faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

He hovers, hands wringing uselessly, and then she speaks and he pales and nods.

"Now? But... early... going!"

He turns and hurries to the door, calling frantically and giving instructions to one of the servants to hurry before coming back to her side.

"What ... what do you need?"

It takes a good deal of effort - difficult, when both are so distracted. But he remembers enough that as her fingers dig at him, he manages to fumble to try and find her clit.

"Close." He gasps in her ear. "So close, oh Eowyn..."

Edited 2019-03-05 03:58 (UTC)

She seizes his hand and brings it to her forehead, holding it hard in both of hers as though to draw some strength or support from it, some bulwark to put between herself and the strange waves of pain. "I do not--"

There is another wave, and she grits her teeth. She does not scream because she is a shieldmaiden and daughter of Rohan. It is not that the pain is greater than other hurts she has experienced, though it is significant; it is that it is different, and oddly located.

And also it is that though she has not confided it to Faramir for not wanting to increase his own worry, she is afraid of this. To fight a battle, that takes one kind of courage. To ensure, that takes another, and for Eowyn it is much harder. She does not like not knowing what to expect, and there is so much at stake.

So she holds Faramir's hand, wincing and clamping it hard as another wave of pain rolls forward, gasping for breath when it passes. "Just...wait with me. Please."

"Faramir, Faramir, please..." She chants his name desperately as she moves, trying to reach that point, the place she found earlier. When he reaches between them and strokes her she lets out a loud keen, clenching harder around him. "Bema, please, I'm so close...I need...please...!"

(ooc: probably both?)

"Always." He assures her, wincing as her grip crushes his but not protesting.

Outside, frantic feet are running, as he holds her, and then at last, the calm tones of the midwife, who comes in and immediately takes charge, chasing Faramir out to get hot water while she helps Eowyn to the birthing stool and out of her gowns so she can examine her.

"Eowyn, oh, my love, yes, yes...!"

Fumbling in his passion, but he remembers where....here!

She too is a little reluctant to let this idyll end. But she needs the rest, after a full day and night awake and working. And as always after seeing Caranthir, she has been given much to consider.

So they part, and she goes thoughtfully back to her tent and sleeps as a stone for the morning, and wakes to return to her duties at luncheon.

And later that afternoon, when Caranthir returns, he is stopped by a woman with dark blonde hair, who plants herself in his path and speaks without introduction. "Are you courting our Chief?"

If Caranthir was paying attention, he might recognize her as the other woman who stood near Haldan, last night at the bonfire.

Her keen becomes a cry as he finds the right place, as his fingers work at her even as they thrust against each other. Once found he doesn't lose his place, and the combination is what she needs. She grips at him as her cries increase in pitch, until she screams her pleasure aloud as she trembles around him, under him, eyes clenched shut as bliss overwhelms her.

After that frantic beginning, nothing happens for a long while.

Eowyn has to laugh a little when Faramir is sent to fetch hot water. She has used that tactic herself--it sends the over-anxious father away while making him feel he is doing something useful. There is a tale in the healer's hall of a father-to-be who was sent to chop wood for a fire, and who kept at it for a solid two hours in his distraction. Hopefully Faramir will fare better, but for now she must leave his care to others, for she has her own work to attend. No doubt when he returns they will find some other way to keep him busy.

For once, Eowyn is entirely biddable and obedient. She sits and is examined most intimately. She drinks the tea she is given willingly and it dulls the pain a little. She walks. She kneels, or sits. Sometimes she rests. She gasps and winces and squeezes the hand of whoever is holding her fingers at any given moment. She misses Faramir, and also jests about him with the women, because one of the best ways to cope with this pain that no man will ever experience is to blame him for it.

There is fear deep down under everything, and she overrules it.

And hours pass, and hours more, until the night is half over, and Elana is beginning to look concerned, and Eowyn is near to dropping with exhaustion and impatience.

The Eldar need little sleep - one night is little enough loss, so Caranthir makes himself useful, instead.

He blinks at the woman, face set in its customary scowl.

"I know you. You were there at the fire." He observes. "And what if I am?"

As she convulses around him Faramir shouts, following her over the edge, hands spasming around her hips enough that he will be very sorry for the bruises, later. But all he knows in the moment is pleasure and triumph, for he did that, to his wife.

Faramir returns, of course, and is sent off again and again on small chores. But even he knows the day drags on.

He won't barge in where he might cause trouble, but more than not, his face is seen peeking around the door as he delivers whatever items he has been sent for this time.

The woman is beautiful, or used to be; she now looks more haggard, lines in her face solidly set by frowning or some strong emotion. She has the hardiness and strength of the Haladin, but looks soft compared to Haleth, for all that she's taller. She looks at Caranthir, her gaze intense.

She takes a deep breath when he admits it, and nods shortly. "Good. Good. She likes you, she must, else she would not tolerate your company, much less seek it out." The woman suddenly grabs his arm, holding it hard. "Convince her to wed you, and to take us back to your lands. Please."

That emotion in her eyes is suddenly more identifiable: fear. Not of him, not of anything obviously present, but fear of something, for certain.

Edited 2019-03-07 12:42 (UTC)

Faramir might try to peek around the door; but Elana is of the opinion that men have no place in a birthing room and would only get underfoot, and has told her assistants and even Faramir's own guards to keep him out. The last thing the Lady needs is a fretful distraction lurking, the more so as she might hurt his feelings. Eowyn is fretful herself, and snappish. Elana and her women are impervious to any barbed remarks, knowing them to be nothing personal.

And more time passes, with Faramir having nothing to look at but a closed door. One of the women comes out every few hours on one pretext or another and, younger and more sympathetic, makes a point of seeking out her lord and telling him how things go on. And then how they don't go on. It is all taking longer than it should, and if that is uncommon still it is not dangerous, she says.

Her voice is firm as she says it but there is concern in her eyes, and her lip is chapped from where she has bitten at it.

When it is near dawn and no one has been seen for a few hours, not even the kindly attendant, there is suddenly a scream. And then, a few seconds later, another, and the sounds of activity in the room. And then a third.

She barely notices the bruising grip of his fingers; it becomes part of the moment, adding to the intensity. The force of it leaves her limp afterwards, gasping for breath and covered in sweat, her body aching pleasurably. Her arms remain wrapped around him, pulling him down to rest atop her. As she begins to recover she strokes absently at his back.

The thought that others think he has a chance brings a warm glow to embers of a heart made hard, but his frown deepens at her words.

"The Chief is free to do as she wills, whether she agrees to my suit or no. I will not say where she deems fit to take her people - that is her prerogative, not mine. What frightens you so?"

The scream brings him to his feet from where he had been sitting outside, praying.

"Eowyn! Eowyn! Damnit, let me see her! EOWYN!"

He's breathing hard, body limp and lax over hers, and he nuzzles sleepily at her shoulder.

Healer's orders or no, no one is inclined to stand in the way the normally gentle Prince of Ithilien when he looks like that. The door opens.

Éowyn is balanced on the birthing stool, supported by two women. Her hair is pulled back, her face red and sweaty, and every inch of her is drawn with pain and exhaustion. But her eyes burn fiercely, with an almost enraged determination that would be familiar to anyone who ever saw her on a battlefield. Elana kneels before her, on layers of spread cloth. Whatever orders or encouragement she is giving, Éowyn doesn't hear. She gasps, closes her eyes and hisses, then screams again, with effort and pain and a sort of fury.

One of the women holding her is the one who has spoken to Faramir off and on in the evening, and when she sees him in the doorway she immediately gestures for him to come take her place.

They lie entangled together for some time, skin cooling and the pulses slowing back to a resting pace, before Eowyn finally stirs and kisses his forehead before moving in a way that suggests he should get off of her.

She lets go of him, but laughs, a bitter sound devoid of any humor. "You, who came to our aid when we were all but destroyed, you need to ask? My family and my husband lay dead on the field you rode over, and now my son has no father."

She shivers, holds her arms close around her, though she still stands tall. "He is all I have, and it is he who will lead after Haleth, if we all live so long. I would have him safe, as safe as may be in this world. I would have all of us under the protection of the Firstborn, and not see my law-sister sacrifice our well-being to her pride. Pride will not shield us from sword or arrow. Pride will not feed or clothe us during the lean months." Her eyes are intense to the point of near-fanatical as she looks at him. "Convince her, I beg you, before I live to see my son bleed out his life uselessly, as his father did."

She turns abruptly and hurries away before he can make any response.

Edited 2019-03-11 22:02 (UTC)

Her smile is a little fey. "Champion." Again, it's a glib answer, true but only the gloss of the truth, and if she was entirely convinced this was Fenris she might be more thoughtful in her answers. Maybe. If she weren't so damn tired. The irony, of being tired in the Fade...

She shakes her head a little, because a mind that wanders is a bad thing in here. "But it did have to be me. The other two--no one else could do what they need to do, out there--" She waves vaguely in no direction, out in the real world, as opposed to in here.

And Corypheus was her responsibility. She woke him, her blood; she didn't kill him dead enough the first time. Fenris knows that, he was there when it happened. He was there when she first found out Corypheus was responsible for all the shit going on, too.

Though Hawke also knows Fenris too well to think any of that will really matter a damn to him.

Well, fuck. Hawke groans and pushes her hair back from her face. "And anyway, it's not as though there was time to play rock-paper-scissors for the privilege. We had seconds, before Nightmare ate all of us alive. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Let them die, knowing the world would go straight to shit without them?" She sighs and pushes her hair back from her face. It's not flippant. It's just tired.

"Eowyn." He breathes, and obediently comes to take the lady's place by her side, not wanting to disrupt her concerts overly.

"I am here, beloved." He murmurs. "I know you can do this."

He's half asleep by then, but he shifts when she prompts him, curling close to her side instead.

He frowns after her, not entirely surprised by her sentiments but sighs. If anything, he should, in that case, be urging Haleth on faster towards safer lands. How anyone can think that Caranthir, whose lands are indeed part of the March and therefore considered "front line" (admittedly the only people further away are the Ambarussa - Maedhros trying to protect his brothers) to be "safe" is anyone's guess. But he supposes he should mention it to Haleth, that her law-sister approached him. She cannot be the only one, after all.

But Later.

Haleth needs her sleep.

He grumbles quietly to himself and then goes to practice with his men and await her to be free.

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

true!

no subject

honestly I don't know if he should be sent away or stick around! Some of both? Gonna take a while.

no subject

Re: honestly I don't know if he should be sent away or stick around! Some of both? Gonna take a whil

no subject

no subject

no subject

Definitely both.

no subject

no subject

Re: Definitely both.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

It's also Dragon Age. Unlikely things are a stock-in-trade.

no subject

no subject

no subject