faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

"I almost feel sorry for the lass." Faramir agrees wryly. "But he has matured some, and Merry will keep him in line, I am sure."

"Ah!" He smiles at the location and then turns his fond gaze to her.

"Aye, I think this will do nicely. There's space enough to sit and for our horses to graze, and shade too."

"But who then will keep Merry in line?" Eowyn laughs fondly, busying herself with removing Windfola's bit and bridle so he can graze more comfortably. He is even less likely to wander off than usual, given the woodlands around them.

Once their horses are comfortable they may attend to themselves, and spread out a thick blanket and enjoy their repast while sitting on it. The cook has more than outdone herself, despite the short notice, and the abundance of breads, cheeses, cold meats, and other victuals is far too much for the two of them to manage.

There is no need for haste. The weather is fine, if cool, and the stream nearby provides fresh water as well as a babbling undercurrent of sound to their own quiet conversation. Eowyn, generous with her overabundance of food, tosses nuts and bits of bread for any squirrels or birds who venture nearby. Windfola, not to be outdone by woodland creatures, demands and eventually receives a small piece of cheese for himself and then contents himself with grazing alongside Mithlun.

An hour of time finds Eowyn still sitting on the blanket, with Faramir lying stretched upon it, his head resting on her lap. She strokes his hair with idle pleasure, looking around at trees. "Your land is a most beautiful one, Prince of Ithilien." She smiles down at him, for he does not look very princely just at the moment, his hair a wild tangle in her lap and his body sprawled comfortably, and just a touch of strawberry jam at the corner of his mouth. She laughs and leaves off brushing his hair to attend to that. "And, it seems, a bountiful one."

Edited 2018-09-11 21:59 (UTC)

"Perhaps Sam?" Faramir opinions with a laugh. Sam and Rosie seem to be adding to their brood every time they turn around, and surely Merry and Pippin are nothing compared to their horde of fauntlings.

It is exactly the best sort of day for this sort of thing - not to warm, not to cold, peaceful with the world around them at rest. Faramir smiles drowsily up at her.

"I am always glad to know that the place where my heart loves is joyful also to the lady who holds said heart!"

He kisses her finger as it tidies up the jam.

"The bounty of our fields reflects the work we have all put in, I think. And I am glad for it! It gives me great hope that this land will do well in the years to come."

She chuckles when he kisses her finger, running it playfully along the line of his mouth. "I am certain it will. It will take more time yet, but Ithilien will once again be the garden of Gondor." It gives her great pride to be part of that reclaimation, which seems of a piece with her own healing. All the work she puts into their country is repaid in literal abundance, a thing far more rewarding to her now than the warrior's work she once longed for. Here, they will build something that lasts beyond themselves.

She laughs a little at that thought, wonderingly. "And we shall have a child to see it, and pass it all onto after we have finished all we can do. What a amazement that is!"

He makes playful attempts to catch her finger as she does so.

"A child to whom we can give this land to." He agrees, smiling lovingly up at her. "And he or she, one day, to their own children."

She laughs again, skillfully dodging out of reach and tapping his nose. "I can barely yet imagine the first, much less those who may follow! It is still little more than a daydream, for all that has been upsetting my mornings."

Considering he is reluctant to actually leave her lap, this is not hard!

He pouts at her for the tap, but his eyes smile.

"True. Early days yet! But you know me, Eowyn - I am a dreamer, and this dream is a very good one."

Eowyn laughs at the expression on his face and resumes playing with his hair. "Early days indeed, my love," she says wryly. "To dream of the third generation when the second has not yet made an appearance. It is a good dream, but lacking a little in practical details."

Clearly, she is the pragmatic one of the pair of them.

"But just think!" He grins up at her.

"One day in the long distant future, you and I will be grey-haired and old, and sitting in this same spot, and around us will be our family. Who will, I hope, all have your lovely hair!"

"My lovely hair, which by then will be grey and perhaps falling out?" She laughs again, for his grin is impossible for her to resist, as he knows. Not that she tries very hard. "No doubt you will again have jam on your face for me to clean off, and all the grandchildren besides, who will all share your smirk and love of teasing their poor, aged grandmother, who will keep telling wild, impossible tales of how she once slew a dwimmerlaik."

She can jest about it now, sometimes; in such circumstances, with Faramir.

"Nonsense, it will be silver and braided around your head as a crown, and the little ones will adore your jam!"

"And you will still be a golden-tongued flatterer, my lord." Her eyes shine at him, alight with love and amusement. She cannot kiss him from this position, alas, and must make do with caressing his face. "But I will still be able to outrace you!"

"I should hope I have developed even greater skills in that area!" He grins up at her.

"You will always be fleeter than this heavy ranger."

"Bema, I hope not! Or else I will find you entirely irresistible, instead of just mostly." She taps his nose again, for amusement. "And no doubt that will be so, if you will keep eating all the jam!"

"But I like the jam!" He retorts playfully.

"And what if I wish to be entirely irresistable?"

"Why then, I am surely doomed, and you will have me wrapped around your smallest finger and be able to do whatever you wilt with me." She bends over enough to touch their noses together and to give him a very brief kiss, though it strains her back a little to do it. And she realizes with surprise that in a few months such a movement will be impossible, as her body swells with the child to come. "I pray you will be merciful."

"Oh, well, if my lady requests mercy, than surely I must abide by her wishes!" She bends to meet him and he reaches up, curling a fond hand through the golden tresses that cover them.

"After all, I would be a terrible husband otherwise!"

"It may be that I will forget to ask for mercy," she admits, smiling as he toys with the curtain of her hair. "So much do I enjoy your attentions." She kisses him again, awkward as the position is, and brushes a hand along his face. "And if we are as happy on that day as we are now, we will have had a blessed life indeed."

He smiles up at her, and his lips are soft and welcoming against hers.

"We already do - it feels some days as if this is but a dream, for surely reality cannot be this wonderful. And then I wil lturn and see you there, and think that it must be real, for no dream could be so wonderful."

"Ever the poet, ever the flatterer." Her eyes are soft and fond as she says it, and she strokes his face again. "I sometimes wish I could go back and tell my younger self how much joy awaits her, but even if I could I doubt she would believe it. Or that I could express it sufficiently."

"That sentiment is indeed mutual, for the joy you bring me is beyond anything I could have ever known."

He reaches up to capture her hand and bring it to his lips to kiss.

Eowyn runs her thumb over his mouth, and sings quietly, a favorite tune of the Rohirrim.

"Past are his woes, he has won through his perils
He lives in plenty, no pleasure he lacks
Nor horses nor goods, nor gold of the mead-hall:
All the wealth of princes upon the earth
Belongs to my lord, who wants but thee..."

She is no bard, but her voice is a pleasant alto, and the tune is a joyous one of love attained. For she cannot find words for her contentment, and must borrow another's.

"You have a lovely voice." Faramir murmurs softly. "I do not know that song, I think."

"'The Husband's Message'," she says, smiling. "About a man who goes to seek his fortune, finds it, and sends a piece of wood with a letter inscribed thereon to summon his wife to him; for whilte he now has all the things any man could wish for, and yet only when she is with him shall he have happiness." She strokes his hair. "A happy song with a happy ending. Not all our songs are songs of slaying and glory. Though 'tis true that most are."

"I like it." He smiles at her. "I rather prefer happy songs, I think. Can you teach me yours?"

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gonna timeskip because writing people eating is boring. LMK if edits needed. =)

damnit it ate my reply D=

bad DW, no biscuit! (or jam)

GASP no *jam*?

NOPE not unless DW behaves

MY HERO

I'm a mom, withholding treats until good behavior happens is part of the job. ;)

dreamwidth had better shape up then!

damn right. Mamma don't take no mess. ;)

\o/

http://www.sinfest.net/btphp/comics/2017-11-22.gif

looooool

that was my FB header for a while. I love it.

it is absolutely beautiful

truly

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*blatantly steals Anglo-Saxon poetry for own purposes*

please, have you seen how much poetry I steal?

Nope, but I'd like to! Must tag Maglor more.

gimme all your tags yesssss

GASP no jam?

blatantly steals Anglo-Saxon poetry for own purposes