Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

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[withoutswords]

She snorts a little, for they both know how insatiable he is. The healers insisted on Elboron sleeping in another room at night, that his parents might get the rest they needed to fulfill their duties, or else the past months would have been difficult indeed.

Gently she tugs Elboron's hand, encouraging him to grip her fingers instead. "No, but I am," she says, with more than a little irony. She smiles at Faramir. "So I should tend to that, while you tend to all else, yes?"

I first wrote "strive for protection." Freud...

[withoutswords]

"By all means let us strive for perfection," she says, her expression serious but her eyes dancing with mirth. Windfola whickers, and she leans forward to stroke the side of his neck, but still watches Faramir. "Unless, of course, we decide it would be better to master our skills at fishing instead."

He sputtered shyly

[grumpycatanthir]

He follows her done, balancing on his arms above her, dark hair tumbling loose of it's braid and dark eyes bright, the flush on his cheeks now desire.

"I do not wish to squash you..."

LOOOOOOOOOOOL

[theywhowait]

He nods, mock solemn.

"Of course, fishing is a noble pastime that provides for the table, and depending on our resources might be a useful skill to practice also!"

[theywhowait]

Elboron gums his father's fingers but allows himself to be distracted.

"Already he knows what he wants?" Faramir shrugs at her with a wry grin. "Aye - I will set up the meal, while you feed him. It should not take long!"

He has all the things already pre-prepared, and the fire is already lit, so all he has to do is make it cosy.

[takesnoshit]

Haleth frames his face with her hands, looking up at him. "You will not." She too is flushed, much tanned skin rosier than usual as she pulls him in for another kiss.

[withoutswords]

Eowyn grimaces, for she knows it is easily possible for Elboron to take an hour at his meal if she does not stop him. But she may eat one-handed if need be, or tolerate Faramir's assistance. Weeks of parenting has made her more willing to accept such aid than her pride permitted those first few difficult nights. Besides, she is as hungry as Elboron.

So she makes herself as comfortable as she may near the fire, resting back against a rock as she feeds their son, alternately watching Faramir at work, or Elboron with his small eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Happily, her prediction proves true; some feeding and the rush of the waterfall, combined with the warmth of fire, firs, and his mother nearby, means Elboron drifts off to sleep before so very long. Eowyn cradles him on her shoulder, humming a quiet lullaby as she stares at the falling water.

[withoutswords]

She laughs and moves Windfola into position, and they proceed at a sedate pace from the stable.

A slow pace is necessary through Edoras, partly for safety--the people of the Mark know better than to block the main roads idly, but even so accidents can happen--and partly because they are again, for a few minutes, on display. There are cheers and shouts as they ride by, the White Lady and her new husband the Prince of Ithilien. Eowyn beams at her people, waving, and if she is impatient it only shows once they are free of the city streets when she lets out a relieved sigh, turning to Faramir. "So! Shall we make a long, leisurely trip of it, or hurry?"

[grumpycatanthir]

He nods, not trusting his own voice, pressing close as she pulls him in.

"Show me?"

[theywhowait]

Faramir sets out the bread and wine and meats from the picnic basket, setting those things that need warming closer to the fire and setting up the meat to be roasted. By the time Elboron is drifting off to sleep, the smell is percolating through the larger cave where they are, set further back from the falls so as to avoid the dampness, and he pours her a glass of wine as he removes the skewers of meat from the fire.

"Is he still feeding or think you we can set him in a sling, perhaps?"

[theywhowait]

Through Edoras they must ride with dignity, accepting the well-wishes (and teasing) of the populace, Faramir blushing shyly at the teasing of the older matrons, reminding him to look after their Lady well.

But once clear of the walls...

He laughs at her, nudging his horse to pick up speed. "Oh? Were you not in a hurry?"

[takesnoshit]

"I will." A quiet, firm promise breathed against his mouth before she kisses him again. Her hands roam slowly, taking advantage of their new position; he does not fully cover her, but they are chest to chest, and more able to explore, to feel each other.

The touch of both hands and mouth are unhurried, for Haleth. She desires, yes, already there is heat growing. But there is no need for haste, and she means to appreciate this. They have all night.

[withoutswords]

More often it is she who gallops ahead all at once; his sudden speed surprises her. But it also delights her, evidenced by her ring of laughter as she urges Windfola to follow.

They ride thus unhindered for a time, their poor guards left to fan out and keep pace at the agreed distance. They do not keep to full speed long, of course; neither would tire their horses so unduly or foolishly, even in their exuberance. But the horses are glad to run for a while also, and by the time they slow to a more sedate pace suitable for a longer ride they are all of them glad of the respite. At this speed Eowyn and Faramir are free to talk as they travel.

It is truly a beautiful day, warm and breezy. The plains are a rolling sea of greenery and flowers. "Vana smiles on us," Eowyn says, smiling at all of it. She is radiant as only a new bride in the spring can be, holding Faramir's hand. "At this time of year the children weave crowns from the flowers--Vana's crowns--and give them to those they love best. I did so myself, when I was a child." She smiles at him. "Perhaps I will weave one for you, later."

[withoutswords]

Eowyn's stomach growls at the smell of roasting meat. "I think he will stay asleep for a time," she says, her voice still low and soothing. "We may not even need the sling; a bed of furs might suffice." He cannot yet roll over, which means he stays where he is put, and he is well swaddled and warm in his bundle. And she would dearly love to have both arms free for a time.

The thought is parent to the deed; Elboron protests a little, but falls back into sleep, leaving his parents free to enjoy their meal unhindered.

[grumpycatanthir]

He murmurs his approval of her exploration in soft sighs and kisses in return, slowly learning the shape of her, where her scars are, where she likes being touched.

[theywhowait]

The air is crisp and clean and his wife (his wife!) rides with him, and Faramir laughs aloud as she chases after him. Windfola is well named, and they are overtaken swiftly, the race one of joy rather than need.

Still, he almost prefers the slower walk, for they can, at least, speak, this way!

"Then I will weave one for you, as well." He smiles back at her. "Do you know, I was told once that flowers can be used to convey messages all their own? I wish now I had learnt their secret meanings, that I might do so for you."

[theywhowait]

Faramir builds up the furs on either side of him to ensure any newly discovered sill does not catch them unawares, then settles back with Eowyn.

"Tis good to have a chance to relax a little!"

[withoutswords]

Eowyn takes a moment to lean against her husband's shoulder. "It is," she agrees. "A little while with no demands on our time. Or--fewer, at least." She casts an amused glance back at Elboron. Frequent demands, in truth, but at least simple ones. If rather exhausting.

[withoutswords]

At least half of Eowyn's joy is in seeing Faramir as obviously happy as he is, untroubled by any cares or burdens. They are both of them quick to laugh, free and careless for a time, and she means to enjoy every moment of it--and to see that he does as well. If ever a man has earned respite from his duties, it is Faramir.

"It would not avail you much, were I unable to decode them. So perhaps it is as well." The idea is bemusing, and she beams back at him. "Perhaps we might invent our own such language with flowers, solely for our use. What would you say with them?"

[takesnoshit]

As he learns her body, she studies his, researching as thoroughly and carefully as she studied any of his maps or tales of his people. But with far greater enjoyment.

It is several minutes before she pulls back a little, just enough that he may see the small smile she wears, the bright color in her cheeks. "You made this dress for me. Would you like to remove it?"

[grumpycatanthir]

He blushes brighter but nods.

"Should I... let you up?"

[theywhowait]

"Until he wakes up." He agrees, and wraps his arm around her.

"But here, at least, we have the afternoon free of cares under than our son, and each other!"

[theywhowait]

He smiles at her and reaches across to brush her cheek.

"That I love you, and that you make me very happy."

RIGHT so back to timeskipping over various contests and things?

[whattheydefend]

"Shameless?" He glances at her with mock-dismay, amusement dancing in his eyes. "How can you say so, lady, when you know I am always truthful? You wound me! Although..." His gaze softens into something more tender. "Although I will grant that I may perhaps also be a little biased."

But only a little. The Rohirrim are no doubt struck dumb by Galadriel, The Lady of the Galadhrim, who almost glows with beauty and power; and also by the new queen of Gondor, Galadriel's granddaughter Anwen, said to resemble Lúthien Tinúviel herself. And they are fair indeed, blindingly so, as are all the kin who ride with them, men and women alike. But to Faramir's eyes, Eowyn is more fair yet, so he will not retract his description of her. Not even to Galadriel herself.

[takesnoshit]

"For a moment." An unfortunate necessity it seems--but Haleth loves the clothes he made for her, and would not have them torn unnecessarily. Once he moves she sits up, shaking her hair from her face; it is already more than a little mussed, her mouth kiss-swollen.