Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[freo]

Èowyn does not think of herself as particularly skilled at offering comfort. My hand is ungentle, she had told Faramir on the early days of their acquaintance. And yet, she never once thinks this an awkward chore or somehow unnatural, to cling to one another like this. It is not one-sided, either, for while Faramir grieves, so does Èowyn-- not just for Faramir, but for all the foul, sorrowful things that have happened since Théoden fell under Saruman's thrall. She sheds quiet tears long pent up, and feels better for it; if this does not exactly heal her, then at least it releases some part of the nameless disquiet that has harried her for too long. Perhaps he was not the only one who needed to be held.

Her tears eventually run out and their tracks dry on her cheeks, but still she holds Faramir until he stops shaking, until he feels steadier. And when he begins to gradually pull back from their embrace, Èowyn feels similarly reluctant for it to end. Her own eyes are slightly red in the wake of her weeping, but there's a wordless understanding in them, a softness she does not display so readily anymore. She smiles a little sadly in return at his thanks, though she is heartened if she could aid him in his grief even by some measure.

"I wish you only good things and happiness," she whispers so softly it's barely audible, matching Faramir's tone, but she dearly means every word.

[whattheydefend]

"And I wish the same for you, Èowyn of Rohan," he says softly, once again lifting a hand to her face, this time to cradle her cheek in his palm. His thumb strokes her skin with the lightest of touches. "I would I could bring you the same comfort you have brought me, and see you healed of all your hurts."

[freo]

The last time she was touched like this, it had been most unwelcome; Wormtongue's hand was cool and clammy like the underbelly of a fish as he poured his fey, poisoned words in her ear, trying to appear as a friend to her. And in her utter loneliness and desperation, she had for a brief second believed him. A remembrance which still pours hot shame through her-- that she had nearly succumbed to his lies, his repulsive advances. But in that moment, she had felt so deeply abandoned and alone. Gríma had known it and pressed his advantage most cunningly. For that one brief moment, she had wanted to believe she had a friend, someone who cared.

She does not need to close her eyes here with Faramir to picture it, and to believe it. There is no selfish desire attached to his wishes-- she can trust him to mean every word without an agenda. Now, she closes her eyes to the touch because his hand is warm and gentle for all that it is a little rough and calloused; a warrior's hand. She closes her eyes because it feels good to be touched with such care, and because his soft words burrow deep under her skin and warm her to the core.

"I know." And she does. Her voice remains hushed, for it does not seem fitting to speak more loudly under this shroud of intimacy that has descended over their little corner of the dining hall. "You have been good to me, and a true friend. It has already eased my troubles more than you know."

[whattheydefend]

I would be more than a friend to you. Almost he speaks the words; almost he leans forward the few inches that are all that would be needed to let him press his lips to hers, that he might show her instead of speaking it, a proof undeniable.

But much as he wishes he might, this is not the time for it. For all this moment's intimacy it is too fragile a point, too surrounded by pain. They both have healing left to do. It is too soon for declarations--and even if he is ready to make them, even if he is entirely certain of his heart, Èowyn is not yet ready to hear them. Still less is she ready to answer them, whether for good or ill, and he knows that however kindly she might think of him it could go either way. That is as well; he can wait, and will.

Even so can Faramir cannot quite bring himself to release her yet, so instead he lifts his other hand so he holds her face in both, leans forward and softly kisses her forehead, rests his head against hers for a minute. Hopefully that is an indulgence he may be permitted without cracking the growing trust between them. "Then I am glad," he says quietly. "And hope I may continue to do so in the coming days, whatever they may hold."

[freo]

Closing her eyes as Faramir kisses her brow, Èowyn takes comfort in the tender gesture and the quiet moment between them before he pulls away, her hand brushing against his sleeve as if in silent farewell. Her gaze finds his in the dark, and she smiles a wan, small smile in return.

"Good." The whisper-soft, simple word holds within a deeper meaning; Do not give up on me just yet. There are no promises that she can make him now, her slowly changing and thawing heart still in throes of confusion and grief, but she does understand that seeds of something important have been sowed into fertile ground, after this night especially. She knows that Faramir understands it too, and far better than her besides.

But no, it is not yet the time. Hoping to distract them from this particular line of thought, Èowyn wipes at the corner of her eye to rid herself of some lingering moisture there and makes an effort to smile with a slightly more teasing mien-- tempered as it still is by the gravity of what just happened.

"Will you share some of that wine, Gondorian? 'Tis not mead, but it will do."

[whattheydefend]

He smiles back, and if it takes some effort after all the momentous events of the past few minutes--of the past day--that is hardly surprising, and he knows she will not begrudge it.

"Gladly, and thank you for joining me in finishing the bottle. I have been watering it, but even so, I think my head will not thank me in the morning." He winces a little as he pours her a drink and passes it to her. "In truth, it does not thank me now. I will have to fall on the Warden's mercy and pray he is in a forgiving mood. How vexed was he?"

[freo]

Èowyn's lips curve slightly in sympathy even as she takes the goblet from him, their fingers brushing lightly. With the other, she tugs the mantle a little closer about her; it is a little chilly in the night air, and she's only wearing her nightclothes underneath. The wine should help, she thinks.

"Quite vexed, but I imagine it was largely out of concern." She pauses, thinking for a beat before grimacing. "I was about to say he is not so unreasonable a man, but he denied my perfectly practical request to return to the Citadel earlier to look for you, so I shall not say any such thing."

That still rather rankled Èowyn, much as she understood the Warden's reasoning.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir notices every accidental touch, cherishes each one, tiny moments of warmth. He is cold, and knows he should not sit here too much longer, the more so as he has no cloak of his own with him. But the wine is warming and the company more so, a balm after a long day of hurt, and he cannot deprive himself of it yet.

His smile turns a little more solid upon hearing that Éowyn wished to look for him, but..."You would not have found me there, I fear." He looks down into his wine briefly, the smile fading, then shrugs and takes a drink. "I went to see the remains of the tombs, such as they were, and then walked for a time." Much too long a time, likely. "I was...Not in a mood to be found, even if I had thought of it. But I confess I did not."

He sighs a little and drains the remnants of his cup, then pushed it away. "I will make apology to the Warden tomorrow. And point out that you, unlike me, were obedient to his will, and should not be made to suffer for my truancy. You suffered no ill effects from your​ sojourn to the Seventh Circle?"

[freo]

Would it be folly to admit she would have torn through the whole city if she'd had to, in order to find him? Perhaps. It certainly sounds like such even to Èowyn, herself. She takes a brief sip of wine and nods mutely in return, her small smile wan and sad. "I understand," she says quietly after a beat. And she does, for all that his preoccupation caused plenty of grief at the Houses-- but for that, he could not be blamed.

"Nay, no ill effects. If anything, I felt... well, it was good to be out and about for a while, and more so to ride again. And I am much relieved now to have seen my uncle. Merely there was concern for your absence, later. Merry was rather ill at ease as well, though he valiantly entertained me with stories to distract us both."

She bites her lip, belatedly realizing telling him that may only serve to make him feel more guilty. "But pray, do not worry yourself over that any longer. Merry will understand, too. As will the Warden."

[whattheydefend]

His smile back at her is also a little sad, and he reaches over and takes her hand for a moment, squeezing her fingers, an attempt to comfort them both. Inwardly he marvels at how easy the gesture is now, how certain he is that she will not object to it.

His smile warms as she speaks of how she enjoyed her excursion otherwise, before its abrupt ending, and her relief at seeing her uncle. "I am glad," he says quietly. "And most sorry that our outing was cut short. When we are more recovered--and the Warden has forgiven me this transgression--" A quick, rueful grin flashes across his face. "--perhaps we may venture forth again. There is much more of the city I think you would enjoy seeing, if you would be willing. Or if I am to be kept a little longer, perhaps you might be able to go forth with Merry. Surely he is feeling confined as well, and I owe him some apology also."

[freo]

Èowyn curls her fingers around his like she's always done it, though the coolness of his skin brings a quick frown to her face. Then he speaks of possibly venturing out again, and distracts her from her fretting-- for a moment, at least.

"Gladly I would accompany you again, and I do think Merry would appreciate stretching his legs, also. I hope we may all three of us go together, next time." Her small smile is more earnest now. That would be preferable to her, for as dear as Merry is to her, it would feel wrong to leave Faramir behind.

"You are chilled," she finally points out with another frown, leaving her cup on the table to cover the top of his hand with hers again-- even if her own hands are not that much warmer. "There is a bite to the night air, and you have not even a cloak on you. You'll sicken anew."

A prospect obviously troublesome to her, judging by the way her frown deepens.

[whattheydefend]

All three of them would be a welcome excursion, for by now Faramir is almost as fond of Merry as Èowyn herself is; he has found much to admire in the Shire-folk in general, and Merry in particular has an intelligent mind and is a shrewd observer. It is perhaps fortunate that he is less impulsive than his cousin Pippin, and is less inclined to meddle, for Faramir does not doubt that their halfling companion has observed certain developments of the past several days with perception and amusement.

But she takes his hand in both of hers and looks concerned, and he accordingly turns to this new topic. "I had not noticed," he admits. His cloak and more formal outer clothing he left in his room earlier, upon his return; more a matter of habit than comfort, for his mind had been very much elsewhere. "Though likely you are right, and I should not give the Warden still more reasons to be wroth with me."

His thumb strokes the side of her hand, a familiar, automatic gesture, and then he too frowns a little. "How is it that you come to be awake at so late an hour? Did something disturb you?" For he had not until now questioned her presence, being too grateful for it to wonder.

[freo]

Less inclined to meddle Meriadoc Brandybuck perhaps was, yet when it's just the two of them, Èowyn has hardly missed his casual remarks on the Steward's merits that are just a touch too casual to be for anyone's benefit but hers. And still, she could not find it in herself to be cross with the hobbit, other than for a brief moment and mostly in jest.

She tsks slightly and gives Faramir a mildly chiding glance. He had not noticed. Indeed, what a distinctively male response! Her oft-impatient tongue is tempered by his grief and the enormity of the revelations he entrusted her with just a moment ago, otherwise she may have some remark about it. "Nor deprive Merry and myself of your company should you take ill again."

It is still safer and easier to tack Merry in there as well, though they may both know exactly what she really means. He questions her, then, abruptly; curiously, it takes Èowyn aback for a beat, not having expected him to concern himself with her comings and goings in this moment.

"I woke and could find rest no longer. Staring at the walls of my room was hardly any help." It seems pointless to mention the nightmare -- or whatever it had been -- that had woken her from her slumber. She cannot recall it anymore, and Faramir may guess the reason on his own, regardless. "I thought a brief turn about the garden in the cool air might remedy this, but then I happened to spy you, sitting here."

[whattheydefend]

He laughs a little ruefully at her reproach, not missing the flash of annoyance in her eyes at his admittedly lackluster answer to this concern, and his smile warms at this open statement that she (and Merry) would miss him if he were unwell. "I am sorry that your night's rest was broken," he says, still stroking the side of her hand. "Though not altogether sorry, for I am...most grateful that you happened to wake, and see me here."

It is possible Faramir has never uttered a greater understatement, and something of that shows in his gaze. It is not merely tender--though it is, to an extent even Èowyn may be unable to dismiss. But as well there is an echo in it of what passed between them earlier. "I am in your debt," he says, more serious now, looking down at her fingers. "For listening to me as you have, and sharing a weight that seemed too heavy to bear."

[freo]

"There is no debt, Faramir," Èowyn says softly with a small shake of her head. Between friends, she almost adds, but knows it would be poor recompense in exchange for such earnestness and tenderness; which, yes, she can see plain as day in his gaze. And not only see, but fully acknowledge as well instead of willfully ignoring, as she has been largely doing of late. Yet, perhaps in the middle of the night after sharing terrible secrets and indulging in wine (mostly on Faramir's part, mind) is not the right time to muse upon that.

Her fingers tighten a little against his. "If I could lighten your load in this even a little, I am glad for it. And you may always rely on my discretion." Everything else aside, that is at least unequivocally true.

[whattheydefend]

That too is a reason why he could trust Èowyn with this, and no other. Even if he was not inclined as he is, she is largely outside his responsibilities, and thus safe. The basic facts of Denethor's death will no doubt become known, but the full truth of it...there are not many who should know, for many reasons. Respect for his father's memory, respect for the position of Steward, Faramir's own position and wishes. This is not a story to be widely told.

And even for those who will know the truth, his own reaction to it is not something he would entrust to many. Faramir is a truthful man, but he knows that some truths burn, and must be carefully dealt with.

"I know it," he says. "I trust you entirely, and you have helped me a great deal this night. Things are less dark than they were, because of you." He smiles and touches the hem of the cloak she wears, lined with stars, and thinks it a more appropriate gift for her than ever. "I thank you for all of it. Though you are right, and we should both seek our beds, lest I have even more explaining to do in the morning than I already have."

[freo]

She dips her chin, slightly abashed by his praises, following his hand with her eyes as he touches the hem of her cloak indicatively. Warmth burrows behind her breastbone at the wordless implication behind the simple gesture coupled with his words.

"You are welcome," she murmurs softly, feeling the need to somehow acknowledge his gratefulness, though her words feel too small and inefficient for the purpose. Squeezing his hand one last time, she nods decisively, loath as she is to give up this moment. "Come. Let us go, lest the chills beset you worse. I shall walk you to your room."

And not the other way around.

[whattheydefend]

"Do you not trust me not to get lost on the way?" He smiles, though it turns to a bit of a grimace as he stands. He is tired, even drained, and sitting cold and still for some uncertain amount of time has made him stiff as well. "More than once, I mean, since I have already achieved that distinction today."

[freo]

Èowyn frowns a little in concern and sympathy as she watches him wince, even if she says nothing of it this time. Once on her feet, she wastes little time claiming his arm.

"Should I be completely truthful then, my lord?" she asks with an edge of tease in her voice, but hardly gives him a chance to respond one way or another before doing so herself. "I do not. Least, I hope I will lessen the chance for you to get distracted all over again so soon."

Or something to that effect. In reality, it gives them a few moments longer to spend in each other's company.

[whattheydefend]

Faramir has been used to walking with a lady on his arm as a formal thing, even impersonal, but over these past few days walking so with Èowyn has come to feel second nature. To walk next to her without touching her at all would seem unnatural, or at least undesirable. And if she is doing it now because she fears for his health or doubts his destination, still he will not quibble with the results.

"How, when you are the greatest distraction in these halls?" He trips a little and catches himself, realizing that he has had more wine than was wise, if he is unsteady on his feet and not guarding his tongue as well as he should. Perhaps he will rue that in the morning; for now he grins at her, unrepentant and suddenly a little giddy from the nearness of her. He can still smell her hair, or thinks he can. "When I saw you standing at the doorway earlier, I thought you were Elbereth herself, or some star fallen to the earth."

[freo]

Èowyn instinctively puts out her other arm to steady Faramir when he stumbles slightly, though if he truly had tripped, there would have been little she could have done to prevent that especially with a broken arm. It's a momentary distraction from his candid, unguarded question, to which she smiles a bit wryly and tries to ignore the tiny flutter somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

But when he goes on, she cannot help her breath of laughter, amused now. "Huh! Wine makes your thoughts fanciful, or perhaps deceives your eyes."

Short tag because on phone

[whattheydefend]

"I am often fanciful," he admits, giving her a surprisingly sweet smile that makes him look younger than he is. "But usually better at guarding my tongue so that none know of it. The wine has much to answer for, it seems! Thank the Valar you are here to send me to bed and thus protect my dignity."

[freo]

"Worry not," she laughs again, helplessly endeared by this sillier side of him in the wake of such heavy conversation and dreadful revelations. Would that he always had cause to smile so sweetly! "I will guard this terrible secret of yours as if it were my own. Your dignity shall remain unspoilt."

[whattheydefend]

Her laughter is like music, and not merely in relief after such dark topics as they have shared this night, and he smiles all the more to hear it. "Then I will leave my dignity in your capable hands, lady."

He tries to speak more quietly, now that they are passing occupied rooms. Most of the patients are in larger areas, with multiple beds to a room; only those of higher rank have solitary chambers. His is not far off, and he is a little sorry it is no greater distance.

But now he can seek it out and hope to find sleep therein, whereas earlier he could not imagine ever sleeping again, nor even moving. And if he is lucky he will fall to sleep remembering Eowyn's laughter, and not imagining other sounds. Fanciful or not, Faramir thinks she brought light with her when she found him, and though he does not say as much aloud, his eyes and smile say enough.

[freo]

Èowyn merely smiles warmly, too keeping in mind they ought to not disturb the other patients-- nor draw attention to themselves right now. She's grateful for Faramir's elevated mood, even if it is only for a while, and aided by the wine. She does not think the matter over and done with, for how could it be? But if she could help distract him from his devastation even for a moment tonight, she's content. She has her own thoughts to turn over and realizations to make, come the next day.

She feels the same remorse when they reach the door to Faramir's quarters, but she silences it in favor of smiling again, if only a little as she slowly unhands him arm. "Well, my lord, we have arrived. I am afraid from here on you shall have to make do on your own, but I have every faith that you will prevail."