.”
Eowyn whirled, winced as her arm tensed to reach for a weapon she was not carrying. The Steward’s son, Faramir, stepped from the shadows. He moved stiffly and gestured at the flowers.
“That’s their name. The stems can be mashed into a paste that can help stop bleeding.”
He stopped near her, close enough for her to see the tightness in his body reflected in his eyes. He unpinned his cloak.
“You must be cold.”
Despite her protest Faramir pulled it off, fastened it around her shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.” If she had, Eowyn would have stayed in her room. She took a step back.
“The gardens are a public place, Lady. You do not need to leave on my account.” There was the slightest hesitation before he added. “Unless my presence distresses you.”
The bitterness in his voice made Eowyn’s fingers itch to smooth away the lines creasing his forehead. Would his hair be as warm as the clock she tugged tighter around her body? She shook her head to dispel such foolish fancies. “I fear I am not good company, Lord Faramir.”
“Is that supposed to spare my feelings?”
Eowyn took a half step back at the flash of anger in his eyes. Her jaw tensed and she stepped closer when she realized what she’d done. “Your feelings?”
He nodded stiffly. “I don’t need your pity, Lady.”
“Pity?” Eowyn laughed, though the sound was not a happy one. “Pity is not what I feel for you. I beg your pardon, my Lord Faramir, for not putting your feelings above my grief.” She felt a warm rush of satisfaction as he flinched at her words.
“At least your uncle died a hero.”
“And that should bring me comfort?”
“There are worse ways to die, my Lady.” He half turned away from her, his gaze distant, weary. Haunted.
Eowyn had heard enough of the gossip to know how the last Steward passed in madness and flames, how he would have taken his son with him if Mithrandir hadn’t stopped him. What sort of father would think to do that to a son? What must it be like to have that as your last memory of man who should have loved you?
“I…” Eowyn stepped closer, drawn to his warmth and his shadows. “I’m sorry.” She raised her hand, let her fingers brush his cheek. How could did he do this to you? she thought as Faramir flinched at her touch.
###
Faramir flinched as Eowyn’s hand brushed his cheek. Her palm was cool, still damp from the blossoms, her touch gentle. His eyes closed reflexively as a light shiver ran through his body. The last person to touch him like that had been his brother, and after the Anduin gave Boromir back, Faramir hadn’t thought he’d feel it again. He still remembered Boromir’s fingers on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, teasing his nipples, stretching his body open for his brother’s cock.
He knew his father would have him killed if he found out. Even though Boromir was the one who began it. Maybe that’s why Faramir allowed it. To have something to throw in his father’s face if he could summon anger enough. Maybe he just craved the touch of someone who wanted him. Someone who didn’t despise him.
Boromir fucked like he fought: hard and efficiently. Faramir felt the ache his brother left behind for days, and even now, more than a year after his last fucking it still was enough to make his cock stir, harden. Some memories never faded. The best and the worst had a power to stand against time.
Faramir heard a soft sigh as a thumb gently traced his cheekbone. His eyes snapped open and a blush warmed his cheek as he realized it came from him.
###
Eowyn saw Faramir’s cheek color, felt his skin warm under her hand. His eyes, when they opened, were startled, dark. Eomer had looked at her with those same eyes, once, one night before he led his eodred on patrol. She’d begged him to let her ride with them, far away from Edoras, from their uncle’s affliction. From Wormtongue’s possessive gaze.
It was an impossible request, as impossible as striking Wormtongue down while he held their uncle in thrall. Eomer had cursed and raged that he could not leave her safe in their home. She only intended to kiss his cheek, to calm him, but Eomer turned his head and their lips touched just before their bodies did. Her brother swore then, he’d leave a woman, not a maid, to stand against the shadows in Edoras.
Like all Rohirrim, he was a man of his word.
He’d murmured encouragement as he watched his cock stretch her lips, until words dissolved into soft cries each time she swallowed around him. He’d made her shiver and moan as he licked his way from the hollow of her throat to her belly, circling her navel, before spreading her legs to taste and tease. Eowyn lost count of how many times her desire crested and broke before he pulled back and thrust inside her, fucking her slowly until pain mellowed into pleasure, until she didn’t protest when he slid out, turned her over onto her stomach and took her as he would a man.
It hurt, but it was a good pain. Enough to burn away doubt and dread. Enough to leave only a sweet, sleepy ache behind. Her gaze went to Faramir’s lips and she wondered how they would feel against her skin.
###
When Faramir noticed Eowyn’s gaze lingering on his lips, his already snug breeches grew even tighter. He had to leave. She was hurt and hurting, just as he was. That’s what drew them together. He’d be a fool to think otherwise. Women like Eowyn belonged at the side of men like Aragorn, Imrahil. Boromir.
Faramir cleared his throat, stepped back. “I’ll leave you to the gardens, Lady.” He bowed, turned to go, his body tense as fought the urge glance back.
“Faramir?”
Faramir stopped at his name on her lips. Names had power. Especially when they were stripped filled with a curious sort of wonder. He heard Eowyn’s footsteps behind him, felt her body press against his back.
“Faramir, I’m cold.”
“Come back to my room with me.” Faramir regretted the words as soon as they’d left his lips. They were too raw, too bold for a daughter of kings.
Her breath tickled the side of his neck as she murmured. “Show me the way.”
When the door latched securely behind them, Faramir curled an arm around Eowyn’s waist, leaned carefully into her. Her hair smelled of sunshine and the wind that carried a gentle rain. He felt her pulse speed up under his lips as he nuzzled her neck, groaned softly as her fingers tangled in his hair. Would they tighten if he nipped at the hollow of her throat? He wanted to find out. Just like he wanted to taste himself on her skin.
“I want you.” Faramir hadn’t meant to say that either. The words were too revealing. Too honest.
Eowyn kissed him softly. “I know.”
###
Eowyn knew she shouldn’t have kissed Faramir, shouldn’t have leaned into him when the tip of his tongue grazed her lips. It felt wrong, the burst of heat and joy that blossomed in her chest. It felt wrong when there was so much sorrow and death. But it felt right, turning from blight and barrow to light and love.
“I need you.” Faramir’s voice broke. He swallowed. His eyes were sad, hopeful. Vulnerable.
He’s braver than I. Braver than he knows. Eowyn bit her lip. Had she looked at Aragorn that way?
Faramir smiled sadly, let her loose. “You don’t have to stay.”
He was right. She didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to risk, to meet his candor with her own. She didn’t have to let down her guard, to let his warmth sink into her skin. She didn’t have to, but she wanted to. She wanted to let go of fear and shadows.
She wanted to live.
“I know. I want to.” Letting go of fear, caution, sorrow, Eowyn fell.