Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[whattheydefend]

[If he was regretting the necessity of not questioning her about what has happened, her reaction banishes it. She kisses his mouth, then his forehead, shaky gestures meant for her own comfort as much as anything else, a further way of proving that he is here, that she is safe. He welcomes them, and one of his arms tightens a little around her back.]

I think it is I who am blessed, not least by your trust.

[Quiet words, but heartfelt. He reaches up and strokes her hair again, his eyes also closed. Her breath is more even now, no longer interrupted by echoes of sobs or hitches of breath. His hand slides around to her face, caresses her cheek. Such a storm of weeping is painful, he knows, and will have left her eyes and face aching.]

Should we find you some water, perhaps? Or remain here a while yet?

[importuned]

[Warm water would feel comforting on her cheeks. Cool water would feel wonderful in her throat. Fresh air in this quiet, sun-kissed place would undoubtedly soothe the battered edges of her heart.]

...where you lead, melda.

[It takes a beat for her limbs to willingly follow her thoughts. Her fingers can't quite be made to leave their hold of him, skimming from his cheeks to his shoulders as she moves to find her feet again, scrambling for his arms and hands before they can begin on their way.

She does not wish to dwell. She does not wish to linger in this space where her hurt has been writ large across them both.

But she does not think she can stand without his arm to cling to.]

[whattheydefend]

[He is tempted for a moment to simply carry her once more. He stands and lets her cling as needed, until she is less shaky on her feet, then gives her one hand to hold while wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. His strength is still there if she needs it, a support and a prop. For a moment the hold is another embrace, and he bends his head and kisses her hair lightly before turning a little so they may move.

They walk slowly. She moves as though recovering from some trauma, and he is careful to adjust his long stride to her smaller steps. They present an odd sight, no doubt, both turned a little towards each other, a small v moving forward.

But the library is kind, and gives them a path untroubled by other patrons. Faramir leads them outside at once. Ophelia is always happiest in a garden.

It was night in Ithilien, and it is night here, but a gentle, warm night, the sort that falls on shoulders like a blanket. There is just enough breeze to stir the grass and flowers. And not far, Faramir knows, there is a fountain. That is what they need.]

[importuned]

[It takes a few paces to find her own proper stride. The certainty of Faramir beside her, solid and warm and still nearly surrounding her with his presence, continues to draw a steadiness she's been lacking properly back into her core.

By the time they reach the fresh bright air of the garden, Ophelia is walking without leaning--holding on without struggling for her own feet. She doesn't quite feel entirely herself again (it will take time, she knows, for the strange new edges of her home to be dulled, so their bite will be an ache rather than a searing pain), but the tears feel much farther off now.

(This, she knows, is proper love, steady and deep and true. This is a love that gives, that nourishes, that pulls the pieces of her back together rather than growing into the cracks so that her seams begin to burst.)

Her voice still feels small, but there's an edge of determination back in it.] Your... men are well?

[Just a moment's normalcy will help solidify this calm. Just a few seconds of pretending that they've simply stolen another quiet night together from the hell they've both been living.]

[whattheydefend]

[Faramir welcomes the mildness of the night for his own sake as well as hers. It is colder, in Ithilien, the tail end of winter, and the wind still has a bite to it. But here the air is kind, the breeze warm, as though spring or even summe knew their need before they did.

With all his heart, Faramir loves the Library. As much as he loves and reveres Minas Tirith itself, and that is no small thing.]

They are. We had just finished a journey of two days, from our city to the wilds of Ithilien. A day of rest and preparation we shall all have, before our next engagement with the Enemy.

[So this idyll is well-timed, for all that neither of them chose the timing, and for all that when he returns none will know he ever left. He smiles down at her.]

It is kind of you to ask after them, although you know them not.

[And shows her understanding, for the welfare of those he commands is of the utmost importance to their Captain. Her care for them is a reflection of her feelings for Faramir, and he appreciates it.]

[importuned]

[It's a small blessing that the meeting is well-timed. It's a small blessing to know she isn't another weight thrown around Faramir's neck just now, weighing down his already laden shoulders.]

I know them through your care. [Not in names, not in faces, but in the care they etched into the corners of Faramir's expression when he stood in thought or mentioned his home.] And I owe them your life.

[Ophelia can only hope they'll forgive her for needing to distract herself with thoughts of them.]

[whattheydefend]

[Small blessings are blessings nonetheless, worth noticing and cherishing, perhaps all the more for the risk of their being taken for granted. It is easy to see the large miracles, but it is the smaller gifts that fill days and lift hearts, that keep one foot moving in front of another. Every word Ophelia says is a gift, every breath. They are also a path back from whatever event has pained her, and he would be grateful for that alone. So he smiles, his hold on her shoulders tightening a little in encouragement.]

Several times over, I fear. Though they might claim otherwise! I may not be highly regarded by my father, but it is heartening to me to know that those I lead follow willingly.

[His troubles with his father, she knows, from long letters and longer conversations, many of them here in this garden. The Steward's constant, unwavering preference for his older son, Faramir never begrudged; how could he, when he regarded Boromir with the same love and respect? But to be treatedly so harshly now Boromir is gone, that is harder than anything that came before; to be denied permission to grieve with the one who is also left most bereft. The more so as they do not know how Boromir came to pass away from the world. They have only a horn's call on the wind, a dream, and the two broken halves of that same horn. Those, and questions.

But that is no subject for the moment; it would distract Ophelia for certain, but only grieve her, for her heart is kind. Faramir sets the thoughts aside, as he has had to do so often for the past days, in order to focus on the task at hand.

The fountain is easily reached, and he guides her to sit on its edge, joining her there. There is a cup resting on the stone--how does the Library know? If Faramir ever meets the spirits in charge of this place, he will have so many questions for them. But for now it matters not, and he is more than willing to simply accept the small gifts offered them. A cup of cool water, a warm breeze, and each other's company.

Not such small gifts, in truth. Not when they are so much needed by them both.]

Here, drink. Shall I tell you somewhat of my men?

[He distracts her for a few minutes with names and stories, not the tedious and grim realities of a soldier's life, but the brighter moments. A foolish bet made during a game of cards with his lieutenant, the chaos caused when a large and unexpected frog appeared in someone's bedroll. Silly tales, brief and easily told, to give her some picture of those he works with. To give her time to recover herself.]

[importuned]

[The edge of the fountain is familiar. It's a good place to sit, after all, in the near-endless summer of this place, surrounded by the loveliness of the gardens. The water is cool in her throat. It helps with the hurt in her voice and, somehow, the faint threat of new welling tears.

And Faramir's gentle voice, warm over the telling of happy days among men he trusted, is the surest sign of her absolute safety.

Ophelia allows herself to melt slowly into the half-fantasy of the distraction, asking for names to be repeated, tracing absent maps along the fountain beside her skirts, laughing softly at the joy of the moments Faramir honoured her by sharing. If she were truly only his, this is exactly how they would spend their evenings, she's certain. If her lot could be completely thrown with his, she would repeat these names and the stories she would cling to in their dull days apart.

Her smile feels far more settled on her lips as she finally sets down the cup again.]

-thank you.

DRAT I thought I'd answered this, sorry!

[whattheydefend]

[She looks more calm, feels more calm, and he smiles his relief at her for a moment.]

You are welcome.

[Carefully he reaches up a hand and brushes hair back from her face, his motions gentle and slow, for he does not know what she has suffered and has not forgotten that first, instinctive moment when she shied away from him. Impossible to forget that.

Impossible not to be concerned about what might have caused such fear and grief. He tries to hide it, but he is an honest man, and worry is still there in his eyes for all that he does not voice it.]

we got this slow jam

[importuned]

[His touch is easy to lean into now. The sigh in Ophelia's throat is utterly contented as she briefly allows her eyes to slip shut for a heartbeat.

This still feels right. This still feels safe and wonderful. This hasn't been tainted by the heavy hurts weighing on her heart.

The certainty helps keep her smile in place as she sits up properly again.] You make me... whole, Faramir.

[No matter what the rest of the world threw at her, apparently--which is a wonderful and terrible thing to learn.]

we sure do

[whattheydefend]

[She rests her cheek against the palm of his hand, her body language now expressing only trust. Faramir swallows hard as he takes in the sight, and the soft feel of her skin against his hand.]

If that is so, I am glad. And honored.

[He swallows again, slowly leans forward and places a gentle kiss on her forehead, unwilling to risk anything further without permission. But he rests his cheek against her head, after, his own eyes closing.]

And you--with you, I am at rest. As I am nowhere else.

/a million highfives

[importuned]

[There is often a bittersweet edge to their time together, as the little lingering bits of practicality Polonius's children cannot avoid whisper in the recesses of her mind. Tonight, blessedly, the melancholy falls silent.

When she closes her eyes and feels the solid presence of Faramir beside her, cheek against her hair, all Ophelia can feel is the absolute joy of true comfort.]

If that is so, I am... elated. E'en now.

[Even with a new ache in her soul. Even with a life she must return to that grows harder to bear every day.]

I love this pairing so frikking much.

[whattheydefend]

I would have you always feel so.

[Faramir feels the bittersweetness more than ever. Usually he is more able to separate there and here while at the Library, to appreciate these times as the gift and respite they are. But now, with her pain still so near to mind, it is more difficult. His eyes remain closed, and he turns his face again so it rests against her hair, the scent of her filling his senses.]

I would have you always with me, could I but make it so. For as long as we both might live, and beyond it.

surprising but perfect??

[importuned]

[The catch of her breath is soft and the twist of her fingers for firmer purchase is slight. The shift of her heartbeat is brief and the curl of her entire being against Faramir's chest is delicate.

The knowledge, after all, isn't startling. What feels new is having the thought fully crystallized between them.

There's nothing good that can come of actually pondering what life might be like if they could carve something proper out for themselves. The best thing to breathe in now is the simple comfort of being utterly assured that--even here, even now, at her absolute lowest--this remains real.]

I do feel it. Always, Faramir.

so perfect

[whattheydefend]

[It was a heartbeat away from being a proposal. He could still make it one--he would, despite all the barriers between them, even if their vows could only be made privately and kept in secret. He longs to.

But not so soon after such a hurt, whatever it was. He would not have her make such a choice, in his favor or against it, when she has been so recently in a state of turmoil and anguish. It would not be fair, nor honorable, to talk of such things now.

Instead he contents himself with holding her, smelling her hair and listening to her breath, as they are both allowed some moments of peace, of respite wholly unknown in their own homes.

It is a long while before he is able to make himself release her a little, until he leans away to look at her more fully. There is a small sorrow in his eyes, but he is calm otherwise.]

Come. You must be tired, and perhaps hungry. We should return inside and see what we can find to amend both those states.

let them live a soft life

[importuned]

In a moment, sweet my lord.

[He's right, of course. Now that her own body feels less far off, less oddly distant from herself, Ophelia is certain she's quite tired. Now that her stomach feels more settled into herself, she knows she ought to eat something, no matter how little she feels anything close to a pang.]

Please.

[For at least the next few heartbeats, it's far too important to study his features. One hand shifts to join her gaze in a careful examination of the lines of his face, the planes and valleys and myriad components of the man exactly as he is in this moment.]

I'm nourished here.

Yes please.

[whattheydefend]

Ophelia...

[His heart aches in his chest, poised somewhere between joy and pain. Slowly he reaches up again and caresses her face, swallowing hard over a sudden lump in his throat. There is a longing in his eyes that he cannot hide--and perhaps would not even if he could.

Slowly, carefully--mindful that he does not know what happened to her, mindful that she may yet need to push him away, and that if she does he must respect it--he bends forward and kisses her, a soft brush of mouth on mouth, breathing in the sweetness and warmth of her breath.]

[importuned]

[The gentleness is a balm. The unquestioning loyalty of the gesture soothes something newly jagged in her heart.

What feels best, of course, is being able to pull her lips back from Faramir's after a heartbeat--and being able to kiss him again with the same lightness, without demand or nerves.

Slowly, Ophelia finds her breath against Faramir's lips. Slowly, her heart begins to beat more fully of its own accord.]

...a-all right.

[whattheydefend]

[He stays so still, the same way he would in a forest when trying not to fright a deer or a fluttering bird. It is not unlike, though so much more important. All the same, deep down Faramir thinks it fortunate that he is a man of great self-restraint. Too much so, he has sometimes been told--but here and now it is serving him well, and he is glad of it.

She pulls away and returns, and he sighs relif at this small but pointed gesture of comfort and trust. One more time he brushes his lips over hers, then pulls back.]

Come, melda. You need rest and care. And in truth so do I, for these past days have been long, and longer ones await. We are both fortunate to have this respite here, I think.

[importuned]

[That, despite everything, pulls Ophelia fully to her feet. There are few enough moments together, and fewer still in which it's easy to smooth her fingers protectively through his hair and against his cheeks without reaching up toward his towering height.]

Will you rest, elskede?

[They're too alike, she knows. They would both burn themselves nearly to ashes caring for those they felt needed the attention, the gentleness, the devotion that they each held in the depths of themselves.

They'll rest together. They'll find their way back to something close to themselves together again.]