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Hot Spring (R) Print

Written by sian22

04 March 2015 | 14732 words

Title: Hot Spring
Author: sian22
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Faramir & Éowyn
Warnings: oral sex, outdoor sex

Faramir shows Eowyn a green and lovely corner of their demesne she has never seen. Along the way they discover love and desire can conquer (most) fears. A Ranger, his Shieldmaiden, a cliff rated 5.2 and rope. A birthday gift for Annafan.
Thank you so much to JuneGloom and Wheelrider for beta’ing.
Chapter 4 and 5 now up! Its finally complete


[ all pages ]

Chapter 2

A drift of nodding bluebells covered the forest floor as they wound their way up through the hills behind the house. Éowyn could not see any track that Faramir was following, but heard a stream gurgle brightly before them; presumably they were following its winding course. As they drew near it glinted in the morning sun, tumbling with abandon over rocks and caressing the withies by the bank.

A familiar upturned treeroot came into view and suddenly she knew exactly where they were. Faramir had shown her this spot before, here the wild leeks and watercress grew. She smiled with pleasure; it seemed slowly a map of their demesne was settling within her head. Faramir knew always where he was, had ranged these woods and slopes for twenty years, but for her this was still a foreign land. She looked forward to the time when it was truly home, when she need not have a guide to find her way about.

Often before they had stopped at the clear and snowfed stream to drink of icy water, but today they pressed on, climbed higher through the trees, oak and lebrethon giving way quickly to evergreens. As they rode, Faramir pointed out fox holes and nests and birds that she could not see; his keen eyes were attuned to every feature in the land.

Now and then Éowyn glanced behind, checking the pace and progress of the younger men. Bergil, in particular, seemed amazed by the land that they traversed. She suspected he was thrilled to help the Prince: he had had little chance to venture far from the village in the months since his family had moved from Minas Tirith. She knew he had been homesick, missed the city of his birth, its bustle and noise and his many friends. Now, surrounded by the green and fragrant countryside, worlds away from the dust and stone left behind, he began to look at ease.

The bracken thinned out as they climbed and Éowyn began to notice the soft green buds upon the spreading pine and tamarack. The scent of dusty, earthy bark and dry old pine was heady, but overlaid with a gentle sweetness. Drifts of white faennan lay underneath the boughs, their tiny stars of bloom just beginning to burst forth. Soon, she knew, Ithilien would be alive with the gorgeous scent of early summer.

The stream led up to one of Emyn Arnen’s many waterfalls. At this break in slope the dark rocks suddenly rose up and Faramir led them now along the level. For several candlemarks they rode quietly in single file as he concentrated on the route. Éowyn was about to ask for the umpteenth time where were they going ,when suddenly Faramir pulled the grey stallion up.

“Here.” he said, with quiet certainty. Éowyn, perplexed, saw nothing different about the spot other than perhaps a larger burr on one side of a particularly large tree.

Faramir turned back. His eyes caught hers, a light of anticipation and something she could not name glimmered in their depths. It made her stomach flutter, and for a moment she felt as if she were drowning, caught in their luminescent, storm-tossed grey.

With an effort she broke the spell. “Here what, my inscrutable Prince?” She found neither her voice and nor her hands were entirely steady. Windfola sidled, his mistress swore and the Prince grinned even wider.

“Here we dismount and walk.” He sprang lightly down and Bergil and Will quickly followed. This time Faramir did not offer her his hand, but even more maddeningly ignored her, setting about organizing their kit and unsaddling Mithros. The big grey caught Faramir’s excitement and danced around as his master fought to untie the ropes and loosen the girth. “Ion sedryn roch, gerin thala” The gentle Sindarin plea for the horse to settle was finally successful: saddle and rope at last settled on the ground.

Éowyn, meanwhile, had stubbornly stayed put. “Here? We are in the middle of nowhere. Faramir, where are we going?” Surely now he will tell her what is going on?

Her husband seemed to be aware than an explosion of temper might upset his careful plans. His wife’s frustrated tone required and received an answer.

“Down.”

Down? With his back toward her, intent upon the packs, she could not tell if Faramir was jesting.

“Down? Where…?” Reluctantly she dismounted and looked all around. Down the slope led only back to where they came from. All else she can see lead up.

Bergil and Will took their horse and led all four to an open glade beside. There they hobbled the mounts and unrolled a blanket across the forest floor; clearly they planned to bide a while. Once the young guardsmen sat they laid their daggers beside. Faramir noted with approval, they were smart lads. The lands were clear of Orcs, but it never hurt to be alert and ready. He passed them one of the larger packs and bid the young men “Enjoy your lunch.”

“You too, my Lord, my Lady.” Bergil responded shyly, flushing slightly at the Lady of Ithilien’s fuming gaze. Will, two years younger and less ready to brave his mistress’s displeasure, hid his head and investigated the basket as if it held a feast worthy of Merethrond.

The Prince then set about making himself busy, strapping the remaining blanket onto a second shoulder pack, studiously ignoring the sight of his frustrated wife as she stood, hands on hips, clearly not mollified by the crumbs of information he had laid out. She caught him risking a sidelong glance. Her lips were set, proud brow and elegant nose were in the air. The look in his eyes was admiring; he has said before that she was even more lovely when angry. Clearly, her lord was enjoying her flushed and furious beauty a little too much.

Éowyn knew by the muscle quirking in Faramir’s cheek that no more information would be forthcoming for the moment. Resigned, she walked over to stand beside and help to hold the buckles clear. The quirk became a smirk, and emboldened by her reluctant surrender, his fine long fingers brushed across her wrist.

She snatched her hand away. Foolish man to think this was truly a surrender, not the feint it was; designed to gleam more needed information.

Mindful of the guards still in earshot she sent out a thought. “You will pay for this, you know.” With relish she imagined torturing him, tickling his ribs, until gasping helplessly, he told her what was going on.

The smirk broadened into a lascivious grin. “Oh I hope so.”

Bema preserve her from gifted Dunadan. Of course, he had caught her thought.

Settling the straps of the pack across his shoulders he passed her the coils of rope. “Would you mind carrying these? It is not so far.”

Desperate straights required desperate measures. She tried her most extravagant, pleading pout. “Faramir?”

His bark of laughter was quickly stilled; she had placed a hand upon his arm, caressed softly the corded muscles that held the pack.

“That is not playing fair, my love.” he whispered, a little breathlessly. Carefully he turned his back to the two young men. Before she could answer his spare hand reached up and cupped her cheek. A callused thumb brushed lightly across her pouting lip.

Desire and determination warred for space in the grey depths that met her own flashing, stormed-tossed gaze. She was a shieldmaiden; she knew how to remain unmoved in the face of an implacable enemy. “It is only what you deserve, you cruel-hearted, stubborn cur.”

“For that insult I will take a penalty.” Swiftly, his dark head dipped and her lips were pressed with a fierce and searing kiss. Tumbling, weak with a sudden liquid warmth, she grabbed his arms, molded her body next to his, searched blindly for a foot hold in the storm of his desire.

But as quickly as it came the storm passed on. Dizzy and gasping, starved of needed air, she was released from the onslaught of his mouth. His voice, when he spoke, was low and teasing; he knew full well the effect he was having on her senses. “Patience. Patience my furious, fair flower. You are only serving to delay us even more.” Once again, he shook his head and grabbed her hand.

“Bema’s balls.” It seemed nothing could entice him to spoil the surprise. Her oath was lost amongst the trees. He pulled her along behind, and heaving a sigh, she followed his tall form, dodging the sharp boughs and occasional dead tree that littered the forest floor.

They walked for while but gained only a little height, until the trees thinned out and they came suddenly on the edge of another slope.

The land fell away and before them lay a deep, steep-sided ravine. From its edge she could see across a few hundred yards to the farther side: the rock was very dark, its straight layers easily discerned through the few green plants that held purchase on its sheer, forbidding face. All within the ravine itself was green, the tops of the trees lay below its rocky shoulder. Clearly it was very deep.

“Here, my love, the adventure begins.” Faramir grinned and gestured for her to pass him the coil of rope.

A slightly queasy feeling settled in her stomach. Oh Bema. Down. He had said down. They had rope and there was a ravine and they were to go down.

Suddenly the memory of Amrothos swam into view, slightly tipsy at their wedding feast, laughing and telling one of many stories of her bridgegroom’s childhood. “Faramir climbed to the top of the frieze in Merethrond one Yule and Uncle Denethor thrashed him soundly for it.”

“We are going to climb down that?” she squeaked, watching him tie both the ends of the larger coils of rope around a tree nearby. “The surprise is at the bottom?” The thought set her heart to pounding and her palms became slightly damp.

“Uhummmm.” Faramir was busy concentrating, using an odd looking array of knots to secure the lines, mind only partly on what his now frankly terrified wife was saying.

“But I don’t know what to do!”

He peered over the edge, adjusted the ropes to lie upon some bracken near the lip. “I will show you, love. It is perfectly safe and not that far.” He looked up, face shining with excitement, picked up a shorter length of rope. “I happen to know from experience how strong your arms are, min heorte, you will have no trouble. Here, let me tie you in.”

From within the pack he took an iron ring. She stood still and hardly breathed as the rope was passed through and he laid it across her hips, twined the ends around her back and crossed them down through her legs and up the ring again. The loose ends were wrapped around again and finally knotted across one thigh. It made a sort of cradle and was not uncomfortable, merely awkward. Faramir tugged hard upon the knot to test it strength, it did not budge. Satisfied with his handiwork he reached for the other short rope and ring and tied a similar kit around himself.

For several eternal minutes she listened, heart thumping, as he explained in detail how they were to descend. The loose end of the longer rope was passed through the iron ring, around her waist and up to coil several times about her forearm. He showed her how to grip the rope to stop; how to let it slide slowly as she moved. It felt rough and unfamiliar. Suddenly, she was thankful for the thick riding gloves and leather tunic.

When he grabbed the coil and tossed it out, let it disappear over the edge of the precipice, her heart pounded even faster. This was in earnest, she was truly going to follow its steep descent.

“My brave Shieldmaiden. Here we go.” Faramir went first, demonstrating the motion and the hold. Secured by the rope, she followed; mouth dry and heart now positively hammering in her chest. She tried to imitate his movements, to remember what he had said, stepped her feet lightly down on the dark rocky surface and let the rope run through her fingers bit by bit. Nervously, she rested her weight against the loose harness at her waist.

Perched for an endless moment right at the edge, with his urging she took the biggest step, moved out into the clear air of ravine. It felt exciting and terrifying and liberating all at once. She hung suspended, feet flat against the wall, enveloped all around by blue.

“Follow me love, feel for your footholds and don’t forget to breathe.” Faramir’s smile was encouraging. He had no doubt that she could do this. She, however, was not quite so sure.

The soft boots gave her a better feel for the rock and where to step, yet still she found herself wishing to be back up on top, back standing once again.

Éowyn watched Faramir move beside. He was so at ease with his body and what it could do, so sure of his footholds and touch and balance that he made it look as if he was dancing on the rock. It would have been maddening if it wasn’t so ludicrously attractive, watching a man so centrally present within his body, reveling in what he could make it do.

She tried to follow his instructions, stepped lightly down for each new foothold, tried to find a rhythm to the work. All was well, until after several minutes of steady descent her toe jostled a loose pebble on a tiny ledge. Suddenly her body jerked, she gripped hard the coil; the rope stretched and tightened. Unexpected and unfamiliar, the motion made her body shake like a leaf. Fine, it is fine, she told herself, as she took several deep calming breaths.

She resettled her feet. Slowly her body stopped its trembling, her heart left her throat and risked a glance at her husband just a few feet away.

Faramir was singing. She had not heard it in her nervousness. Of course. Of course, he was. Shaking her head, emboldened by his apparent total lack of concern, Éowyn started down again. This time she found that the farther down she moved the more precarious she felt. ‘Do not look down!’ she told herself. It was not the idea of the height nor her position that was frightening. She didn’t want to know how very much farther it was; the bottom was out of sight and it seemed a long, long way to the very bottom.

Anxiously she held taught to the rope and tried to steady her feet once again. Faramir’s forearm held the rope beside and it lay just beyond her elbow. It was comforting to have him near, but it could not overweigh the mounting anxiety she felt. Her heart hammered harder with every passing minute; fear was winning over exhilaration and she knew not how to change its course.

Faramir looked over and his smile faded as he caught the expression on her face. She was white and panting, struggling to master the feelings that had taken over.

“Stay there.” he sent, and quickly worked his way down to perch just a foot below. Almost she was cradled by his hips and thighs; she could feel the warmth of his body against her back. His forearm flexed and now he moved up to meet her, his body strong and steady, a shield from the forest floor below. She could feel the muscles of his chest move against her. His lips were soft upon her ear and his breath huffed against her cheek. “I have you my love, lean back into me.” His voice, warm and reassuring, brushed her thoughts. “I will hold you.”

She took a deeper breath and steadied herself against his embrace for several minutes. They stayed perched that way while her heartbeat slowed and she breathed more freely once again. A feeling of determination bubbled up; she was not going to have him carry her all the way down.

“I want to try again. I think I can do it.” She felt his proud smile against her cheek. An encouraging, breathy kiss behind her ear was her reward.

“As you will, min heorte, but let me know right away this time if you need help.”

Slowly and steadily they both moved their feet downward together once again. Now she was more sure, less anxious each time that her feet moved on the warm black rock.

In time it became a rhythm: slip the rope, move her feet and stabilize. Before long she found they had passed the tops of the spreading trees and the forest floor had come into view. This sent a thrill of anticipation through her veins. Just a few feet farther, she thought with great relief.

Unlike the dusty pine understory they had left above, the ground she could now see was lush with yew and laurel. Drifts of purple violet, white anemone and blue foamflower surrounded a carpet of glossy, dark green periwinkle leaves. She felt warmed from the exercise but also she realized, from the air around. It was heavier, moist and warmer, with a scent that was heady and intense. The closer they came to the ravine floor the more it filled her senses. There was also a scent she could not place, slightly bitter, acrid but moist.

After what seemed an age, her feet reached out and touched flat, solid ground. The relief was almost overwhelming. Her knees gave way a little, her legs shook with tension and the unaccustomed effort. Quickly Faramir reached out to steady her with an arm about her waist.

“Well done!” The quick hug he gave was reassuring, as was the kiss upon her cheek. She felt proud and thrilled and terribly relieved.

Carefully he undid the ropes and rings and laid them beside the guide ropes at the bottom.

Released at last, she looked around at the hidden, lush and fragrant world they had entered. The trees were softly green and the dense carpet of flowers lay all about. It seemed miles away from the drier spring woods up above. She thought she caught faintly the sound of rushing water. There must be another waterfall nearby.

“Faramir, this is beautiful.”

“Indeed it is, but we are not there yet. Come see.” Her husband was practically bouncing in his excitement.

Still panting a little from the effort and thrill of something new, she followed as he walked towards the sound of the waterfall, pushing aside the bushes as they moved. The floor of the ravine was covered by green and grey mosses; they were soft underfoot and she thought she caught the scent of early thyme.

They walked for several minutes and as they did, the hiss and gurgle of running water became a roar; the bright trills and song of the many birds were quickly drowned by its voice. The air grew heavier yet again; the slightly bitter, sharp scent was now all pervasive as steam drifted through the trees toward them.

As they stepped from the forest cover out into a wide, steam-blurred glade, Éowyn looked up, mouth open, rapt in wonder. A curtain of green and steaming water fell straight from the precipice high above, tumbling and foaming, a thundering cascade that case to rest in a broad, mist-shrouded pool. On the rocks and about the water’s edge moss grew thickly, softening the tiers of shining pink and gold and purple rime that coated the pool and rocks behind.

Faramir, eyes shining, turned and swept his arm through the warm, moist air. “This, my Lady of Ithilien, is your very own private hot spring.


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

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3 Comment(s)

Thank you so much! Looking forward to the next two chapters. I love the way your take on Faramir is so good at teasing his impatient Eowyn.

— Annafan    Sunday 16 November 2014, 8:37    #

Thanks Anna! Just wait and see what he has in store. Hope your birthday day is fantastic

— sian22    Sunday 16 November 2014, 17:37    #

Dear sian22,
Could you give me your premit to translate this amazing fic and show my best friend? She can’t read English, and doesn’t know LoTR, but I’m sure she must have enjoyed it! Thank you!

— Lili    Monday 14 March 2016, 11:52    #

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