Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

[questionablewit]

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[freo]

If Faramir does not know how Éowyn feels, he can hardly be blamed-- for she barely knows it herself, anymore.

The relief and elation that had buoyed her spirits some days prior in the wake of Mordor's fall seem dissipated like smoke in the wind, her old fears and uncertainties replaced with some variation of the theme. For days, the wait had tormented her; all things poised as if on knife's edge. But the world had not fallen into ruin and doom after all. That is well, she sees now, no longer vying for death, but...

But. What path is open to her, now? She has tasted glory and renown, and it has brought her no satisfaction. And she has abandoned her people, those who needed her the most, to achieve this. That remains unchanged. What of homecoming; how will those folk welcome her? How is her role to be like, in Éomer's court? Eventually he will marry, and the new queen shall take her place managing Meduseld. What will be left for her?

Her brother as written to her anew, beseeching her once more to reconsider joining him in Cormallen; but how can she? How can she stand amidst their joy when she feels so discontented, so restless, herself? How can she witness Aragorn's triumph and glory, and not immediately be reminded of her foolish, childish infatuation? Embarrassment prickles in the back of her mind at the mere thought. Nay, her battered pride cannot take it. It is better to stay here in Minas Tirith, though she misses her brother. Merry, too, for all that the hobbit has barely been gone a few days.

Too, she misses Faramir, so busy tending to the City and its folk. Of course, she could never blame him for doing his duty. But their previous meeting in the Houses had been only barely less formal than their brief conversation immediately after the investiture ceremony, and Éowyn cannot help but wonder if perhaps their closeness and solidarity had been created solely by the dire circumstances and the fear of the ending of the world. Perhaps, he had merely allowed his better judgment to be clouded by the day's triumph and joy, when he had begun to speak to her of things she could not bear to hear then, and he had at last come to his senses. Perhaps it was simply her and her inexplicable heart, clinging to yet another noble lord showing her kindness after such long darkness. She does not know what to do, about anything.

Try as she might to keep herself busy, she feels so very lonely and hopeless again-- not unlike during those dark times living under Gríma's menace. It is all a veritable maelstrom of discontent, swelling and gathering and settling within her chest; a dull, hollow ache behind her breastbone. Éowyn knows the healers look upon her with pity once more and it irks her, causing her to snap at urgings to eat and drink her tea. As if that will make any difference. She tenses when she hears someone approach, hardly in the mood for more lectures.

But it is not some poor apprentice, Ioreth nor the Warden. It is Faramir, and her heart skips a beat before beginning to gallop wildly. Why is he here? She does not know, but his presence is nearly a tangible thing, his soothing voice burrowing under her skin.

Éowyn does not tear her gaze from the horizon, but the tension about her mouth and eyes softens, chin dipping just a little. "Is that why you have come all this way?" she asks softly at length. "To see the sun?"

[whattheydefend]

"No."

His hand is resting next to hers on the wall. As he used to, he moves it the needed few inches to cover hers. The sense of rightness is profound and immediate, the feeling that something needed has clicked into place, and that gives him courage. Hs strokes the side of her hand, calloused thumb against soft skin. "Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"

It is not that the Warden would not release her, Faramir knows. For that purpose, he would, and has said as much to them both. Faramir hopes he knows the true reason. But does she?

[freo]

She draws in a soft breath when he touches her, her hand trembling a little beneath his as his thumb strokes gently along the side of it. She feels it also, that connection she thought for a moment earlier was a mere figment, the ache in her chest easing a little.

As always, he goes to the heart of the matter, asking the question she is not sure she can answer precisely. Gaze drawn to their hands, her lips begin to shape out an answer, but fail in their task at first. For a short moment, she remains speechless. Another beat later, what comes out is a simple, quiet, "Do you not know?"

[whattheydefend]

He is silent for another while, and also looks at their joined hands. "Two reasons there may be," he says finally. "But which is true, I do not know."

[freo]

"I do not wish to play at riddles, Faramir," she responds evenly-- sounding a little weary, even, and thus keeping the words from coming across as a chide. A barest hint of pleading also creeps into her tone as she adds, "Speak plainer."

And there; this, she may no longer forestall or feign to misunderstand. Not when it is finally her choice to hear him out and lay the truth -- whatever it may be -- bare before them.

[whattheydefend]

His breath catches a little. He came determined to speak, unless she once more pleaded with him to refrain, but to be commanded to break this stalemate between them is unexpected.

"Then if you will have it so, lady," he says quietly, still holding her hand, still thumbing her skin, still looking at their fingers. "You do not go, because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil’s heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy." Not necessarily because of any promptings in her heart, for he understands matters are more complicated than that. Faramir well knows how it feels to hear yourself praised while your honor is shredded at your feet.

He takes a deep breath. No more retreats; let them have truth, if nothing else, and let that truth be spoken aloud. It is clear neither of them can move on--towards whatever end--with so much knowingly unsaid. "Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn..." He turns towards her, looking at her eyes for the first time since his arrival. "Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?"

[freo]

Éowyn swallows thickly as he lays out her dilemma so concisely. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. How could he pinpoint even that so precisely, when she had only just begun to understand some of it herself? She cannot hold eye contact with him for long once that question passes from Faramir's lips, her heart thudding in her chest.

"I wished to be loved by another," she says softly after a moment of silence, her mouth gone dry. Once, at least, that was so. "But I desire no man's pity."

[whattheydefend]

"That I know," Faramir says quietly, remembering all she told him. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Éowyn!"

There is an urgency in the request, for she is still turned away from him, and he needs her to see. He is not Aragorn, and she is changed since the days when she felt thus. All things have changed since then.

When she does turn and looks at him, long and steadily, Faramir reaches up with his free hand and brushes it feather-light along her cheek. "Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn!" The words are soft, but fervent. "But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you."

So it is said. After so much time spent holding them back, it is a relief to say the words aloud. Faramir lowers his hand from her face but keeps the other clasped in hers, for so long as she will allow it. "Once, I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?"

[freo]

Éowyn closes her eyes. How can he see so clearly, with such clarity, into things-- into her? In some ways, it is difficult for her to hear, but everything he says is true. She draws in a breath between parted lips, and turns her head to look at him when he urges her to, unwavering. She was the one who asked for the truth, and cannot falter now as he is giving it to her. Still, her eyelids flutter just a little at that ghostly brush of his hand against her cheek.

When he renews his query from before, a quiver runs through her from head to toe.

No, he is not Aragorn. He is Faramir-- Faramir who took the time to truly know her, who never condemned her, who gave her friendship and understanding rather than pity or disdain. Faramir who displayed such vulnerability before her that night in the dining hall and let her console him in return. Faramir who loves her, unselfishly and earnestly, without seeking to change or diminish her. Her heart gallops wildly, and suddenly she understands-- knows that she feels the same.

"I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun," she begins, softly at first but growing in confidence with each word. "and behold! the Shadow has departed. I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying."

Not only. Abandoning the way of the blade entirely is not something she thinks she can do, but she sees now there are other paths for her to take; other roles she may take and make her own, heedless of what others may expect of her. It is a heady, liberating thought. Glancing out across the vast, sun-bathed horizon, she nods slightly to herself as conviction takes steady root within her.

"I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren." She looks askance back at Faramir, chin dipped a little; her voice whisper-soft and earnest. "No longer do I desire to be a queen."

[whattheydefend]

The sudden, naked hope on his face--in his heart--is almost painful in its sincerity and joy. Faramir's smile is at first tentative, but grows as he looks upon her, until finally he laughs. "That is well," he says, as quietly. "For I am not a king! And yet--"

Now he takes both her hands in his, stepping closer to her. "Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will." The words are softly spoken, almost reverent, as he speaks the dearest wish of his heart. He knew it many days ago, though it is only during this time of separation that he has been learning just how deeply he longed for it, how fundamental she now is to him. "And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

[freo]

She draws in another soft breath when he steps closer and grasps her hands gently in his, unable to turn her gaze from his; his touch and presence healing something within her heart long since broken. And the words he speaks to her...! How deeply she wishes the very thing he describes, her expression softening for a moment with affection for him.

"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?" she asks, but there is lightness to her tone now, a near teasing edge to the words. For in truth, the thought of settling somewhere new with him sounds most appealing to her. "And would you have your proud folk say to you: 'There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?'"

[whattheydefend]

She is more beautiful than the sun with that light in her eyes, the hint of laughter in her voice, and she is looking at him with an open, joyous affection that sings through him. "I would," Faramir answers at once, and swift as thought he moves to kiss her.

His arm wraps around her waist to pull her in close as he bends his head, cradling her cheek in his hand. Not a feather-light touch this time, not tentative or hesitant--his mouth is warm on hers, her skin is soft under his fingers, he can feel the curves of her pressed against him, may inhale her breath, all the details he could not have imagined, though he tried despite himself. This is real, all real, no dream or wistful thought or forlorn hope, and his head spins with amazement as much as elation.

They stand on the walls above Minas Tirith for all the city to see, and Faramir cares nothing for it. All he knows is Éowyn, there in his arms, and the sun shining glory all around them, and that is all he needs.

[freo]

It had been a jest, but the way Faramir replies as if to a legitimate question; without hesitation or falsehood, completely earnestly, arrests Éowyn like nothing else. (No, this is certainly not a man who pities her!)

Well-- nothing else, except his kiss. She inhales a soft gasp of astonishment and wonder when he takes her in his arms all of the sudden, every move gentle but firm. A sense of sweet acceptance overtakes her; all she can do in those short moments before his mouth presses against hers is to watch it happen, heart fluttering wildly those few seconds right before. The rest of the world ceases to exist, though they stand in plain sight and many do indeed see them locked thus in an intimate embrace.

Èowyn thinks of none of that, not with Faramir holding her; kissing her. She responds a beat belatedly from her own wonderment, a little clumsily but sincerely, sighing into the contact. The ache in her chest eases, and for the first time in ages she feels like she belongs. Her own hands have somehow ended up at his waist, pressing gently against him to hold on as they kiss; seemingly forever. She's breathless from it and elation once the contact breaks, catching her breath and looking at Faramir with soft awe-- and smiling beatifically.

[whattheydefend]

It is a moment that seems to last forever, and though it can only be a minute or two, by the time their kiss breaks all things have changed. Eowyn holds him even as he holds her, and her smile is joyful, such as he has never seen her wear, such as he has longed to see. Faramir caresses her cheek, marvelling at this transformation and marvelling more still that it can have anything to do with himself.

"Then will you leave your people, proud lady of Rohan, to wed a soldier from the South?" he asks, still quietly, as though speaking too loudly might break this enchantment. "You who are a daughter of kings and a warrior of whom songs will be sung, will you come with me to softer, greener lands, and there make your home?"

sorry for the lack of icons, her account expired :(

[freo]

Éowyn closes her eyes briefly when he caresses her cheek, casting him with a clear, steady look when she opens them again, serious as she listens. She allows the silence to rest between them for a moment after he says his piece, before she smiles; a small smile, but gentle and earnest.

"I will." Her voice is as quiet as his. "I will wed you, Faramir of Gondor, and come with you wherever you will go, to this green land-- and dwell there with you in bliss for the rest of our days." A hint of wetness gleams in her eyes as her smile widens a little, lifting her own hand to his cheek in turn. "Does my answer please you?"

Alas!

[whattheydefend]

Faramir feels he could stand there for centuries, as Thingol and Melian once did, enchanted by the sight of her and the feel of her touching his face. "Beyond words, it does." He slides his hand back into her hair--and how he has longed to do that, to bury his fingers in that golden waterfall! "I could ask for no greater happiness in this world."

They are standing so close now that it takes no time at all to bridge the gap between them. Faramir kisses her once more, his eyes closing as he breathes her in, memorizes the feel of her. Joy thrills through him, and he brushes his lips over hers a third time, a fourth, still heedless of any who may be watching. "And you, Éowyn?" he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers. "Are you happy?"

let's pretend it didn't take me like 5 years to tag this :/

[freo]

Éowyn laughs at the question, bright-eyed and joyful and breathless; dizzied by his gentle kisses and in utter amazement that this is truly happening. That such complete delight and contentment as this could even exist is a thing of wonder she never thought she could reach. She closes her eyes for a moment as their foreheads touch, simply taking in this incredible feeling that warms her from inside out.

"I thought happiness had left me for ever, so long I dwelt in the shadow-- bereft of goodness and kindness. I did not think I would feel joy again. Faramir," she all but sighs his name, like a tiny prayer, breathing another wispy laugh of wonderment as her fingers caress his cheek. She smiles then, with such tender affection.

"You brought it back to me. I am... so happy I cannot find words to do this feeling justice."

errrr ditto?

[whattheydefend]

That light brush of fingers thrills through him, but more wondrous yet is her smile. "I thought I knew elation before, when the darkness lifted and I saw all would be well with the world. But even that moment seems eclipsed by this. Éowyn..."

He kisses her again. He cannot help it. After longing to kiss her for so many days, dreaming of seeing her look on him as she now does, to be granted such grace seems another miracle, and one beyond his deserving. But one he will not squander. He kisses her eyelids, her forehead, her mouth again. "Never did I think to find such joy. Never could I have imagined the transformation you have wrought in me. I do not have words to describe it, but if you will permit it, it will be my greatest honor to spend the rest of our lives showing you."