Faramir Fiction Archive

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

Written by Raihon

19 March 2006 | 32932 words

Chapter 9 – Éowyn’s Hunger

The next day Faramir was preoccupied with complaints from the settlers of Ithilien about the lack of roads, supplies, attention, and so on that Minas Tirith was able to provide them, with demands on his time by various lords of the Council hoping to have him bend the ear of the King on their behalf, and other matters which, in short, distracted him from his heart’s desire, which was to return to the library to conduct more research on the farmlands of Gondor. He needed concrete acreage estimates to match with the troop size numbers, and more data on transit times between military posts and major agricultural centers.

At supper time he entered the formal dining hall, where he saw Arwen in her chair at the head of the table. He bowed slightly to the Queen and she smiled at him in a knowing way that made him blush a little. But then he saw that Éowyn’s chair was empty, so Faramir asked the Queen’s leave and went to seek his wife. He found her in their chamber, gazing out the window with the glass thrown wide open, a cold breeze ruffling her hair.

“Darling, you’ll catch a chill” Faramir exclaimed, reaching to shut the window.

“Stop,” Éowyn commanded, holding her hand against the open window. “I want to smell the spring air.”

Faramir grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe and draped it around her shoulders. “You were not at dinner.”

Éowyn shook her head. “I could not go.”

“Because of Aragorn?” Faramir asked, fearing that his hopes were turning false.

Éowyn shot him a spiteful look that then softened. “It is true that I wished not to see him, to question him with my eyes and receive his cool stare in reply. But that is not why I did not attend dinner. I simply cannot bear to be around these courtiers another day! I must return to our home where I can be of some use. I will leave tomorrow. I cannot live another day in this tomb of a city.”

Faramir frowned, for there was yet another day before he could depart. It hurt him that Éowyn did not yet love the city of his birth, but more than that, he detected in her words the recurring darkness that had dogged her days for over a year now. Concerned, he laid his hand upon his wife’s forehead.

“I am not ill!” she insisted.

“No, but you are not wholly well, either. Did your thoughts dwell on your Uncle today? Did you spend long hours looking, as you are now, towards the Pelennor Fields?”

“I did. This day I have been utterly useless and lost to the world,” she confessed. After a moment, Faramir saw a tear run down Éowyn’s cheek. She roughly wiped it away. “How many homes of this land have been taken by fire, and how many have lived a hard year mourning their master?” she asked sorrowfully. “Hundreds of women and children with nowhere else to go passed the winter in the shelter of the crumbling walls of this city. The lands are scorched, the towns are ruined…” she took a deep, ragged breath.

Faramir reached out to touch her cheek, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him to her. “There is so much to do! We must rebuild our world, and sow new life,” she said with great intensity, fixing Faramir with the blue fire of her eyes.

Faramir felt his pulse race and a thrill shudder through him as his wife stood up from the window ledge and grasped his shoulders. She was so beautiful and fierce, he felt she could slay him with a look.

“For the love of this land and those we have lost, we must make new life,” Éowyn said, and kissed Faramir passionately.

Faramir swept her up in his arms and lay them both down in the bed. Éowyn’s fingers tore at his clothes and her teeth scraped his neck. Faramir found it arousing and not a little frightening trying to subdue her. He pinned her beneath his weight and kissed her, his tongue diving deep into her mouth. He bit down hard on the place where her neck met her shoulder and she let out a cry, and, holding her by her wrists, he slid down to gently bite her left nipple through her gown. “Faramir!” she cried out, and then as a command, “I need you now! Take me now!”

Faramir felt lost in a frenzy like he had never known with his wife, with whom he had ever been gentle. Quickly he released himself from his breeches and shoved Éowyn’s skirts around her waist. As swiftly as he could, he rid her of her underclothes. She was moaning through her teeth in impatience when he finally found himself flung on top of her and plunging his sex all at once inside her.

“Aaa-aaah!” Éowyn yelled, clawing at his back. “Yes, yes, my love,” she gasped as he drove into her.

A part of Faramir felt he was watching their lovemaking through a cloud, and he wondered at this animal force that possessed them both. He heard himself grunting with each deep thrust, and he felt himself digging his teeth into the velvet cloth on her arm in response to her brutal touch that ripped the shoulder seam of his shirt.

Éowyn’s cries were long howls, punctuated by what sounded like sobs, though Faramir saw no tears. Faramir thought to hold back and slow the pace, but Éowyn’s hands were on his hips, pulling him in faster and faster.

“More, more!” she said, her face clenched in a grimace. “Ayii! Ara – mir, oh, Faramir,” she sobbed.

Faramir felt his heart stop for just a moment, as if it were helping him listen for what he thought he just heard. But when he slowed, Éowyn brought her legs down from around his waist and, planting her feet, thrust up at him.

“Do not stop, my love, do not slacken your pace,” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

At the sound of her words, Faramir felt a column of fire engulf him, and he felt his need darken to match the hunger of his wife. Roughly, he flipped Éowyn over onto her stomach and, laying his nearly full weight on her back, he took her again and wrought from her such screams that she had to stifle them in the pillow. At last he felt he was nearing his peak, and he punctuated his thrusts with whispers into Éowyn’s ear: “we – will – live!” he gasped. As he released into her, Faramir’s cry arose from deep within him but trailed off into a whimper.

Faramir buried his face in the soft fabric on his wife’s back and let out a few sobs, feeling drained and caught between the past and the future. Far from driving away Éowyn’s sadness, he had drawn it into himself and called to his mind many thoughts best left behind. Grief weighed him down and he felt again the touch of the shadow, though it was only a memory. Éowyn moved out from under him and cradled his head on her breast, but he felt she had no comfort to spare for him. After but a few moments, Éowyn was on top of him, rubbing herself against him, her eyes still hungrily searching his face. He knew not what she sought. He was bereft.

Éowyn removed Faramir’s shirt and showered his inert body with kisses, stroking his nipples with her tongue. He tried to push her off, “it is too soon, love. Let me finish you,” he said weakly, but she then grabbed his arms and pinned them to the bed.

“I need you,” she said, rubbing her entire body against his, the velvet of her dress softly caressing his bare skin. “I need you more, again,” and she dropped down between his legs and gently cradled his limp flesh in her mouth, softly licking, delicately sucking, until she felt his response.

Faramir felt the room start to turn and he tried to take long, deep breaths to steady himself. He knew all was not right with her and he thought he should stop her, but he desired her so! His wife’s fiery mouth worked on him until she could take him again. Straddling his hips, she drove down on him with all her weight, and she ground herself against him until she let out a series of guttural sobs. Then she was ferocious again, using her nails and teeth on his arms, neck and chest, and Faramir felt he was making love to a ghost who wanted to take him with her to the grave.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her down to face him. “Éowyn,” he said sharply, frightened by her. “I love you,” and he put his hand on the back of her head and gently guided her lips to his. “Very soon, you will feel whole again, I promise,” he murmured into her mouth.

Éowyn rolled off him and lay on her back. Faramir curled himself around her, and pulled the covers over both of them, for the window was still open. Éowyn lay very still now, gazing up at the ceiling and spoke not, and Faramir knew that she had yet to be fully healed. And, perhaps, so had he.

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