faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

He nods in silence. For good or ill, the fate of Saruman and Wormtongue is out of their hands. When she thanks him Faramir looks down at their joined hands, then turns his in hers, entwining their fingers. His expression is troubled. "You are welcome. As I said, I am willing to hear whatever you choose to tell me, and am honored by your confidence. But, Èowyn..."

He hesitates, but the question must be asked, if only for his own peace of mind in light of all she has said. "I hope--" He starts, then stops, thinking of last night's kiss on the forehead, and other kisses on her hand, and words both said and unsaid. He takes a deep breath. "Lady, if I have ever in any way encroached upon you, to any extent, I beg you would tell me so. Now or in the future."

Edited 2018-10-08 16:00 (UTC)

"What?" Èowyn asks with a moment's delay, bewildered. Not by the question, but the thought that any of Faramir's actions could be seen as encroaching in any way. Certainly not in a way comparable to Wormtongue's vileness. The mere idea is preposterous, and she draws in a quiet but sharp breath, squeezing his hand with hers as tight as she dares. "No. Béma, no. Faramir, I would never think that. You couldn't."

But soon, she thinks she must speak with complete honesty. Even so, she never once thinks of the kiss to her brow last night, nor any of the ones to her hand-- she can only think of one thing from the early days, and even that is negligible. "When we met, I was short with you. My discontentment was not of your making, but you spoke to me of my beauty that day the Warden brought me to see you, and I... grew wary that maybe that was all you saw. It was unjust of me to think so even for a moment, and you disabused me of such fool notion swiftly. You have never disrespected me in such manner, and I know you will not. Pray, be at peace."

The confused, astonished look on her face is answer enough, even before she speaks. To Faramir's surprise, he finds himself blushing at her words. Many times now he has thought over those hasty, fumbling sentences he spoke that first day in his first astonished moments of discovery, and wondered if they were ill-done.

He laughs a little, partly from relief. "I had known you but a few minutes! There was little else I could speak on, that I knew of for certain about you." He squeezes her hand in return. almost as hard as she does his. "But thank you for saying so; you relieve my mind. I had hoped not, for I know you well enough now to believe you would not hesitate to condemn me if I had. But in light of all you have just told me I wished to be sure." His glance at her is almost shy, his half-smile regretful on her behalf. "You have had more than enough experience of having your wishes overlooked, I think."

There is something rather endearing about his blushing response, making the corners of her lips curve into a tiniest of smiles for a moment and dispelling any further, gentle rebuke concerning the topic.

"A small lifetime's worth, it sometimes feels like," she agrees with a small sigh, but swiftly shakes her head a little as if to clear it from such self-pitying thought, for all that it strikes true to her. Now, it feels even more awkward to tell Faramir about her folly regarding Aragorn, but if she doesn't do this now, she is not certain she ever will.

"But, I said there was more to the tale. Once Théoden regained his mind and vitality, I thought I could at last shake off the yoke of being a nursemaid and a servant-- for I was a shieldmaiden, was I not? Moreover, I fancied myself in love with Lord Aragorn, but I see now it was never that. Admiration for a noble and puissant lord and liege, for certain. But more, through him I perceived the means to escape the cage I felt closing in around myself. Sharing in his power, I could be uplifted myself, far above the wretchedness of an inglorious life; Wormtongue's poison still flowing through my veins, though I realized it not, then. All saw my regard for Lord Aragorn and rejoiced in it, for he had become a hero to Rohan. But it was naught but folly. It shames me to even think it, now."

She frowns and her lips twist into a grimace, chagrined. "But he was yet another to reject my suit, both to join him battle and for more. He saw my plight more clearly than I, I think. It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek, he told me. True words, but at the time... they brought me lower still than I already was. Heartbroken. What was left? I could not fight, could not govern, could not choose my own fate, it seemed. It was the final drop into a vessel about to overflow, and so I rode to ruin with the Rohirrim in disguise, for my desperation blinded my to aught else. I saw no other glory left than that one final, fell deed in battle before death that would be remembered. If I could not control anything else, I could at least control this."

She exhales deeply as if released under some unseen weight finally with the whole story out in the open, shoulders lowering and chin dipping. Her free hand picks at the simple frock she's wearing under the mantle at the knee, as if ridding it of some invisible lint. She cannot look Faramir in the eyes yet. "And the rest, you know. There you have it; the whole sorry tale of Èowyn of Rohan as it unfolded."

Edited 2018-10-09 12:19 (UTC)

Faramir turns his attention away from his own actions and motivations and back to her story, for it clearly matters to her to have it all spoken between them--and he deeply glad in his heart that she wishes it so, that such openness between them seems not only desirable to her, but even required. Perhaps it is only an even trade for his confidences last night...but he hopes not.

I fancied myself in love...he but watches her steadily throughout all this recitation, and no trace of his own inward emotions show on his face. This is not about him, for all that it matters to him, and matters greatly. A hurt and a new hope at once.

And then...If I could not control anything else, I could at least control this. He winces inwardly for a new reason at those words, for they seem to him exactly the same thought his father must have had. He can only be grateful that Eowyn was prevented in achieving her desire, as Denethor was not. Perhaps some other day he will make that comparison to her, but right now the pain is still too near. And oh, he must tread carefully now, must choose his words carefully, for this is dangerous ground and it would be easy to misstep.

He squeezes her hand once more, lightly, also not meeting her eyes. "There is no shame in loving that which is worthy of love," he says quietly. "How could that be foolish? Even if you mistook your own wishes, I cannot see that as folly. As for the rest..." Faramir lets out a long breath. "Lady, you lived a long time in shadow, with wounds unseen and untended, through events that would have utterly broken a lesser spirit. The wonder to me is not that you despaired, but that you survived."

His thumb strokes along the side of her hand; and this time he does not stop it. "You may claim that survival was not of your doing, but I believe otherwise. If you were less than you are, you would have settled for a lesser death; and if death were truly all you sought, if you had no hope or care for yourself, I think the Black Breath would have killed you indeed, and there would have been no calling you back. But your will held, as it always has. Through poison and siege, through war and horror. And now you emerge on the other side of it all, stumbling from darkness back towards light; how could you be anything but amazed by it?"

He cannot meet her eyes either, for he knows his will hide nothing. "I can see no folly in you or your story, Èowyn of Rohan. I see only courage, and a heart too valiant to be vanquished even by bleakest despair."

Èowyn does not know what she expects from him in response, but she waits upon his judgment on tenterhooks. When it comes, it astonishes her; she does not know why, as she should have expected something akin to what he says, but it does.

Is there no trespass or transgression he does not forgive her, that he does not consider a strength instead? Is there no end to his kindness? How does he still keep on building her up, lauding her so? For a moment, she cannot decide whether that is madness or some form of saintliness on his part, but Èowyn drinks it all in regardless like one dying of thirst, for she has spared little kindness for herself. Something breaks open within her at his absolution, and tears flood her eyes although she'd thought she'd spent them all by now, clinging to his hand with hers like to a lifeline.

Still, she does not meet his eyes, staring out across the atrium without seeing much of their surroundings; a low, ragged breath escapes her between parted lips, ending on a tiny, choked sound of what sounds like relief. She knows by now Faramir does not say something he does not truly believe-- it is one of the things she has most come to admire about him, among others. Where does he find this faith he has in her? It is staggering, and humbling. Wiping away an errant tear and blinking away the rest, she gropes for words of her own.

"You are kinder to me than I have been to myself." She sighs a little, the sound less dissonant now. "And, you have given me much to reflect on, once more. Thank you for hearing me out."

When her grip tightens and shakes around his hand, he turns a little more towards her, and joins his other hand to the hold, so hers is enclosed between both of his. "That is not difficult," he says quietly. "For you judge yourself most harshly, and I think have shown yourself but little kindness."

Faramir hesitates a little again, for this all still seems tenuous ground to him, to be walked carefully. But there are tears in her eyes, this time for herself, and he cannot ignore that. Carefully he lifts one of his hands and wipes a few from her cheek. "I would you could see yourself as I see you."

What can she say to that? It is true, so she remains silent, taking comfort in the touch of his hands. But then he lifts one to her face and her breath catches a little, softly. Her eyes close for a moment and she tips her head slightly into his hand, almost unconsciously. This time, she meets his gaze when she opens her eyes, solemn but not closed off.

Those words are far from innocuous; even Èowyn knows that, in light of their growing friendship-- though she equally knows it can no longer be defined as simply friendship. She wants to ask him just how does he see her. It surprises her, the urge of wanting to know, but at the same time realizing deep within her that such response -- truthful, coming from him, always truthful -- would reveal too much; more than she's able to handle right now, despite all the strides she's made toward healing already.

"Maybe one day I will," she whispers instead, so quietly it's almost inaudible.

It is abruptly a more intense and intimate moment than he had intended, as she leans against his hand, as their gazes lock. He can feel the tenuousness of it, how easy it would be to say words there would be no going back from, for her to ask, for him to answer. He can almost see her wavering towards those words and then pulling back. For a breath, everything is poised as though on a knife's edge.

When she does speak, he just nods, removing his hand and returning it to rest on hers, looking down. Inwardly, he is chagrined. Blessed Valar, it is but minutes since he was chiding himself for pushing too far, for offering too much. And after such stories as she has been telling!

Instead he holds her hand, squeezes her fingers. That is more comfortable ground for them both now, and much less hazardous. "At the least, I would ask you remember what I said a few days ago, after another such discussion. That the victory is in the rebuilding afterwards. Whatever your own thoughts on your choices and actions, you still have allowed yourself but little time for healing. Grant yourself that small mercy first, before you pronounce judgement on your past self."

He laughs a little, ruefully. "And I shall attempt to do the same, since I clearly have not allowed myself enough time for healing either, as yesterday's misadventure shows."

It is with some relief Èowyn also casts her eyes down once Faramir withdraws his hand-- but not without also some twinge of regret.

"I shall try to heed your advice," she promises at length, softly. That alone is more than she has felt capable of, since first waking from her sickbed. "Though I fear I am at odds with my own impatience, among others."

At his laugh, she glances at him sideways once more, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth slightly upward, for a brief moment. "And well you should, also. Lest the Warden sees fit to confine you to your room." Gently, she squeezes his hand in return, her tone turning more earnest. "There are many who count upon you, my lord, and would see you better." Myself included, she wishes to add, but does not-- yet, there is a look in her eyes that's almost as good as if she had spoken the sentiment aloud.

He turned the conversation back to his own expense as a distraction, and the goal is accomplished when she smiles and the tension between them eases further. Faramir would willingly fall into ever fishpond in the city in truth to have her smile thus. As she speaks of the Warden confining him to his rooms, he snorts agreement, for the Warden threatened exactly that. "Valar, no. Confined to these grounds is hard enough."

He glances at her at that addition, and sees an echo of her unspoken words in her eyes, and that eases him further. He smiles, though again it is rueful. "I know. I have letters from many of them in my room, but the Warden has forbidden me to tend to any such work save for an hour later this afternoon." He rubs his forehead, which still aches, though the dreadful tea is helping. "So perhaps I am safe and he cannot send me back to my room, for fear of my disobeying him in that manner instead!"

Genuine mirth catches Èowyn off guard and a sudden laugh bursts out of her-- it's a rather unladylike sound, a short guffaw rather than anything else. But she finds it hard to be particularly self-conscious about it, a teasing light in her eyes as she grins at Faramir.

"You are an impossible patient, I see! Are you perhaps then banished into these gardens instead? To take your tea? Do not forget your solemn promise to the apprentice," she adds almost slyly. Impossible too it seems that she's so amused now, when only a moment ago she had been speaking of such ill things in sorrowful remembrance. How does he manage to do this, and with such ease?

If a smile is good, a laugh is better, and Faramir's smile turns into a broad grin as he hears it, unladylike or not. He makes a mock-pitiful face at her in return as she reminds him, and releases her hand long enough to refill his mug and drink further.

"I see your own time spent with the healers is bearing fruit, since you do their chiding for them." He cannot help but make a face at the bitter taste. "Ugh. I am not certain that I would not prefer the headache."

"Ah, but I shall only chide you once; I suspect Ioreth and the Warden would be less merciful. Pick your battles, my lord." She chuckles, smiling, but makes a sympathetic noise as well when he speaks of his headache.

"I daresay you may blame the wine for most of it." A beat, before a hint of teasing enters into her voice as she goes on, "There is an old wives tale about a remedy for overindulging in Rohan, made out of mixing raw eggs with warm mare's milk. Perhaps your tea fares slightly better in comparison?"

"Not the wine so much as the foolishness of drinking on an empty stomach and in a weakened state. Which is no better, since the foolishness remains." He sighs, takes another sip.

"We have similar concoctions here. I tried them once or twice when I was younger and decided the pain was preferable to the remedy. Alas that I may not do the same now!" His mouth quirks a little with the hint of a smile as he glances at her. "Even so, your chiding or Ioreth's or the Warden's I might withstand, but not all three together. I applaud your tactics."

"It is you now who judges themselves too harshly," Èowyn points out softly, with a small, gentle smile. Not so much foolishness as despair, she thinks, and she would know all about that.

"Èomer and Théodred also dared one another to try such brew once in their younger days, and it very memorably only made them more sick. Rather violently. I should not have laughed at their misery, but I confess I did."

She chuckles, remembering it. Simpler times, before the shadow and desolation. She remains silent for a while before speaking at length, innocently, "But if the last cup of tea happened to be spilled... into that bush, perhaps? Why, none could be blamed for that, surely. Accidents happen, after all." He has drunk enough that one more cup is unlikely to make any drastic difference, she judges.

He lifts the cup to her in a toast, silent acknowledgement of the point. They both need to learn to be as kind to themselves as they are to each other, perhaps.

But he chuckles also at her description of her brother and cousin. "My brother too tried that remedy, though he said it was not so bad as the rest of us swore." He smiles a little, his eyes seeing fondly back into the past. "There were few chances to try, for he did not care to drink to excess, and I chose to follow his example. Though his remedy of choice too was beyond me. Eggs still, but cooked, and in prodigious amounts." He shakes his head a little, smiling at the memory. "A meal I could happily face after a good workout in the morning, but not while hungover. I think his stomach was made of better steel than his sword."

At her less-than-innocent suggestion he pretends to be shocked. "Is my lady proposing that we practice a deliberate deception?"

"Still that sounds wiser and more pleasant than drinking them raw," Èowyn laughs a little, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose in disgust at the idea.

When he pretends shock at her words, she bites her lip against a laugh; her shoulders still shake a little at the effort. Clearing her throat, she affects some shock of her own that he would think that. "I would never propose such a thing, my lord! I am merely suggesting one learns a few things, growing up as a girl with, essentially, two older brothers who enjoyed making mischief. Such as plausible deniability. Should that tea go so astray, anything could have happened to it, I'm sure. Perhaps you did indeed drink it all. Who can say?"

So yes, deliberate deception is exactly what she is proposing.

He sees her shoulders shake with repressed laughter, and his mouth twitches a little. He appears to consider the matter, stroking his chin, and sighing over-dramatically. "I'm afraid I cannot in good conscience consider such options." His mouth twitches again. "At least, not while my lady is watching. For I would not have her implicated in any such scandalous action."

"I understand." Èowyn nods sagely, affecting just such understanding. She's having a difficult time indeed, keeping her own amusement at bay. "Would it help if I were to look away?"

"I would never propose such a thing." He is solemn, now, and his eyes do not twinkle at all. Truly. "But how is your own tea?"

"It is a good thing, then, that it was I who proposed it instead of you, my lord," she says primly, similarly not at all holding at bay her amusement. At the question, she remembers her own brew, picking up her half-empty cup and glancing down at the contents.

"Less distasteful than yours in flavor at least, I imagine. Chamomile-- the Warden seems more concerned with soothing my mind than my bodily aches, which are thankfully less today."

And if perhaps the Warden has the right of it with his decision, Èowyn says nothing of it out loud.

The instant she looks down at her own cup, Faramir deftly empties the contents of his into the bush she pointed out earlier, conveniently only a foot away from where he sits.

"Ah," he says sagely, replacing his empty cup on the tray. "Well then, as I seem to have finished mine, and I have heard that fresh air is as beneficial for soothing the mind as anything else, shall we walk a little while instead?"

He still isn't laughing, but it's taking some effort.

"Have you, now? Your timing is most convenient." Her glance is knowing and amused as she follows suit and places her cup on the tray, nodding at his suggestion. "We shall! I should be glad for the exercise, even if it is to see the same surroundings we have viewed too many a time to count, by now."

"And as I have not yet had any exercise this day, no doubt it would be good for me." He stands and walks around the table before offering her his arm. "Though speaking of unusual sights, I had noticed your hair. Is this how you would usually wear it, in Rohan?"

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yesss an excuse for my favorite icon

omg perfect

I love it and hardly ever get to use it. Also this.

both are a+ icons

I love them so.

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