Faramir Fiction Archive

The Prince of Ithilien (NC-17)

Written by Raihon

08 June 2007 | 33215 words

Exile

That evening, Faramir sat at the table in his chamber for quite some time, gathering his thoughts about what he would say at the Council meeting the next day. It was not yet late, but he was ill-rested, so he was glad when Éowyn returned and began to undress for sleep.

“How did your visit to the nursery go?” Faramir asked.

Éowyn smiled, but looked distressed. “I am afraid my grotesquely large belly terrified poor Eldarion. He did not recognize me at first, and when he did, he burst into tears.”

Faramir gave her a sympathetic smile and began to get himself ready for bed. He opened a cedar chest and got out extra pillows to position under Éowyn’s belly and legs, then he lay down and gratefully curled up around her back, wrapping his lower arm up and across her chest, and cradling her belly with his upper arm. He nuzzled the back of her head, breathing her scent in. “Mm, I missed you,” he purred.

Éowyn’s breath grew more shallow. “Meleth,” she said. “I spoke with the midwife today.”

“Is anything amiss?” Faramir asked.

“Quite the contrary. The baby is well and could come any time now.”

Faramir breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, for your sake, I hope she comes soon.”

“Why are you so sure it is a girl?”

“I just am.”

“Meleth,” Éowyn said again. “There is no danger…if you want to make love.”

Faramir’s eagerness was quickly apparent against Éowyn’s back. “Do you wish it? Truly, would you enjoy it?” he asked, concerned.

Éowyn’s answer was to take her husband’s hand and bite down playfully on the soft flesh between his thumb and index finger. “You are not the only one who has grown tired of showing restraint,” she growled. She took his other hand and moved it over her backside and down between her legs. Faramir felt that she was already moist. “All you have to do is move a few inches this way,” she prompted him.

Faramir was overwhelmed for a moment with a variety of desires. The enforced abstinence of the last months of pregnancy were hard on him, leaving him feeling at a distance from his wife when he most wanted to be close to her. It was especially difficult right after he had been with Aragorn, for his time with his lover only strengthened and made more urgent his desire to re-join his body with his wife’s.

Faramir’s hand caressed Éowyn’s breast, teasing the nipple into hardness. Éowyn ground back against him impatiently, so he pulled his arm out from under her and angled himself so that he could enter her without her having to move. Using his hand to guide him, he teased her a bit at first, rubbing himself around in her wetness, and she sighed in appreciation. Then, very gently, he slid himself inside, and Éowyn gave out a long moan. He paused, savoring the softness, the heat, the moisture. Again, Éowyn pushed back against him, so he began to move, thrusting slowly and experimentally, cautiously learning what his wife’s body wanted in its current condition.

Éowyn cried out when he found the right angle, and so Faramir repeated the gesture with increasing intensity. It was Faramir’s habit to speak tender words to his wife as they made love, but this time speech abandoned him. His attention was completely absorbed by the sensations, the smell of Éowyn’s heat, the sounds of her desire, and the growing tension in his groin.

With Éowyn curled up on her side, there was no way for Faramir to pleasure her with his hand. “Is this what you want? All that you want?” Faramir asked.

“I want you to last long and spend yourself deep inside me,” she said throatily.

Faramir paused, trying to relax. “You will only get the latter if you speak to me in that voice,” he warned.

Éowyn laughed and reached backward, putting her hand on his hip and pulling him toward her again.

Faramir began again the rhythm that she wanted, drawing the heat upward out of his loins so that his head was filled with fuzzy desire and sweet longing. Inarticulate thoughts of love passed through his mind, vague sentiments of destiny and eternity that sent bolts of fire back down his spine, until he lost himself completely in the moment, moving deeper and deeper in his striving to merge with Éowyn in every way. He moved his body as close to her as he could, growing frantic in his thrusts. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip, his teeth bit into the top of her shoulder, but he kept on for the sake of hearing a few more of her cries of passion. Then it was over, and Faramir found himself emerging from the cascading rapids into a wide pool of calm water.

Faramir delivered several gentle kisses to the back of Éowyn’s neck. “There is nothing like the way I feel when I am inside you,” he said, his voice croaking. He cleared his throat. “Or how I feel when we are through.”

Éowyn sighed and said, “Mm-hm.”

Faramir could feel her body was still tense, that she was not sharing in his bliss. He rolled away from her and she rolled on her back, spreading her legs apart. Again, a warm and earthy scent assailed Faramir’s nose and his energy returned. As his hand made its way down around her belly and between her legs, he said, “shall I tell you about how Aragorn and I made up after our fight?”

Éowyn smiled grimly. “I doubt it will help. Nothing seems to take away this feeling of fullness, this accursed bloated sensation, as if I am an overfilled wineskin.”

Faramir chuckled and began to stroke her rapidly. “Let me drink deeply, then. I know you will especially enjoy this story; it is one of your favorites.”

Éowyn grinned. “Ah, did you take the King last night, husband?”

Unfortunately, Éowyn was right about her insatiability. Even what seemed to Faramir to be a fairly intense culmination failed to ease Éowyn’s discomfort. Faramir fell asleep right away, but was awoken every few minutes by Éowyn’s restlessness. He tried to make her comfortable by adding, subtracting, and re-arranging the pillows. Eventually, he went to fetch her a draught of medicine to take away her aches, he rubbed her back and her feet, and he even tried singing to her.

Finally, Éowyn barked at him, “get out. Your attentions are only making my mood worse as I feel responsible from keeping you from your rest.”

“But meleth nín,” Faramir said gently, “I cannot leave you in such a state.”

“You shall. You must sleep, Faramir. The Steward must not doze during the Great Council. Take Aragorn’s bed; he and Arwen retired to her chamber after putting Eldarion to bed.”

Faramir reluctantly did as she requested, making sure before he left that everything she might need was within arm’s reach. He left by the side door, went down the servants’ passage to the King’s chamber and quietly slipped inside the dark room. He was about to crawl into the bed when he saw that Aragorn was already in it. He smiled down at the form of the other man, surprised that he had not yet woken. He quickly calculated the danger he might face from getting into bed and surprising a sleeping ranger, and decided it was worth the risk.

To his surprise, Aragorn did not wake up, and even when he wrapped an arm and a leg around the King’s body, he did little but murmur and nestle closer to Faramir. Faramir closed his eyes, repressing his urge to kiss Aragorn, and tried to fall asleep.

Just as Faramir began to drop off, Aragorn sighed and grabbed Faramir’s hand, pushing it down to his groin.

Faramir laughed and said softly, “are you awake?”

Aragorn jerked away from him. “Faramir?”

Faramir laughed even harder, trying to be quiet. “Who else’s hand do you make such rude use of?”

Aragorn slid Faramir’s hand back up to his stomach. “Sorry, I was asleep,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Éowyn exiled me – she cannot get comfortable and was keeping me awake. What are you doing here? Éowyn said you retired to the Queen’s chamber.”

Aragorn was quiet. Then he said, “she also exiled me.” His tone was not light.

Faramir looked at Aragorn but the room was too dark for him to see the expression on Aragorn’s face. “Because of…?”

“Last night,” Aragorn sighed.

Faramir snuggled closer to Aragorn and kissed his cheek and neck. “Do you wish to speak of it?”

Aragorn’s fingers stroked the back of Faramir’s hand. “I think this is the first hurt Arwen has felt with the heart of a mortal.”

Faramir’s own heart filled with pity. “Oh,” he sighed.

They were silent for a while, each with his own thoughts. Then Aragorn said, “she is confused by what she sees in you, and I know not how to reconcile what she sees as bonding with what happened between us.”

“How so?”

“I do not deny that something remarkable happened last night: I began to realize I could feel what you were feeling, and for a few moments, there was nothing separating you from me.”

“Yes,” Faramir agreed.

“But that did not happen when Arwen and I first joined in bodily union. Yes, there was a touching of my mind and hers, as I have known when healing someone, but I have never before felt that merging of physical sensation.”

“So perhaps that remarkable moment was more from hroa than from fëa,” Faramir chuckled. “What then do you think is the cause of the change that Arwen and Legolas saw in me?”

Aragorn’s fingers stopped their stroking. “Legolas saw it, too?”

“Mm,” Faramir confirmed.

“Úmarth³!” Aragorn cursed.

“Do you know what it is that they see?” Faramir asked and Aragorn shook his head. “Arwen asked me to look into my heart, and I told her nothing had changed, except that I was now at ease with my love for you.”

“Hm,” Aragorn said, nodding. “Yes, perhaps that is it. Perhaps it is that subtle for us. The easing of agitation…”

“A shift…from the edge to the center,” Faramir said softly.

“Yes, that is what I felt, too. With Arwen, we were apart for so long, at first I did not understand that what I was feeling was anything more than relief that we were at last together. But looking back, it was much more than that: the absence of uncertainty, the banishment of fear. As now I also feel with you.” Aragorn rolled over onto his side, leaning his forehead against Faramir’s. “I am glad of it, but it hardly seems earthshaking.”

“Knowledge of the joining of spirit and body in our race is not given to us as it is given to the Elves,” Faramir said. “It is possible that Man’s fëa calls to him from a great distance, so softly it is only heard by those who listen well.”

“Perhaps it will ease Arwen’s mind to know that, whatever she sees written on our faces, it does not mark a great change us.”

Faramir frowned in doubt. “Or perhaps she will be disappointed to discover after all these years that your bond to her carries so little meaning for you.”

“It may well be there is a moment in time that changes everything, at least to an Elf’s perception,” said Aragorn, agitated. “But as a Man, I ask how can a single act of love, no matter how profound, compare to years of shared thoughts and experiences? That is what matters to me, not the existence of some other dimension that is beyond the reach of my senses.” Aragorn rolled on his back again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “She does not understand: the hearts of Men are complicated. Sometimes, I feel I am a child to her, and yet I know that her wisdom does not encompass all things, things that I know in my own heart to be true.”

Faramir sighed. “I know not what more I can say or do to ease her mind.”

“Nor do I. Her cares are beyond our comprehension, I fear.” Aragorn’s hands went to his sides. He was quiet for a few moments and then he said, “However, she does have request of you.”

“Anything,” Faramir said.

“She wants to be more to you than the wife of your lover, and more importantly, she wants you to be more to her than the lover of her husband.”

Faramir’s stomach fluttered in disbelief. “How so?” he asked. He did not comprehend what Arwen had in mind, but he was fairly sure that it was not in her Elven nature to want to take him as a lover. Furthermore, he did not desire it.

“Her meaning was not clear to me. She said that for balance to be restored, you and she need to…I do not know. What she said was ‘Faramir and I need to create a harmony of our own.’”

Faramir smiled at the metaphor. “Interesting,” he said. Slowly, he nodded.

Aragorn turned his head to look at Faramir. “You understand what she wants?” he asked incredulously.

“I think so,” Faramir said. “I had a dream in which Arwen was singing a beautiful song. I meant to tell her about it this morning, but she was in no mood to give me counsel.” Faramir paused, his brow furrowing. “She could not have known of the dream when she spoke to you tonight.”

“But the same thought could have come to both of you for the same reason,” Aragorn suggested. “What happened then?”

“I called out to her,” Faramir said, thoughtfully, “but I called her ‘Undómiel, my sister.’” He paused, reflecting on times that Arwen had said or done things that overcame the barriers of formality between them. “She has already named me kin more than once, but I have never presumed to do likewise, at least not in waking. Perhaps she seeks a token of her worth to me. That was also in my dream…”

“Yes?”

Faramir hesitated. “Let us speak of it later. We should take our rest.”

“I would hear it,” Aragorn said, yawning, “in the morning.”

---

Note:

³ Úmarth – ill fate

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