That night, Eowyn sat up again, basking in the warmth of the fire, and the unaccountable feelings that swept through her. She was glad. Glad that Arwen had deemed her worthy to share the innermost secrets of her mind. She did not know that the first thaw had touched her cold heart truly, as none other ever had, the simple warmth and confidence Arwen had gifted her with, and the strength.
Then a thought came into her mind. Arwen had honoured her, trusted her, should she not repay the favour? Her proud nature would not let her do anything else indeed, and she wished to share some secret. Even when young, Eowyn had not been a little girl, whispering childish follies and fancies to a group of other maidens. She had never shared the companionship and friendship possible between her sex, had scorned such bonds as unwarriorlike and weak. Now she wondered, if she had missed out, if the girls could have taught her something about friends that male company could not give, or even understand.
Deep at heart, Eowyn was a woman with nearly all the urges and instincts of one, though she had successfully muted them for so long. Perhaps it stemmed from a deep-seated fear of what it would reveal in herself if she ever softened, what horrors would come spilling forth. It had been easier to hide, to assume the shield of male clothing and attitudes, than face the peculiar power of her own feminity. She had despised it for so long. She had blossomed early, maturing soon, hating every moment of it, her changed body and perceptions, and her love of male clothing stemmed from this time, since it covered, rather than revealed the sight which frightened her.
Arwen so comfortable in her body, so assured, had brought forth every worst instinct in Eowyn, the urge to maim and kill such confident beauty, of one who possessed in such richness what Eowyn did not dare to claim. Who did not flaunt it, but was not ashamed to wear clothes that enhanced her figure, showed the white swells of breasts she did not try to hide, and clothes that hung seductively close to her hips, who walked with a tantalizing movement she was not aware of, that made every man stare after her. The unapproachable beauty, the unassaliable position of the Queen of Gondor melded with the force of Arwen the woman, to create an irresistable combination. No wonder Aragorn loved her, and for the first time Eowyn's thought was not bitter.
She banked the fire, snuffed the candles, and drained the nearly empty wineglass, relishing the sweet, tart taste on her tongue, staining her lips red. She knew even before she walked past Arwen's chamber that she would be needed, and going to her own room she changed into her nightclothes. A long white robe, that hung to her ankles, so only her bare feet could be seen. Then like a spirit, she slipped through the castle, bearing a light before her, walking swiftly on silent feet. She had unbraided her hair, and it fell in a shower of gold around her, reaching further than it ever had. She found herself rejoicing in her body for once, the sensation of her smooth skin against the coarser cotton of the nightrobe, the slenderness of her body. She had still not come to terms with it, but for a few charmed minutes, she and it worked in tandem.
She was just in time, when she entered the room, the candles had extinguished themselves, and Arwen had begun to twitch restlessly. "Celebrian, mother," she cried quietly, and that decided Eowyn. She clambered into the bed, warming her feet on the area heated by the warming pan. She flung a companionable arm across Arwen, and shared her body heat freely. Almost instantly, Arwen stopped moving, and the little line between her eyes vanished. Her breathing was regular, and warm, and she turned in Eowyn's embrace, an arm stealing more firmly around her neck. Eowyn found she did not dislike it, the warm breath on her collar-bone was relaxing, and Arwen's hair was soft. Eowyn could smell the distinctive perfume, that attended Arwen always, a delicious intangible fragrance that seemed to emanate from her hair, and body, and she wondered drowsily, how Arwen concocted such a scent. One hand moved with a caress through the tumbling dark locks of hair, so different from Eowyn's own, and with a sigh Eowyn surrendered herself to sleep.
The next morning, Eowyn woke early again, well rested with no dreams to haunt her waking eye. She stared down with affection at the form of the other woman who had begun to stir as Eowyn had. She felt no unease or embarassment at being thus in the other woman's bed, only a shy kind of delight that she had never felt before, at being the one to bring comfort and sleep. Arwen stretched, her delicate white arms causing the sleeves of her white robe to slide back, and Eowyn shifted as though to leave the room. Arwen sat up, and looked at her, a smile gracing her lips. "Why go?" she asked. "We have hours until the cock crows, and the castle is awake." Eowyn could find no reason, and lay back on the downy pillows absorbed in her own thoughts, and the pleasant warmth Arwen exuded.
"What would you like to do today?" Eowyn asked suddenly, inconsequentially.
Arwen looked at her curiously. "Is there not work to do?" she asked.
A laugh pealed out through the air, and Eowyn smiled mirthfully. "I apologise Arwen," she said whimsically. "Since you have stayed all we have done is work, and organize things. The castle is not in such a pass, that we cannot take a day to follow our own inclinations. I should not put you to such work."
Arwen considered her, "I am used to work. In my father's domain Imladris, there was work to do, and my blood did not preclude me from a share in the common labour. I have even scrubbed pots and pans before, though usually I swapped that chore. It is not that which interests me though. I have never seen you laugh before."
Eowyn dismissed the laughing comment. "Well what would you like to do?"
Arwen considered the matter carefully. "I would like to ride," she said quietly, "ride past the walls, spend the day away from here. Perhaps bathe in a cold stream, collect flowers and herbs, and I would like to talk." She looked up and met Eowyn's eyes honestly. "I would like to talk to you."
For a moment Eowyn ceased to breathe, then she nodded. "We shall do that then," she whispered, and took her leave of Arwen to allow the other woman the privacy to get dressed. Back in her own chambers, she combed out her hair, now sadly tangled. If they were quick about it, the only person they would encounter would be the night-watchmen who was not changed until dawn was truly on the horizon. Braiding her hair back, she dressed in riding clothes, the same as she had worn on her visit to see her husband, and beard him on going to war without her. Leather gloves, rough cloths, a jar of soap, a basket of pilfered food were assembled by the time Arwen joined her, and with a brief hesitation and after wrapping it well, she packed the book of poetry as well that Arwen had lent her. Belting a long sword about her waist; she was not unmindful of the dangers still, she made her way to the stables where Arwen was waiting. The other woman was clad almost as Eowyn was, her clothes dark blue, rather than the browns and blacks that Eowyn favoured, but similar all the same.
Arwen may not have been an elf anymore, but her hands retained their skill with horses, and she rode well, her seat as good as Eowyn's, and her hands even better for their gentleness and pliability, as they held the reins firmly. Arwen rode a strawberry roan mare, and Eowyn a black gelding, since her faithful warhorse was recovering from a stone in it's hoof. With a brief word to the watchman they were allowed past, and leading the way Eowyn cantered some distance. By the time they had made it to the spot she was thinking of, the sun had risen, the horses thirsted for a drink, and hunger rumbled in her own stomach. It was well worth the ride however. The glade was small and green, surrounded by trees, with a lake of clear cold water in the middle. A small water fall cascaded down one side, and a flat stone suitable to build a fire upon rested on the ground. Eowyn risked a glance at Arwen. The other woman's face was filled with joy, similar to that when Eowyn had told her she would like to learn elvish, a strange kind of wonder at the beauty of nature. It was mid-summer, and the hottest days were just beginning. Today, was warm enough already, and Eowyn shed her cloak, as she began to lay their food on a stone. She had brought enough for breakfast, and lunch, though neither of them were hungry at present.
She had gone to check the horses were fine, when she heard a low ominous growl. Every sense in her body sprang to full alert. That was a wolf. Her mind fought to comphrend such a thing. A wolf in summer, in this place? Surely that was impossible. A dozen reasons flashed through her head, it had been driven this way, it had lost its direction, it had come here to search for food, but in the end it was the second growl that broke her out of her paralysis. The wolf was preparing to take a leap at Arwen, who white faced was staring at it. With a shout, Eowyn did not recognise as her own, she drew her sword, unused for so many months, and drove straight at the creature, running it through once, then twice, and a third for luck. She stood for a moment, heaving a deep breathe. Arwen with the presence of mind of the hungry had thrown a cloth over the food, but the blood was smeared on Eowyn's arms where she had rolled up her sleeves, her face and her dress. She stared at Arwen, and the other woman stared back in amazement, before suddenly they were both laughing, high hysterical laughs, that bubbled up.
Arwen shook her head. "Warrior maid indeed," she said admiringly, and then in a scolds tone. "But you are filthy! Next time you kill wolves before breakfast, please be a little neater about it."
Eowyn stared at her disbelievingly, wondering if she was serious, then caught the glint of mischief in Arwen's eyes, and chuckled. Making a face, she glanced down at herself. "You're right," she said ruefully. "Wolf's blood stains clothing, and is hard to get off skin."
Arwen rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Then we shall bathe now, not later, and hope that it is warmer when we come out of the water." Eowyn nodded in agreement, then paused, a slow blush making it's way to her cheeks.
"I can't. I am wearing these clothes, and a shift. If I bathe in my shift I will be soaked to the skin."
Arwen pondered for a moment, then smiled. "Wait a moment." Eowyn turned round, as Arwen began to tug off her boots, and pull at her riding habit. A moment later, something soft hit Eowyn on the head. Arwen had stripped off a thin silken petticoat, and thrown it at her. She herself was standing in another, shivering a little bit. "Come on," she said impatiently, and turned away to let Eowyn change. Soon they were both standing at the edge of the lake, waiting for the other one to step in first. Neither of them made the first step, of moving into the cold water, and they would probably have stood there for the whole day, if Arwen hadn't elbowed Eowyn, causing her to lose her balance and tumble in. The sight of Eowyn gaping like a fish in water up to her waist, gave Arwen a hearty laugh, until she too was pulled in. The cold of the water, hit her like a physical blow, and it took her a few seconds to adjust.
Looking at the woman opposite her, Eowyn had to laugh. Arwen was clad in a silken petticoat, wet tendrils of hair sticking to her cheek, and a look of utter surprise on her face. The light cloth soaked in water, outlined her body completely, but Eowyn only stole glances from the corner of her eye, feeling guilty that she so envied the other woman, the gifts of nature. The water was cold, but as long as they kept moving, with bodies submerged below water, it didn't feel so bad. Grabbing the soap jar, Eowyn dug a little of the pellucid substance out, and began to scrub at her skin. The blood came off easy enough, and next she went to stand under the waterfall, working the soap well into her hair. Arwen waded over in interest, taking Eowyn's hair. "Let me do that," she asked, and Eowyn obliged, enjoying the tickling feel of Arwen's fingers on her skin. The woman was standing close behind her, the warmth of her body, penetrating the thin silk between them, and Eowyn unconsciously arched back towards the source of the heat. Was this what she had needed? A simple, intimate touch from a friend, to ease her loneliness and soothe her pain. She pressed her thighs a little together, feeling a little strange, a tingling emanating from between them, that she was not familiar or comfortable with, aware suddenly of raised nipples, darker beneath the silk of her petticoat. Supposing it was merely the cold, she tugged the material away from her skin, and continued to enjoy the sensation of fingers in her hair. When it was thoroughly washed, Arwen released her, and Eowyn offered to do the same. She could not quite emulate Arwen's gentleness or skill, but she did her best, rinsing gently and smoothly.
By the time they were out of the water, the air was hot, enabling them to dry themselves easily on the rough towels Eowyn had brought with her, and Eowyn having wriggled into her shift, and Arwen into the last of her petticoats. Eowyn chuckled quietly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who wore three petticoats just to go riding," she said wryly.
Arwen smiled at her. "The habit chafes my skin otherwise. Hopefully they will dry, before we have to ride back." They were eating the repast set out before them, with such hunger from their vigorous exercise, that what should have served for both breakfast and lunch, seemed like a mere snack. Eowyn tore into a crusty bread roll, with a thick slice of home cured ham, noting with surprise that Arwen, whom she had imagined as fastidious in all matters, was just as willing to do so. Eowyn had brought with her a flagon of milk, which proved insufficent for their needs, forcing them to drink from the crystal clear stream that supplied the lake, scooping it up in their hands and draining it. When they had finished every scrap, and checked in the basket, to ensure there was no more, Arwen stretched out long, elegant legs. "It feels like being born again," she remarked out loud.
Eowyn amused herself with tickling the other woman's bare foot with a blade of grass. "What does?"
"Becoming human." The reply was soft, but considered.
"Is that a good or a bad thing," asked Eowyn, discarding the blade of grass for a more substancial twig.
"Far better than I expected. I expected darkness, pain, and the lingering futility of knowing death. What I got was a friend, a joy in life and ticklish feet." She batted Eowyn's hand away playfully.
Propping herself up, Eowyn looked at Arwen. "You expected darkness and pain? And you went ahead anyway?"
"Of course," was the soft reply. "I loved him. Loved him so much, that I was willing to give up anything to be near him, to stay for the span of a mortal life. I am far older than I look Eowyn, I am wise and old and possibly even ancient, and yet I find myself playing in water, and being tickled as though I am no more than a child, and enjoying it. Is it a sign of weakness that I can so forget what I once was?"
Eowyn looked thoughtful. "Rather a sign of strength," she murmurred. "To adapt to new surroundings, and to give up such greatness for love is truly a sign of great endurance and resilience." On a lighter note, she added. "Besides you don't look that ancient. You don't look a day over three thousand." Arwen poked her in the side, and Eowyn laughed. "Oh all right. Two thousand, five hundred."
Arwen rolled over to stare at Eowyn. "I don't know. All the wisdom, knowledge and sagacity of age that I have acquired, has not disappeared, but it seems as though it has been subjugated by this glee in life. Perhaps that is what makes mortals special. They have such short lives, that every minute is treasured, you feel things far more intensely, and wisdom and age have little place amongst you. This joy transcends me. I laugh, and play like a child, like a mortal woman with no cares."
Staring at her fingers Eowyn replied quietly. "Perhaps because that is what you are." Her eyes caught and held Arwens. "I know nothing of elves and their ways, I do not know what it means that you have given up immortality, but I can guess, and perhaps.. if there is a higher power, this is your reward, that you do not mourn what is lost. Your gift is a curse, but you have been given the strength to bear it." She pushed a hand slowly, through Arwen's hair, tucking it back behind her ear with infinite gentleness. Then as though the moment was too much for her to bear, she sprang upright. "'Tis past noon," she cried horrifed. She offered her hand to Arwen, to pull her up and they dressed quickly.
When they returned, they were set upon immediately by worried voices, all amounting to nothing more than a babel of noise. Eowyn motioned for silence, then nodded, so they could approach her one by one. "Where have you been my lady?" demanded the seneschal of the castle, a short burly man who walked with a pronounced limp. "We were worried out of our minds."
Eowyn smiled appeasingly. "We merely took a short holiday in order to show the Queen the surrounding landscape." When the seneschal made as though to reply, she lifted a warning eyebrow. "As we are well in our preogrative to do," she said more coldly, and he subsided, not daring to provoke the White Lady of Rohan's wrath.
Alyssa hurried forward. "My lady," she exclaimed. "There is blood upon your gown, have you been attacked?"
"A wolf," said Eowyn negligently. "Nothing of any matter."
The night watchman in the castle pushed forward. "I saw a ghost in the castle last night," he said. "It was a fell and terrible thing, beautiful and deadly. Its face and costume were white as cloud, its eyes were two dreadful stars, and as it walked swiftly golden hair surrounded it." Eowyn's lips twitched, which he took as a sign of fear and hastened to reassure her. "I have never seen it before my lady, and I doubt it means any harm or will appear again."
Deciding the best thing to do was not to explain and confuse everyone, Eowyn merely pretended shock. Finally all had been dealt with, and the castle restored to some semblance of order. Arwen and Eowyn exchanging amused glances as they set to work. Eowyn was surprised to realise that she had not thought once about Aragorn in his own right during the day. As she and the Queen supervised the kitchens, her mind was taken up entirely by her work, until she felt a polite tap on the shoulder. The castle seamstress stood there dociley. "I was informed I have work," she murmured eyes cast down bashfully. The White Lady of Rohan scared her.
Eowyn swept back her hair in an impatient gesture, and followed the women from the room. "I would like another dress made please," she said in a hurry. "To the usual pattern, and in grey please. She gestured to the dress that she wore. "The same as this one."
The other women did not reply, merely whipped out a measuring cord, and threw it round her hips, chest, and neck swiftly, noting the measurements. "You've lost weight," she remarked. Eowyn did not dignify that with an answer. The woman seemed to realise she wasn't willing to talk, and simply noted the sizes down. Before she left the room however, the seamstress paused. "The Queen.." she said hesitantly. "Should I offer her some new clothes. The ones she has are beautiful, and the fabric is wonderful, but she might need some more ordinary ones." She ended on a slight questioning note.
Eowyn thought on it for a second, then nodded her head decisively. "An excellent idea," she praised, and left.
That evening as they met again, in the room that had unconsciously become their meeting place, Arwen mentioned it. "A very sweet girl asked me if I would like her to make some clothes for me, as work clothes." Her tone was pleased. Eowyn nodded, concentrating on her book, lips moving as she tried to decipher the words. "Which reminds me," said Arwen casually. "I have a present for you. It should have been part of your wedding present, but it was something I wanted to give you woman to woman."
Eowyn looked up surprised. "Thank you," she uttered. All her life she had loved presents, especially feminine presents, growing up in a court, where her brother and uncle were more likely to gift her with a sword than a dress, when they remembered her birthday at all. Not that she would have preferred the dress, but it was the thought that counted, and perhaps without her knowing it, it had rankled a little that she always looked so wild, a child of the woods rather than of society.
Arwen raised her face hesitantly, and brought forward a length of cloth. "We talked of going to Imladris," she began with her eyes cast down. "And I wondered if you would like a costume such as my people wear, and of the same fabric. It would suit you beautifully," she added hopefully. She unfolded the cloth, and let it tumble from her hands. It was a garment somewhere between a dress and a robe, hooded and belted. Exquistively made, and embroidered its colours were hard to pinpoint, shimmering as it moved, mostly grey yet with blue highlights as the light caught it. "I made it myself," she whispered. Somehow they were both standing closer to each other, the robe held between them.
The reply was murmured. "I will wear it with more joy, for the time your stitches took." Eowyn's eyes never left Arwens, and her hands reached out for the dress, brushing against the white hands which held it. "Thank you," she whispered. "We will truly go to Imladris?" She had not known until she said it, how much she wished to see the place.
Her answer was a nod. "Of course," Arwen breathed. "I will show you all the wonders and delights my home holds." Eowyn's eyes softened, as she drew a shaky breath in, looking like a small child caught in the wonder of the Sea. The door opened, and the seneschal walked in. They fell away from each other, the moment utterly vanished, neither recalling why her cheeks should feel so hot, and clothes so constricting. Discreetly Eowyn pulled at her collar, seeing Arwen rest a hand on her throat as though to calm her breathing.
The man noticed nothing at all, merely seemed in great agitation. "The men are returning m'lady," he said with no pre-amble. "The messenger just returned."
There was no hesitation in Eowyn's tone. "Let the man eat first," she commanded, "then show him here. He must be famished after such a distance, and weary too. Make sure a bunk is ready for him to take his rest after his report." The seneschal bowed respectfully at her orders, and left the room, presumably to carry them out. She turned back to Arwen. "Your husband will be returning," she said stiffly, the warmth and vitality draining out of her as she said so. These precious weeks she had shared with Arwen would vanish, would become nothing but memories as Arwen left to return home where she belonged, in the embrace of a king. Would forget Eowyn, and everything they had done together, the lessons they shared, the picnic even the nights. She had never thought she would miss the other woman, that she could grow so dependent upon her, that to think of not seeing her again caused a queer ache in her stomach.
Arwen's face was somber. "And yours as well," she said gravely. She knelt by Eowyn's feet, who had sat in an armchair, and raised her face to the fire. "Would it sound terrible," she said dreamily. "If I said that I felt ambivalance about their return?" She hastened to add. "Not that I would not be terribly glad to see my husband, but that I would miss you very much."
The other woman was struck dumb. Arwen with her guileless thoughts, and utter honesty and simplicity, had said Eowyn's thoughts out loud as she so often did. Eowyn did not reply directly to the question at first. "Have you ever," she said quietly, "fought so hard to be something, and strove so hard to deny yourself that when what you fought for was taken away, you were left with nothing at all, not even what you had started with?" There was no answer, and Eowyn continued. "I hated you for being so confident," she whispered. "Hated you for having all the beauty, the grace, the perfection that I lack, and always will." She paused then took her courage into her hands grimly. Arwen had dared to tell her secret- would the shieldmaiden of Rohan lack the same? "I hated you for having him." She closed her eyes and threaded her hands through the other woman's soft mane of hair almost unconsciously.
"I knew," was the answer.
Eowyn was utterly incredulous. "You knew I hated and envied you, coveted your husband, and yet you still strived to teach me, to be kindly to me?" She shook her head in bewilderment. She had never encountered such generosity of spirit.
"Love is never evil Eowyn no matter whom we bear it for. Love can only increase the sum of love in the world. And you never hated me, you merely hated yourself, without need." She turned, and looked earnestly at Eowyn, clasping the hand that was touching her hair. "Without need," she repeated. "You have so much, and you have what I do not have." A whimsical smile touched delicate lips. "How could I dislike you?" She scrambled up, and tugged Eowyn upright again. "We are so similar. We look different, but under the skin we are the same, sisters in mind and thought. Eowyn, we are born again. You were bathed by a catharsis of blood, fire and war, and came through like steel tempered by flame, born into a new life, where you could choose to be whomsoever you wished. You are not bound by prophecy or legend, by dreams of heroic deeds or ancestors urging you to subvert yourself. I am born again through transmutation of race. I am a mortal woman. I can choose whom I wish to be, whom I love and hate. We are but babes in a new world, discovering wonders all around us." She was pacing in excitement, eyes bright, hair framing her face, white hands gesticulating. She had never looked more beautiful.
The messenger who entered before Eowyn could reply, could merely stare at the Queen and stammer incoherently, and Eowyn realised how beautiful the other woman must look to someone who had not had weeks to get used to the radiance. Finally he managed to stumble out a brief message, and give two letters, making a bow, closer to an obeisance to them both. They tore them open, and read through the brief contents in a minute. Then looking at each other, their lips twitched, and they began- silently at first, then louder to laugh. "Men," gasped Eowyn finally, wiping at her eyes. "Will they ever learn how to write a letter?" She began to read hers out loud. "Dearest wife, I am pleased to announce the success of my venture, and report I am very well. I hope you are equally well, and enjoying your rest. You would not like it here, I can assure you. We will be home very soon, and I am looking forward to seeing you. Love your husband." She waved it incredulously in the air. "This from the man, once called 'the most poetical man in Gondor.' "
Arwen looked at her. "Can you believe this," she said shaking her head. "Mine is precisely the same as yours, absolutely verbatim. It's utterly impersonal, as though its just been written out, so anyone could read it." They stared at each other confused. Arwen summed their thoughts up in a phrase. "No news would be better," she said with feeling.
A jovial voice called out. "Would your husband's presence be better then?" Aragorn and Faramir strode into the room, filling it with their presence. Eowyn felt dwarfed, and looking at the swamped look on the other woman's face, so did Arwen. Aragorn swung Arwen into a bearhug, and catching the sick little sizzle of jealousy, Eowyn turned her head away, only to be embraced rather more decorously by her husband. Their disagreement, and the torment in which he had left her seemed to be utterly forgotten, judging by his smile. "Dearest Eowyn," he said affectionately, as he kissed her cheek. It was late now, and soon Aragorn took Arwen by the hand, and led her up the stairs. Faramir and Eowyn soon followed, holding candles. They bid goodnight at the door, and Eowyn and Faramir continued to their own room. As always she changed into her customary nightrobe, and slipped into bed, pulling the quilt up. Faramir followed suit. They lay there in silence, their candles extinguished, breathing heavily. Faramir spoke quietly. "Eowyn my love, do you object to try again?"
Eowyn held her breath. It has changed she thought. It used to be do you wish, now it is do you object. She let out a shuddering breath. "If you wish my lord," she replied. He took that for consent, and rolled over, lifting her nightgown over her head, until she lay naked on the soft sheets. She could hear his deeper breathing as he removed the scant clothing he wore, until she could feel him pressed against her. Large hands fumbled for her breasts, and he kissed her, beard scratching her cheek and chin. She wondered idly what to do with her own hands, and settled for leaving them on the sheet. She felt nothing, no desire at his movements against her, no feeling from his touch on her breasts, or his tongue attempting to waken hers. There was no shiver of sensation as his hands moved down her frame, outlining her small body. She lay there, letting her mind drift back to earlier, in the water as she and Arwen had played. As she remembered the warm heat of the other woman, as against the cold wetness of water, she felt her nipples blossom into life. Faramir gave a hiss of pleasure and took one between his teeth, but his mouth did not evoke the sensations that memory could. Eowyn took no notice, merely aware of a warmer feeling. She remembered the way her own breasts had hung full, her petticoat plastered to her shape, and the tingle she had felt from soft hands on the nape of her neck.
Eowyn was an innocent in the truest sense of the word. Love-making was only known to her through the crude jests of soldiers, and their banter, or through the soft moans that men let out at night, far away from their wives and home, finding comfort where they could in each others arms. Love that was more than the brutal act itself was unknown, and she did not connect the heat in her limbs, to the memories she was experiencing. Sexual desire was almost unknown to her, certainly never awoken by Faramir's fumbles between her legs, or on her breasts. Love of women was something she had never contemplated.
Now as she lay there in the dark open eyed, as her husband attempted to rouse her desire, all she could think about was Arwen. She shifted a little to accommodate herself on the bed and he stilled. "Am I hurting you?" he asked.
She shook her head then remembered he could not see the movement. "No," she simply replied. For the first time she truly wished her mother was alive and could have explained what she now discovered. She did not have to be present for the act, as long as her body was ready and willing, her mind could be elsewhere on a warm day, picnicing with a friend, bathing in an icy lake, reading together heads bent over one book. She closed her eyes then, and breathed in deeply, feeling Faramir touch her thighs, and then feel the light brush of hair, as he pressed a kiss to her hip bone. An expert hands was between her legs now, and she fought the urge to scream and repel him from her. It was not needed. He stopped of his own accord.
"Eowyn," he said quietly. "We shall not do this tonight, nor ever until you trust me." His fingers withdrew, and he pulled away a little.
She felt aggravation. For the first time since her marriage, she had been willing to let him try and consummate it, had been determined to try her new gift of objectivity to ignore what was happening to her body. "Why?" she asked.
Faramir's voice was sad, and she realised he had hoped she would say she trusted him. "Because my love I have made love with women before you, and I know when a woman desires. You do not, that is plain. You are like a sword ready drawn, determined to conquer. You do not understand that love does not conquer. It is sharing for man as well as woman."
"But you," she said helplessly. "Surely you need relief."
His voice was fierce for a moment. "You are my wife Eowyn. If I did not love you, perhaps I would do as you suggest and use your body be you willing or nay. But marriage has tied us, and I will not whore my wife, not even to myself."
Eowyn raised a hand to her cheek. A slow hot tear had just left her closed eyes, and was working its way down. "I do not deserve you," she whispered, and she truly meant it. How could he love her so much, and desire her, and she not feel the same? She cursed her stubborness, her wilfulness in marrying him because he was safe and kind, and loved her, for she would but cause him pain.
Faramir gathered her up into his arms. "No my lady," he murmurred into her hair. "I do not deserve you. We shall conquer this weakness you and I, and our children will be beautiful." She barely heard him though, for already her mind had drifted from her bed and husband, and to the Queen. Eowyn fell asleep with that beautiful face in her mind's eye, and a smile upon her lips.
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Strength of Steel by Euripides
Chapter end notes: Hmm. Eowyn and Arwen might get a little more action in the next chapter together. Sorry there hasn't been much yet.
