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The White Lady of Rohan was on the terrace outside Meduseld saying good night to guests as they made their way back to the tented encampment outside Edoras. The Steward of Gondor moved up behind her and reached out to touch the hand that hung at her side, half-concealed in the folds of her skirt.
“Later,” Faramir whispered in Éowyn’s ear.
He did not need to say more. His eyes had been eloquent enough as he had watched her over dinner. The meal that evening had been a much quieter affair that the feast the previous day, but there were still many important guests to be entertained. With Elf-Lords and Elf-Ladies and Kings of Men aplenty, protocol dictated they were seated far apart, yet that only gave more chances for them to exchange glances. Many who had assumed it was a purely political alliance to strengthen the bonds between Gondor and Rohan had been surprised to observe it appeared to be something of a love match after all.
After dinner, Éowyn had been required to play hostess for her brother and to entertain several dull diplomats. Faramir, by contrast, had been forced to suffer some jibes over his moonstruck look from his friends, as well as frequent requests to recount the mishap of the morning, until he was heartily sick of the tale. His duty to Gondor had sustained him through many a tedious and uncomfortable evening before this. Tonight it had been a promise given and received – which did not feature in the tale he told – that made the conversation bearable.
Finally, when the sun began to sink behind the White Mountains and the guests were heading to their rest, he was able to approach Éowyn. She turned at his touch and smiled and said, “We can find a quiet corner to talk in the Hall.”
He looked down at her, his face serious and shadowed. “It was not talk I had in mind,” he said softly.
“No, nor I.” Her eyes were lifted to his and he saw in them again the look that had seemed to nearly stop his heart that morning.
He touched her hand a second time and felt a crackle pass between them like the charge that hung in the air when a thunderstorm approached. “Where, then?” he asked. He kept his voice low, which was just as well, for he could hear that it was thick with desire.
The trouble with having so many noble visitors was that there was simply no privacy. Faramir was sharing a room with the Elf and the Dwarf. They had been pleasant enough companions so far – although the Dwarf snored rather heavily – but now he was wishing them at the ends of Middle-earth. Éowyn had been required to give space in her quarters to Faramir’s cousin Lothíriel and to two other Gondorim ladies who had been chosen for Arwen’s retinue. Faramir thought longingly of the many rooms in the Steward’s House in Minas Tirith where he could have ensured they were disturbed by none.
Éowyn frowned as she thought. “The kitchens may be quiet now,” she suggested. “I wish I could offer a more pleasant place.”
“It will serve well enough, if we can be alone,” Faramir answered.
“Then take the door to the right below the dais,” she directed. “Be discreet! I will go and bid goodnight to my brother.”
Faramir saw, as he made his way silently through the shadows of the side aisle, that Éomer was standing near the fire talking to Lothíriel. The new-crowned King of Rohan looked somewhat distracted and as if he was not paying much attention to his sister’s leavetaking. Perhaps it’s not just Thiri who favours the match! Faramir thought. I should speak to King Elessar about it before he departs for Isengard.
Once through the door, Faramir waited in the corridor until Éowyn joined him. She led him down towards the kitchens. There was a faint light in the distance and the sound of tankards being washed. Part way down the corridor, Éowyn turned into a short side passage. A door to a darkened room stood open to one side and Faramir stepped that way.
“No, not in there,” Éowyn whispered. “That’s the cold store.” She tugged him through a door on the other side of the dimly lit passage. “We’ll be much more comfortable in here.”
Faramir moved ahead of her to bring them further away from the dim light that fell through the door. In the gloom, he could see that the walls were lined with sacks and barrels and jars. He turned back towards her and drew her closer.
“At last!” he said, hoping she could hear his smile even if she could not see it. He felt her take a deep breath. His own breathing was shallow and nervous and he was a little light-headed. For a long moment, he did nothing except slide his hand around so that his fingers were interlocked with hers, his thumb caressing her wrist, looking down at her while his eyes adjusted to the dim light and her face became clearer. He was just about to bend his head and kiss her when his sharp ears heard a soft thump from the storeroom across the corridor, followed by a familiar voice exclaiming in low tones, “Merry! Be careful!”
Faramir closed his eyes and stifled a curse. He put his lips next to Éowyn’s ear and murmured, “It seems the hobbits are raiding the stores again, my love.”
“Oh dear, the cooks really will walk out if they steal any more food.” Éowyn whispered back. “I’d better go and stop them.”
She made to move but Faramir caught hold of her around the waist. “Don’t you dare,” he replied, hoping the Hobbits’ normal stealth was not matched by equally impressive hearing. “We’ll only have to go back to the Great Hall once they know we’re here.”
Éowyn relaxed back against him, apparently preferring a revolt in the kitchens the next morning to forgoing the pleasures of the night. Faramir breathed in her sweet scent for a moment. Then, miming for her to be silent, he led them back out into the main corridor. Éowyn gestured they should carry on moving away from the Great Hall, but they had only taken a few more steps when they heard voices behind them.
“No, I don’t know where the King went off to. He just disappeared. If you can’t find him, at least try and find Lady Éowyn. The Dunland ambassador is clearly starting to get offended.”
Éowyn took a swift turn to the right. Faramir almost stumbled, only his swordsman’s grace allowing him to avoid a misstep. Éowyn had led them into a small room lined with shelves holding rows of faintly glinting metal dishes. They took a pace to the side, into the deeper darkness, as they heard footsteps pass.
”Why he wants to talk diplomacy in the middle of the night…!” a second voice complained. “Better try and find Lady Éowyn. The King looked like he’d had a bit much to drink. He might be in an expansive mood and give away half the Westfold.”
Faramir felt Éowyn stifle a giggle. He looked down at her in the half-light and put his finger to her lips. Then he thought of a better way to silence her. He slid the finger across her cheek, turned his hand to capture her chin, and tilted it upwards to allow him to bring his mouth to hers.
He kept the kiss light at first, teasing her lips gently with his, capturing her top lip for a moment before letting it go. Her breath smelt of the sweet berries they had eaten earlier. He felt her sway towards him and he took her shoulders lightly and pulled her closer. Her hands came up to press into his shoulder blades. He deepened the kiss and felt her lips part as she responded. His skin tingled where he touched her as the heat began to build within him, yet he was careful to remain gentle and slow. She had obviously kissed someone before, but it was plain she did not have much experience and he did not want to frighten her.
When he had thoroughly explored her lips for several minutes, he cautiously pushed his tongue forward and tasted her. He felt her stiffen a little – surprise? – before she relaxed as she accepted him into her mouth. After a moment, her tongue came nervously to meet his. As they touched, he thought an explosion had gone off within him. Unable to help himself, he gripped her arms tightly and pulled her closer, kissing her harder and deeper. Yet she did not seem to mind. Her hands were now in his hair and she was pressing against him as she rose on tiptoe to meet the kiss.
He slid one arm around her to balance her, while he lifted the other to stroke her face and hair. As he did so, his elbow knocked one of the dishes. In the quiet night, it seemed to sound like the gong in the Tower Hall.
Éowyn broke the kiss to put out a hand to catch the dish and still it.
“I don’t think we can stay here,” she whispered. She sounded as if she had been running hard.
“Where then?” Faramir’s voice was hoarse with frustration. He thought he might go mad if they failed to find somewhere more suitable to continue their lovemaking.
Éowyn shrugged. “I don’t know. We could try the stables, maybe.”
They listened carefully for other interlopers before she led him back out into the corridor and down a short flight of steps. There, a door gave on to a small courtyard with a well. From the far side, a twisting, narrow staircase wound down through the rock. After the first turn, Fararmir held her back and kissed her again. She submitted for a moment before she broke away. “Not here,” she said. “If anyone else comes down the stairs, they’ll find us.”
She led him on until they came out into the yard in front of the stables. He pushed open one of the large doors just enough to allow them to slip inside. The comforting smells of oiled leather and warm horse met them. The stables were as crowded as the sleeping quarters in Meduseld, with many stalls holding two or three beasts. Faramir knew their soft stampings would mask any sounds two lovers might make – but also provide cover for anyone who approached. That, of course, assumed he would be of a mind to be listening.
He began moving down the central aisle, thinking that at best they could make use of the darkness at the other end, but Éowyn tugged on his hand and showed him a storeroom near the entrance where mounds of tack lay stacked.
When he let the door close behind him, the darkness was almost complete.
Nervous that he might break the mood again with a careless gesture, he halted. He could hear Éowyn’s quick breathing and he had kept hold of her hand, but she had taken a pace backwards as he moved to let the door close and he was no longer entirely sure where she was.
He used the disciplines learnt in the shadowed glades of Ithilien to quiet his own breathing and reach out with his senses. He discerned that, apart from the rapid rise and fall of her breast, she was still, drawn taut as a bow in the moment before the arrow is released. Sure of his ground at last, he took her in his arms again, and felt a shiver run through her.
Even though his eyes had now adjusted to the dark, he could see little. This time, bending to kiss her, he missed and found himself catching only the corner of her mouth. Yet it did not prove to be a mistake. He traced the line of her jaw with gentle kisses and she tilted her face to offer herself up to him more fully.
Her fingers were softly stroking the nape of his neck, sending ripples of warmth down his back. He pushed the hair back from her face so that he could drop a kiss on the soft skin behind her ear. Then he gently nibbled her earlobe. He was rewarded with a shudder of pleasure that ran through her whole body. Now it was she who began to take the more active part, turning his head to pull his mouth onto hers and resume the process of discovery that had been so rudely interrupted earlier.
Pressing her closer, Faramir was aware of a light bursting behind his eyes. No: a light in his eyes. He broke the kiss and turned to see the tack room door was open and Éomer was standing in the doorway holding a lantern. There was another, shadowed figure behind him, a woman.
“Éowyn!” The King of Rohan both looked and sounded shocked.
There was a giggle from the other woman. Faramir recognised its distinctive timbre. “Thiri!” he exclaimed in equally horrified tones. “What are you doing?”
“Much the same as you, I suspect,” she said, peering around Éomer’s shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him.
Mustering all the dignity he could manage, Faramir drew himself up and said, “Éowyn and I are betrothed.”
“But not yet married,” Éomer answered rather grimly. “And a trothplighting can always be broken.”
Faramir looked at Éomer in dismay as he realised he might be about to cause a major diplomatic incident. And never get to do this again, he thought, as he instinctively pressed Éowyn closer to his side. Then he realised Éomer’s anger owed as much to embarrassment at being caught skulking around his own palace looking for somewhere to kiss his girl as it did to genuine righteousness at anything Faramir might be doing with his sister.
“Perhaps,” Faramir said smoothly, stepping out of the tack store and drawing Éowyn with him, “your sister and I might be allowed to give up this space to permit the King of Rohan to, ah, further negotiations with Dol Amroth.”
Éomer coloured, but nodded stiffly as Faramir led Éowyn past him.
He heard Éowyn say to her brother with a laugh. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Glancing back, Faramir caught a puzzled look crossing Éomer’s face as he tried to work out whether agreeing would commit him to doing less than he wanted or permit his sister to do more than he would like her to.
Then Faramir was passing Thiri and it was his turn to grab her arm as they crossed and to mutter, “Don’t do anything too stupid or Uncle will skin me alive if this comes out.”
The frustrated lovers emerged into the cool, starlit night. A faint breeze was blowing and it chilled the sweat on Faramir’s skin. He was almost shivering with his dismay at being torn so abruptly from the sweetness he had just experienced.
It was fully dark and the lanes were nearly silent now, yet there was still no place they could find privacy. Faramir did not entirely begrudge giving up the stables to Éomer, but now he and Éowyn found themselves cast out, his resentment at the change in fortunes did not seem a good basis on which to further his friendship with his future brother-in-law.
He looked down at Éowyn. Their hands were still linked but, after the closeness they had shared, the space between them now seemed wider than the Anduin.
He sighed. “Perhaps we should go back?” he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“Do you wish to?”
“No!” He raised his hand to touch her shoulder but he dared not risk even a brief kiss out here, for he knew it would not remain brief.
“Why don’t we go down to the riverbank? You found it such a refreshing experience this morning. Perhaps you could show me the scene of your misfortunes?”
In the dim starlight, Faramir saw her smile, and he could tell from her tone that she did not expect to do much sightseeing. Surely they could find somewhere quiet under the trees? And if not, it would still be pleasant to wander by a wooded stream again. Although the plains of Rohan had their own beauty and had been a welcome change from the hard stones of the White City, he missed Ithilien.
He nodded and they made their way down the sloping road. They passed through the gates and Faramir thought he saw curious looks from the guards – so much for discretion! - though they did not speak. They were men of the Royal household and Faramir wondered whether their loyalty would lie in telling Éomer that his sister was wandering around with her betrothed in the middle of the night or in preserving the White Lady’s interests.
Tents had been pitched for the Elven guests outside the walls and merrymaking was still taking place. Faramir and Éowyn circled the encampment, keeping to the shadows outside the glow cast by the Elven lamps, and reached the river. Turning in the direction Faramir had taken with the Hobbits that morning – around the curve of the hill and towards the Snowbourn’s sources in White Mountains – they walked for a while along the riverbank.
The grass was smooth between the spreading willow roots. At every opportunity, Faramir would glance at Éowyn. Sometimes she was looking away. Sometimes he caught her gaze and she would smile at him. At those moments, the touch of her skin where their hands were still intertwined burned like a fever.
Judging they were at last far enough away from the tents and sharp Elven ears, Faramir impatiently pulled Éowyn through the dense trailing branches of a willow tree. The spreading canopy made a bower: once inside, it seemed to him that at last they were alone, cut off from all of Middle-earth. Leaning back against the trunk, he pulled her tight against him and began again to explore her face thoroughly with kisses. She was kissing him in turn, her hands in his hair. He stroked the supple muscles of her back, fair yet strong enough to wield a deadly blade. Moving his hands lower, he felt her tremble as he pressed her hips to his. He knew she could not be ignorant of the rising passion in him, but her own hands never strayed below his shoulders.
After a few minutes, he drew them down together so she was sitting in his lap. He cradled her in one arm, leaving the other free to roam along her leg.
“I should have done this before,” he mumbled while he nuzzled her neck.
“I am glad you did not,” she answered.
Faramir lifted his head and held her away from him a little so that he could look at her. “You are?” His voice was sharp with surprise and hurt.
Éowyn dropped her gaze. “I do not think you would have received such a warm reception,” she admitted.
“Oh.” Faramir looked away. He found he had unconsciously pushed her further from him. He said, trying to make light of his pain, “I wonder that you ever accepted my suit if I was so repulsive.”
Éowyn must have realised he was upset, because she took his face in her hands and turned it back towards her.
“My love, I meant it as a compliment,”
“A compliment that I did not pursue you?”
“Oh, but you wanted to! I knew that. What better proof of the quality of your love that you did not.”
“You would set your lovers tests? And be happy when they proved their love would not trouble you?”
“It was not a test,” Now it was her turn to sound hurt and angry. “Faramir, I told you of my life before we met. Of my dealings with other men and how I had to guard my heart and my person, and how there were none not of my kin whom I could trust. Yet you I learnt to trust, to love. How could I not love you when I saw you wanted so much and yet asked me so little.”
She leant forward suddenly and planted a brief yet fierce kiss on his mouth.
“Beloved, it pains me to think that I did not always love you so well as I do now. That when you finally spoke what was in your heart, I could not return your love in the same measure. Yet I knew you were good and kind and wise. That you would be a good father to my children. I had tried love at first sight and it had been bitter. I thought that a love that might grow from friendship was a better choice.
“And then you kissed me.” She laughed. “Which was not unpleasant.”
She leant forward again and this time gave him a lingering and tender kiss that rekindled his passion. Despite his anger and confusion, he could not but help respond and try to prolong the kiss when she drew away once more. She put a hand to his lips to prevent him.
“And then you did not kiss me.” She gave him a wry smile. “Perhaps you were setting me a test. For I began to be consumed with curiosity as to what it would be like to be kissed by you again. I began to wonder, as I never had with any other man, what it would be like to,” here she hesitated and he saw her face flush, “to lie with you. And this morning, when I saw how you were made,” she ran a hand down his arm and he shivered at the touch and at the memory of the look they had shared, “I knew that I was truly yours: mind and heart and soul – and body.”
Faramir could not deny the sincerity in her words or in the look she gave him now, a look that made the blood beat in his ears. Nor could he deny that he also had grown into this love by degrees. His heart may have been pierced by that first thunderbolt as she came walking towards him across the grass in the Houses of Healing, but time alone had taught him to esteem her quick wit and her sweet nature.
He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips and echoed her words softly: “And I am truly yours: mind and heart and soul and body.”
Then it seemed they were both half laughing and half crying. He discovered a new taste as he kissed away her salt tears, while his hand stroked the long, firm line of her leg.
Before many minutes had passed, they were stretched upon the mossy grass and her touch was beginning to move more freely over him. Encouraged, he slid his hand to cup her breast. He felt her arch her back and push herself against his hand and she moaned gently into his mouth. He found himself growing even harder.
With a groan, he rolled away from her and lay flat on his back, staring up at the rustling canopy of leaves and trying to gain control over his breathing – and other parts of his body.
“Faramir, what is it?” Éowyn asked, her voice sharp with concern. She turned towards him, propping herself on one elbow so she could look down at him.
“I am not sure that I can contain myself if you keep doing things like that,” he said, forcing himself to calmness and looking into her face so she could see the love that still lit him, indeed was coursing through him like a river in flood.
He saw her gaze travel over him and then a smile curved her lips. She pressed herself against his side and ran her free hand down from his chest until it rested on his straining member
Faramir closed his eyes and groaned again. “Love, please don’t.”
“You don’t want this?” Éowyn asked, a teasing note in her voice.
“More than anything,” he answered, the words catching in his throat as he fought to dampen his ardour before it took a complete grip on him.
“Shush,” Éowyn leant over and kissed him.
Despite his resolve a moment earlier to check their lovemaking, Faramir wrapped an arm around her to hold her there as he explored her mouth again. Then he was pushing her away slightly in alarm when he realised she was gently pulling at his clothes.
“Have you done this before?” That came out more harshly than he had intended, but the passion building in him was making it hard to think or speak clearly. “I mean, you don’t have to….”
“Shush,” she said again. She was blushing, but her blue eyes had gone dark and deep and he saw in them her love for him, her desire. “No, I haven’t done this before, but I’ve overheard other women talking….”
She had freed him at last and he felt the cool air on his skin, and then her fingers. The sword calluses on her palm were rough but her touch was soft. Too soft: he knew it was true she was not experienced in this. He took her hand and showed her how to hold him and how to move. Then he took his own hand away and buried it in her hair and kissed her, and whispered her name and other endearments until, at last, tumbling over the edge, he cried out her name joyfully as he spent himself.
He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, then he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She leant over him, glowing with happiness and pride that she had brought him such bliss.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“It was my pleasure, my love,” she replied.
Suddenly Faramir grinned. “Oh no, your pleasure has only just begun, sweetheart!” He took her shoulders, turned her on her back and began to kiss her again. His own needs satiated for the moment, he was free to concentrate on hers.
In Minas Tirith, the men of the Stewards’ family patronised an exclusive establishment in the sixth circle. In fact, Faramir had once had an intensely awkward encounter as he was leaving and the Ruling Steward was entering. While most of the noble ladies of Gondor openly disapproved of the courtesans, many a fine lord’s wife had reason to thank them, even if she did not know it. The women of this house believed in educating those customers who wanted more than quick relief - and Faramir had proved an apt student of the arts of love. He had soon discovered that his satisfaction was even greater when he knew his caresses were bringing pleasure to his partner as well.
Now, he settled his body alongside Éowyn and with one hand began to stroke her arm and then her shoulder and then her breast. He bent his head to kiss the sun-browned skin in the hollow of her neck and where it stretched over her collarbone. With his fingertips, he pushed her dress from her shoulder and carried his kisses downwards to where her skin turned pale and began to swell. He felt it rise to meet his lips as she took a deep, ragged breath. He moved on, slowly, inch by inch, until finally he had captured her hard, pink nipple in his mouth. She was arching her back again, pushing herself towards him. This time it was her hands in his hair and her breaths that were coming quick and shallow.
His hand was now exploring her waist and her hip and her thigh. He slid his fingers under her knee and lifted her leg so that it was bent. Her skirt pooled onto her lap. He pushed his hand under the heavy material and slid it up the outside of her hip. He rested it there for a moment while he moved back to her kissing her mouth. Then he gently moved his hand across until it covered her mound.
She was tense, and yet he could feel her pressing towards him. He let his hand rest quietly, only moving his thumb very gently backwards and forwards. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
When he spoke, it was quietly but plainly. "I could give you the same pleasure you gave me, my love,” he said. “I would wish to give you that – but only of you want.”
“Yes, I know about that too.” Again she blushed, but again her gaze was steady. She said softly, “Yes.” And when he hesitated, unsure if she really knew what she was agreeing to, more fiercely: “Yes!”
He slipped his hand beneath her underclothes and felt the soft-sharp hair and the heat that came from her. He could feel himself growing hard again. He gazed into her eyes as he slid a finger downwards into the moist place between her legs. She gave a gasp and thrust her hips towards him and the look of pleasure on her face was almost more than he could bear. He did not know or care if she was a maid or had let any man do this to her before, he only knew that it was he, now, who was bringing forth the soft cries that escaped from her as he slowly, with the lightest of touches, stroked and circled the heart of her.
He dropped gentle kisses on her neck occasionally, but was careful not to lose his rhythm. He heard her breaths grow shorter and at last felt her shudder against his hand as a stifled moan of pleasure broke from her. She fell back against him and he left his hand quiet for a moment before withdrawing it and gathering her to him. He pressed his face into her hair. He knew it would probably be many months before they would have the chance to be together like this again.
In his heart, he knew they would never have another night quite the same as this one. He murmured sleepily, “I really must find some way to thank Pippin!” and felt as well as heard the low laugh, sweet and contented, that passed through her as she settled against him.