faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

"What? No!" His denial is immediate, even surprised.

Brave words for one who hides behind others' swords without ever lifting his own, Gríma Wormtongue. But however many swords you lure to your side, you shall not harm my sister. Now or ever.

She makes a small, sleepy noise of protest, nuzzling her cheek against him. Now that the rush of heat has passed the sweat is cooling on her skin, and she shivers a little, but still does not wish to move. They already should have been up hours ago--but surely they have earned the respite, and this moment is sweet.

"That is it," she agrees. She had not thought of it in those terms, but they perfectly capture her feelings. She does not resent her resumed duties here in Edoras, does not feel as caged by them as once she did, and yet...and yet.

She laughs, just a little. "It is strange, particularly when I remember how much I wished to leave them at first, how I hated my enforced idleness. And now I long for a little such time, even if it were but a single afternoon!"

Feeling her shiver, he gropes for the blanket and pulls it up over them.

"Later then." He yawns, unwilling to move her when they are both comfortable. He's sure someone will come and find them if something is truly urgent.

He smiles fondly, running fingers through her hair.

"You would grow bored with inactivity." He says fondly. "But I admit, looking back at those days, they seem an idyll of protected peace, and I miss them equally as I look forwards to being able to make our own times."

"Then tell me what is wrong! If I have done something to upset you, Eomer, please tell me what it is! I know I am awfully young, but I didn't think I had misstepped that badly."

The feel of him stroking her hair relaxes her despite herself, and some of that unhappy tension ebbs away. "I would," she admits. "In time. But not until a few days had passed. Surely that is not so much to ask, after months of waiting for your company! Nor were we idle during those days, especially you, with the king's return to prepare! But there was a greater balance; there was time for both the lord and lady, and for Eowyn and Faramir."

It does not help, likely, that she is poised between past and future during this time...still tied to her old life, and not yet free to start the new. It makes for an odd position. But while she understands the difficulty and knows it to be temporary, finding a short-term solution is less easy. She sighs again. "The only option available is to wait, and I have never been contented with waiting."

Eowyn murmurs her contentment, nestling under the blanket and settling alongside him more closely. She is sated and replete, cocooned in warmth and love, his arm gentle around her. If there has ever been a time she was happier than this, she cannot remember it.

That pleasant, dozing state lasts for perhaps half an hour or so, at which point her insides abruptly revolt, and without warning she is forced to lunge for the side of the bed and the chamberpot there, heaving for several minutes as her stomach attempts to turn itself inside out despite being empty.

"Nay, lady, that is plain," he says quietly, his voice careful and even. His heart aches for her, for all the pain of this history--but he can see too her pride, and will not wound her by injuring it further, not when it is the armor she pulls around herself. He knows a little about armor, though he has ever built his from other materials.

There is too much here to respond to at once. Faramir considers her story for a time, choosing his words as carefully as he ever took aim at a target.

"To ride for death and not life seems to me a grievous thing," he says finally. "For I have always felt a warrior fights for those left behind, those he or she guards. Which you did, unquestionably; none can deny you that, for all your dereliction of duty, not when he who you conquered was almost the greatest enemy of the Age. Long has he harried Gondor, and well do I know the darkness of the Shadow he cast! You have earned glory indeed with that act, beyond any warrior's dreams, and I do not doubt that songs will be sung of it for generations beyond counting."

They have stopped walking and stand on a clear section of path, the open sky above them. Faramir looks at her steadily, his expression serious. "But things are not as they were when you made your dire choice. Your uncle was returned to himself, and to you; he died with great valor and will be remembered with honor. All Minas Tirith knows the debt we owe to the Riders of the Mark, who appeared in our hour of most desperate need. Your House is not fallen, but as high as ever it was, and you have helped raise it thus."

His gaze is gentle, but unyielding. "You rode towards death without fear. Can you now turn and face life with that same courage? It is the harder battle, I know."

He does know. It is there in his eyes, an unspoken, heavy grief. But it is underwritten by determination that does not falter.

Edited 2018-08-29 23:26 (UTC)

Only simpletons would think wars can be fought only with swords. [ he carries his own but really his wits are far more formidable than any weapon he can put his hands on ]

My intentions towards your sister are anything but dishonorable. However, I am not bound nor compelled to explain my desires to anyone but to my lord, the King.

Faramir has drifted almost entirely back to sleep by then, jolting back to awareness with a startled whoof as she accidentally elbows him in her lunge.

As soon as he realises what is happening, he reaches over to pull her hair back from her face and hold her through the spasms.

"Should I fetch some ginger tea, love?"

"True." He sighs wistfully.

"On the plus side, I have been told I am to remain here as ambassador for a time, and that will hopefully, once this official business is done, give us some time together."

She is silent for a moment, taking this in with mixed emotion. "That is good news," she says finally. "And I am most glad to know I will not need to be parted from you so soon. But I take it my brother will refuse my request to move forward our wedding, and has told you as much."

She does not sound angry, merely resigned, and her arm tightens a little around him. "It was a faint hope, for there are many reasons to leave things as they are. But I admit I am disappointed."

She is dimly grateful that he holds her hair out of the way, for the comfort of his arm around her, even as she hates the way her body revolts against her will, churning and roiling to no purpose. Even after that part is over she remains, trying to force her body to calm.

"No." She pulls herself back up, lying on her back on the bed, still breathing hard. She grimaces, wipes her hand across her mouth. "No, I should prefer water, I think. And we are long overdue for breakfast, little as I like the idea at the moment." Some food will help, she knows, but it still has no appeal. She sighs. "I think the next months will seem very long."

Wars can be fought with many weapons indeed--including deceit and betrayal. How came my cousin by his death, Gríma? How came his enemy by knowledge of his movements? Your desires are as black as your methods, whether the King sees it or no.

"You have done nothing," he says, and now his voice is more harsh. "Nothing. The fault is all mine, and I will bear it. You need not disturb yourself."

The sky is clear above them, a cool breeze blowing over the lofty walls of the Houses as they come to a stop. Èowyn closes her eyes against it and inhales deeply as Faramir's words sink under her skin. She's suddenly struck with longing for the open plains of the Mark and the scent of grass carried along the wind, but all she smells now is a hint of acrid smoke and decay of battle. It is fitting. What homecoming is there for a deserter?

"Poison ran through me long ere the Witch-king's shadow ever fell upon me. This, I know," she whispers and opens her eyes. Gríma's tainted lies had stopped having a hold on her and influencing her thoughts. She saw clearer now just how deep his poison had really seeped, once free of his presence. She saw how he had made her scorn her House and the state of it, of her own place in it. And feels the fool to have succumbed to it, adding to the guilt roiling deep in her gut like some wild, living thing clawing at her for escape.

"It should be as I always hoped and dreamed. But nothing is. My uncle lies dead and my brother has gone without me. As you say, I have at last won such glory as to befit songs, I am crowned in valor beyond that which none other can achieve. Yet, it has brought me no joy, no hope and no healing."

Her voice is flat and desolate, her throat tightening uncomfortably and her broken arm twinging. So this is how it shall be now; she is to linger in wait, as hopeless as before. Perhaps being denied the relief of death was her punishment for deserting her people with such selfish, desperate abandon. "For all that I see that much clearly now, I linger on as if in some inescapable dream, as if sinking into a bog. I cannot turn back, and my feet will not walk on. There is no place for a deserter."

All the trips to the sickbeds wouldn't make a difference with such simple fact. Èowyn can hold Faramir's eyes only for so long before she has to look away, unseeing toward the horizon, tears pricking at her own eyes. As ever, his gaze is too keen, too knowledgeable, he sees too much. He extracts these secrets from her with such ease, just with that gentle glance and understanding alone. She should be angry, should resent it. But she doesn't. Why, she cannot (or will not) say.

"I know not the answer. Death and ruin may still come for us all, if the last Company fails before the Enemy's gates."

She shakes her head, her mouth setting in a determined little line.

"But I am disturbed. Tell me how I can make it better?"

"Aye." He sighs softly. "I would have prefered an early wedding, but... at least I do not have to return to Gondor so soon. Once the rush of the official functions are over, you can, at least, take the time to show me around your home."

Lots of time.

By themselves.

Hopefully anyway.

He strokes her hair and waits patiently for her body to settle, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

"Alright. Do you want me to go and stoke up the fire a little, if you are cold? Or shall I braid your hair back?"

She cannot help but give him a look, half amused and half exasperated. "My hands still work perfectly well, Faramir. I am not made an invalid merely because I am expecting a child."

And he did promise not to hover over her too much. But he means well, so she relents a little. "But it is cold. We should both dress for the day, in truth...but I would not mind if the room were a little warmer first. And I would like some water."

She does brighten a little at that. The past few days have been more busy even than most, and filled with activities not of their choosing. But if he is to stay after the rest of their guests leave, that will give them more time and freedom. "That is true." Eowyn looks up at him and smiles. "I should like to take you to Aldburg, where I spent my childhood. And if you are to be an Ambassador to the Riddermark, at least for a time, it would be as well for you to explore a little more of it."

And surely once these first few, crowded days are past, all the pressing attention on them will relax somewhat. Surely.

Or else she'll just need to be more creative.

"Poison may be healed," Faramir says. "Come here, Èowyn."

He places a hand briefly on her back, guiding her towards a nearby wall. They face North, but he looks downwards at the rest of the city. The siege was but a few days ago, and most of the city is empty--the men riding East with the Captains, the women and children evacuated. But still some have remained, either to aid those who must remain for duty's sake, or to aid those who could not leave, or because they refused to abandon their homes. Most of those visible are older or younger, not fighting age, but all have one thing in common: they are busy.

Faramir gestures as he speaks. "See, there--that man on a ladder mending a roof, or that woman leading her donkey, or that merchant hawking his wares...they do not know you, will likely never do more than see you at a distance. But they live today because of your choices. For if you had not slain the Witch-king, the city would surely have been overrun." His eyes flicker to her face, then back to the streets below. "Your actions were not for nothing. You could not save your uncle, and I know how that must grieve you. But though the glory you sought is hollow next to that grief, it does not mean your victory is as empty. To me--"

He breaks off for a moment, his hand tightening a little on the rock wall, his eyes fixed. The man on the roof moves slowly but with precision, placing each plank of wood carefully and affixing it. "To me, the glory is not in the battle, but afterwards," Faramir says finally. "In the picking up of pieces after all seems broken. We must sing songs of valor, I think, for the horrors of war are very great. But what do we fight for, if not to make way for peace? That--" He nods his head towards the man on the roof. "That is the victory. Not a slain enemy on a field, but the rebuilding that follows.

"But before rebuilding, there must be healing, must there not?" Now he looks back at her. "Which takes time, and I think you have allowed yourself but little time for it, though your wounds were deep." He does not mean merely the injury to her arm. "Perhaps you will yet pay a price for your desertion of your appointed duty; perhaps you already do, in your awareness of it. I am not your judge. But you need not yet find your path. First you must build the strength to walk it when it becomes clear to you."

Edited 2018-08-30 23:07 (UTC)

I can ask you the same thing. After all, you cannot deny that the death of the heir to the throne benefits you most of all.

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

All is forgiven.

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oh well, so long as they're happy

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tbh these two are the biggest saps and are probably happy with each other irregardless

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\o/

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Absurdly so. Also, I am mean.

the "to ride for death" sentence is not mine; credit to my friend Tea. But I love it.

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looooool so terrible

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do you really think Eowyn would get along well with pregnancy? She's not that patient.

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this is going to go terribly romantic comedy, you realize

yes, good stuff ;;

probably XD at least there will be no screams of YOU PERVERT

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lol sadly true

I think the best word to apply will be "tetchy."

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1000th comment!!!