Faramir Fiction Archive

The Song of the Steward and the King (NC-17)

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

Chapter 3 – A New Life

Faramir dreamed: the evening star grew ever brighter on the Western horizon, shining now like the sun. The shores of the Anduin were green and alive as far as the eye could see. When the star set, it split into many smaller stars, ever diminishing until night fell. Across the land, great stones glowed white under the light of the moon.

That morning, Faramir was joined on the wall above the Great Gate by Aragorn, Arwen, and other members of the court. Faramir’s anxiety was visible and at different times, both the King and Queen laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and spoke to him comforting words.

Faramir looked toward Osgiliath, searching for a telltale cloud of dust. He heard the horns first, though, clear notes ringing across the Pelennor, and then along the road, he finally saw the horsemen. The host from Rohan was at least 100 strong on horseback, plus several wains. At the head of the procession, Faramir could at last make out the shining helmet of Éomer and a white-clad lady riding at his side. Faramir felt the blood rush from his head and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. She had come!

Faramir and Éowyn greeted each other formally outside the gate and walked, mostly in silence, up through the city. Once they reached the Citadel, Aragorn excused himself and Arwen invited Faramir and Éowyn to the private dining room in their residence for breakfast. After they were seated, Arwen made an excuse to leave the room, so Faramir faced Éowyn alone for the first time in more than three months. She looked so grave, Faramir held his breath, as if waiting for her to at any moment announce his doom.

“You look thin,” she said.

Faramir nodded. “I have been spending much time in the wilderness. The war lingers on in the north,” he said, moving his plate away. The scent of Orc blood and the acrid stench of the Morgul Vale were still fresh enough in his memory to turn his stomach.

Éowyn pushed the plate back. “Eat. You look thin,” she repeated.

Faramir smiled at the motherly gesture and at last, Éowyn smiled back. Faramir nibbled on a piece of toast. “You look wonderful,” he said shyly. He was gratified that she blushed at the compliment.

“I am road-weary. I must be a mess,” she said without coyness.

Faramir reached across the table and took her hand. “I have missed you very much.”

This time, a broad smile graced Éowyn’s face. “Really? You sent word so seldom, I was afraid…” the smile fell from her face and Faramir again was facing his grim bride.

Faramir stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I thought of you often, but what message could I send? So often I had only terrible tales to tell and I thought it foolish to send a messenger bearing falsehoods or mere pleasantries. I am sorry, Éowyn, please don’t think…”

Éowyn gripped his hand in both of hers. “Faramir, it is nothing. Rohan, too, has been a difficult place these last few months. I have been exhausted with work, yet everything that has happened has been too mundane to trouble a messenger with. But I see you now and my heart is glad.”

Faramir felt briefly dazed by her beauty and her gentle words, but his heart ached at the pain they both bore on behalf of their kingdoms. Without willing it, the words came out: “I love you,” he said softly.

Éowyn rose and circled the table. By the time she reached him, Faramir was on his feet and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. He caressed her hair and kissed her neck, and she moved her hands hungrily over his back and shoulders. With some difficulty, Faramir broke the kiss and held her close to him, his face buried in her soft hair.

“Five more days,” Éowyn said, “and I will be yours forever.”

Those words were all Faramir needed to hear. He felt calm now, and slowly released Éowyn from his embrace. He looked into her eyes, and he saw her there, not the stranger he had greeted an hour before. She was again Éowyn to him, just as she had been in the Houses of Healing and at Edoras.

“There is much to be done today,” he said regretfully.

“For the wedding?” Éowyn asked.

“No, well, at least my tasks are of a more political nature, since so many lords and captains are arriving for the celebrations. Arwen has had some people taking care of most of the wedding plans, though I assume you will want to take charge now?”

Éowyn gave him a disgusted look and turned her back, walking to her side of the table again. “I would rather help you with your tasks.”

Faramir felt a little dismayed that Éowyn did not appear interested in the wedding. “I would welcome both your wisdom and your company, if that is your choice.”

“It is,” Éowyn said firmly.

“But the wedding?” Faramir asked, a hint of worry creeping back into his heart.

“Introduce me to whomever has been in charge until now and I will make sure everything is in order,” Éowyn said finishing her tea. “It should not take more than a day. Then tomorrow, if you have time, explain to me which captains ought to be charmed and which lords need to be scolded. I cannot help you if I continue to be an ignorant outsider.”

Faramir smiled, and felt a strange surge of pride. “I will make the time,” he said.

The wedding was held on Yestarë, the first day of the new year. The normally raucous Mettarë celebrations were held in check, in honor of the solemn occasion the next day. By noon, the nobility of Gondor and Rohan had gathered in the Hall of Feasts, which was decorated with boughs of holly and spruce, and garlands of white ribbon. Down below, throughout the city, citizens gathered in the streets waiting to hear the peal of bells from the Citadel that would signal that their brave and beloved Faramir had wed his fierce and beautiful bride.

As the musicians played a traditional Gondorian wedding song, Faramir entered, his uncle Imrahil at his side. He loved his uncle dearly, but he could not help but wish that two others were there to stand with him this day. They walked slowly to the front of the room and joined Faramir’s cousins, who were standing to the left side of the dais at the center of the room. Faramir was cheered to see that Gandalf was standing with them, and the old Wizard gave him a pat on the back as Faramir came to stand in front of him.

Then Éowyn entered with her brother, Éomer. She looked so solemn and beautiful, Faramir could not help but smile and try to catch her eye, but she kept her eyes cast down. Her wedding garb was in the Rohirric style, without a veil, though she had made a concession to Gondorian sensibilities and had agreed not to be led in upon a horse. They joined the small group of Éowyn’s kin on the right side of the dais.

The musicians finished their song and everyone in the room stood as the King and Queen entered. Aragorn went directly to the front of the room and took his place in the center of the raised dais, while Arwen went to stand with Éowyn.

Faramir gazed up at Aragorn, who looked more splendid than he had since his own wedding. It is almost as if this were another man standing before me, Faramir thought, not the clever friend I jest with by the fire, whiling away the evening over stories and goblets of wine. No, this man is the King, for whom I have waited all my life. He felt both pleased and humbled that his wedding was to be presided over by so great a man.

“Dear friends,” Aragorn began, “today we begin a new year. The first year in many which we have met without a shadow cast over us. Let us give our undying thanks to our protectors, and to those who gave their lives so that we might see this bright day dawning.”

The room was silent but for the sound the King turning so that he would also face West. Faramir closed his eyes, his emotions surging upward until he mastered them with a few deep breaths.

Aragorn turned back to face the crowd and said, “Today our joy and gratitude is magnified by the joining in marriage of Faramir, son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor,” Aragorn looked at Faramir and bowed his head in greeting, “and Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, of the royal house of Rohan.” Éowyn nodded in response to Aragorn’s greeting.

“By the custom of Gondor,” Aragorn said to them both, taking a silver chalice from the table in front of him and holding it up, “I offer you a cup of wine. May the fruit of the land give you strength and comfort, and bring forth its bounty in you.” Aragorn handed the chalice to Faramir, who drank from it and handed it to Éowyn. She looked at him solemnly for a moment before taking a sip, and handing the cup back to Aragorn.

Aragorn then took a silvery white ribbon from the table and strung it out between his two hands. “By the custom of Rohan, I will bind you one to another so that all may see the love that makes two into one, and so that you may know that what was once separate is now forever joined.”

Aragorn stepped down from the dais and Éowyn held out her hand. Aragorn draped one end of the ribbon around her wrist and then Faramir held out his hand, so that Aragorn could loop the ribbon around his wrist and tie the two ends loosely together, the ribbon forming a figure eight between them. Aragorn then took their hands in each of his and placed Faramir’s on top of Éowyn’s, still clasping their joined hands between his. Faramir felt a strong sensation of energy passing through his hand, much as he had felt from Aragorn’s touch in the Houses of Healing. He wondered if Aragorn was deliberately doing this or if the King’s touch was always so powerful.

“So that it be known to all who witness here,” Aragorn said to Éowyn, “tell me: do you accept this man to be your husband?”

“I do,” Éowyn said clearly.

Aragorn turned to Faramir and asked him, “and do you accept this woman to be your wife?”

“I do,” Faramir replied, smiling a little.

Aragorn undid the tie and placed it back on the table. Still standing by them, he said quietly, “face each other and join hands.” They did so, and Aragorn said, “Faramir, son of Denethor, what pledge to you make to this woman you have accepted to be your wife?”

Faramir took a deep breath and looked into Éowyn’s eyes. “I pledge to you my love and loyalty, and promise to share with you all that is mine, until the end of my days.”

Again, Aragorn said, “and Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, what pledge do you make to this man you have accepted to be your husband?”

Faramir thought that for a split second, Éowyn’s eyes lingered on Aragorn’s face before turning to meet his gaze. It does not matter, he thought, as long as she says the words. Even now, she will rather fall silent than make a false promise.

“I pledge to you my love and loyalty,” Éowyn said with feeling, “and promise to share with you all that is mine, until the end of my days.”

Faramir slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

Aragorn smiled and said, “let all who are gathered here to witness this wedding of Faramir and Éowyn now confirm this union as consecrated!” A cheer went up from the crowd and Faramir pulled Éowyn into his arms for a soft, sweet kiss. Outside, the bells of the city began to chime and a great roar was heard coming from the people gathered below. Faramir placed his hand against Éowyn’s cheek and smiled.

Éowyn gazed back at him solemnly and nodded. “I am yours,” she said.

Much later that day, when Faramir entered the bedchamber, Éowyn’s servants had already removed her wedding dress and she sat on the edge of the bed clad in a light nightgown. Faramir’s palms became damp and he felt a little queasy as he shut the door behind him and approached the bed. He stood a few feet in front of Éowyn and regarded her with concern.

“Here we are,” she said, smiling nervously.

“Éowyn, I do not have to stay here tonight. If you are tired, I can return to my chamber.”

Éowyn looked at him in alarm. “Is that what you want?”

Faramir examined her face, trying to discern what it was that she wanted. “I do not want to…if you would be more comfortable…” he stammered.

Éowyn rose, her eyes flashing. “Comfortable? No, I do not seek comfort this night, Faramir.” She took a step towards him, so they were less than an arm’s length apart. “I seek to be made your wife.”

Faramir’s heart pounded heavily, his eyes lingering over the curves to which Éowyn’s nightgown clung.

“Is that what you want?” Éowyn repeated, and Faramir’s eyes snapped back to her face. “Is it?”

“Of course,” he whispered hoarsely.

Éowyn reached out and touched his chest, running her hand slowly from collarbone to hip bone. Faramir shivered slightly. Éowyn grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him towards her. “You made me wait in Edoras, though I would have given myself to you then,” she said chidingly. “I will wait no longer.”

Faramir thought she would kiss him then, but instead she lay her other hand on his face, caressing his cheek, moving up and through his hair, her eyes fixed on his with a hungry gaze. Suddenly, she was pulling his shirt up and he helped her to remove it. Her hands roamed over his chest and stomach, tracing the edges of his scars with something like reverence. Her hands moved lower, exploring his reaction to her touch with a delicacy that almost made Faramir squirm.

Then she stopped and looked up at him, suddenly unsure. She was just as she had been before, when they had crept off to be alone in Meduseld during those few weeks they had together before duty called them apart again. Then, she had been both bold and uncertain, but he had not allowed her enough liberty with their private time for her to overcome her unfamiliarity with his body. He had indulged himself, though, and slaked her thirst on more than one occasion. He was eager to do so again. Selfishly, he did not want to teach her yet how to give him pleasure, and he took her in his arms, kissing her and touching her in many tender places.

He undressed her and laid her back on the bed, kissing his way down her neck to her breastbone, his hand working one nipple into hardness, and then kissing and nibbling on that one until the other one was ready for more of the same. Éowyn writhed under him, which Faramir took for pleasure, until she said, “you wretch! You would still have me behave like a maiden though I am now a married woman.”

Faramir looked up at her in surprise and then said teasingly, “but you are still a maiden, though you be married.”

Éowyn moved out from under him and flipped him over so that she could move on top of him. “You will let me look at you, and touch you,” she commanded.

Faramir felt a delicious wave of desire wash over him as Éowyn straddled his hips and gazed down at him. He ached almost painfully where her naked body pressed up against where he was still clothed. Again, she touched his face, ran her fingers through his hair, traced the vein in his neck, the line of his collar bone. Placing a hand on each shoulder, she slowly moved down his arms, feeling the curve of his muscles and the lines of the tendons near his wrists. She bent forward and kissed his neck, his shoulder, the hollow of his collar bone, the middle of his chest, her lips lingering there, lightly brushing against his hair. Tentatively, she touched his nipple with the tip of her tongue, and Faramir’s sharp intake of breath encouraged her to try the other nipple, too.

She looked up at him and smiled shyly. “I think you should remove your pants.”

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”

Éowyn moved off of him and gave him a shove. “Take them off. I am getting them wet.”

Faramir saw what she meant and longed to taste that moisture at its source. Swiftly, he removed the last of his clothing and turned back to Éowyn.

“Stop!” she said, smiling. “Do not move.”

Faramir stood still, feeling self-conscious at his state of arousal. No woman had ever looked at him this way before and he suddenly felt vulnerable and judged. Éowyn’s eyes took him in, roving his body, appraising him.

“Come closer,” she said. She lay on her side and reached out to him with one hand, touching him gently at first, then gripping him more firmly.

Faramir felt his knees weaken at her stroking and he said, “let me touch you, too.”

They lay together on the bed, exploring and pleasuring each other. Sometimes kissing, but mostly looking. Slowly, Éowyn moved on top of him again, still holding him firmly in her grasp. “I am ready,” she said.

Faramir felt his excitement surge, but he asked her, “is this the way you want…?”

She smiled slyly. “I have been riding since I was three. I will not fall off.”

Faramir chuckled and grasped her hips. “I will be a docile mount,” he said, and gasped as she slid him toward her entrance.

“You need not be. I will tame you in my own way,” she promised, and slid onto him with only a small wince. She moved slowly up and down, her eyes squeezed shut. Faramir was so absorbed in watching her face that it took a few moments for him to realize what he was feeling.

“Oh,” he suddenly moaned. “Blessed be!” He felt he was being slowly consumed by a moist heat spreading from his groin throughout his body. His hands gripped Éowyn’s hips and encouraged her to come down harder, producing a cry and a look of surprise on her face.

“Did that hurt?” Faramir asked, concerned.

Éowyn laughed. “I am not certain if that was pain or pleasure. Let me try it again.” She thrust down on him swiftly several times. “It is a pleasure, but sharp like pain,” she gasped.

Éowyn continued to experiment and Faramir distracted himself from becoming too excited by watching her face, and plying his fingers on her body. Then she lay her body down on top of his and kissed him. Faramir’s passion surged again and he pushed up into her, making her gasp. She buried her face in his neck, then whispered in his ear, “you please me.”

Faramir’s control left him then and he rolled them over so that he was on top. He pressed his body against hers, biting gently on her shoulder as he thrust into her skillfully, going just so deep and just so fast, indulging himself but holding back a little. Soon Éowyn was crying out and he felt her convulse under him. He slowed his pace and kissed her face, her eyes, her lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” she responded. “Please do not stop.”

Faramir raised himself up and gave her a taste of something slightly stronger, pushing himself rapidly toward the edge. She responded with such loud cries that he knew the servants would soon make sure everyone at court knew the White Lady was happily wedded. Her face was glistening, contorted with pleasure and it was too much for Faramir to bear. With a cry, he released into her, and collapsed into her arms. When he opened his eyes, he knew she had been watching him. For the first time, he saw a truly unguarded look on her face.

“Faramir,” she said breathlessly, “you are so beautiful.”

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/the-song-of-the-steward-and-the-king. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!