The Rose in Bloom
She had kissed him, entwined her fingers in his hair. She was staring at him in surprise, but he smiled warmly as he lifted the rose crown from her brow. Setting it aside, he silently, reverently untied the ribbons that held her hair and let loose the golden cascade. She sighed in delight at his soft touch, his closeness, as he smoothed the stray strands and let his hands brush against her neck and shoulders. Then cupping her face in his hands he again kissed her.
Faramir was aware, so very aware of her as she held him close, as her hands traveled over his hips and up his tunic, even as he breathed in her scent, her warmth. She found the clasp of his cape and let it fall to the floor. That was all the permission he needed, and he pulled her waist against him and found the end of the lacing on her dress. He quickly pulled at it, and felt the lace catch. Éowyn giggled against his lips. "That will be a knot now! Shall I call a maid?"
"Nay," he answered, chagrined. "I can untie a knot, though I may need more light." She led him to the table where a tall taper was alight. He moved her hair aside, and felt his body stir as she sighed again. The lacing was indeed knotted, but he quickly pulled it loose and Éowyn shrugged out of her gown. She stood before him in nothing more than a pale silken shift, all white and gold and cream-colored skin by candlelight. Now he freely caressed her warm curves, as her sighs gave way to a moan.
"You cannot make me yours with your trousers on," she breathed in his ear.
"I only await your pleasure, my lady."
His breath caught as she suddenly pulled his tunic over his head and kissed his neck and shoulders. Her hands were cool on his skin, the silk maddeningly smooth. As her passion kindled, his flared bright and hot and he pulled off her shift. Catching her up in his arms he lowered her to the bed. Fiddling with his belt buckle, Faramir gazed upon his wife as she lay disarmed and disrobed. He had brought her to his bed, not him to hers as he had imagined, but she spoke no word of protest. If anything, her smile was beckoning. But as he too disrobed, her eyes flew wide and her breath caught in fear, but only for one breath. Despite her courage, despite her love, she had lived her life in a world of constant war, and grew to womanhood hearing tales of rape and ravish. Gríma had stalked her like prey in her own hall. Faramir was the husband of her choosing, but the maiden in her sensed her peril. He knew he could not thus assail her. Retreating around the foot of the bed, he lay down beside her and let her come to him. Her fair arms embraced him, her soft, hungry kisses welcomed him to their marriage bed.
He lay atop her, felt her warm flesh beneath him, felt her yielding to his desire. Faramir was filled with sudden, desperate hunger for her. He rolled away and lay on his back, trembling as he stared at the roof of the cottage. 'Lesser men!'
Éowyn reached out, placed a soft hand on his hip. "My lord?" He heard doubt in her voice, and he laughed almost bitterly. "I am lord of no one and nothing, my lady. Not even myself."
Her hand drifted across the top of his thigh to touch him, explore him. "Forgive me Faramir," she pleaded, "only turn not away from me."
"I would not harm you, Éowyn. Not for all the world. But I do not trust myself."
"I trust you," she answered, laying on his breast and cradling her head on his shoulder.
"You know not what you say."
He felt her move and warm, moist flesh touched him. His hips rose and he moaned.
"Do I not?" she answered, smiling.
"I fear to hurt you."
Éowyn trailed soft kisses across his collarbone. "I will not let you."
"Swear it!" he gasped, his breath labored.
"I so swear." Then she lowered herself onto him, and despite himself, he rose to meet her. She was so warm, so soft! She quickly pulled away.
"I hurt you!" The knowledge swept over him as the breath of winter.
"No." She kissed his cheek. "It was the talk of being thrown from Beorhta. It brought it all back to me."
"It was my roughness..."
"Faramir!" she interrupted with a kiss. "I promised I would not let you hurt me, and I kept my word. But I am not without courage. I withstood the blows of that foul dwimmerlaik. You ought to let me fulfill your desires and not imagine me so weak."
"That you would name that fell thing in our marriage bed is answer enough. I do not imagine you to be weak, but I now know the weakness of my own will. If I hurt you now, here, on this night, I would count you a fool to ever trust me again. You may forgive me, but I would not."
She was near tears. "I would not turn you away, leave you unfulfilled, our marriage unconsummated."
He smiled and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "The rose will bloom when it will. I cannot give you bliss by force, and I will not take you save in bliss. But if you would not turn me away, you can yet give me pleasure."
"Let me try to love you once more." Before he could say it, she added, "I will not let you harm me." Again she lowered herself onto him, and this time his will held. Éowyn lay on his chest, eyes closed, shifting her hips as she learned the feel of him.
"No pain?" he asked.
"None," she smiled and rolled onto the bed. "Come make me your wife."
Again he lay atop her, felt her warm and enveloping, felt a consuming hunger fill him. He began to rock, slowly at first but quicker and stronger, until all he knew was his passion and he spent his strength in her with a groan. He collapsed onto her soft, warm body, his head pillowed on her breast, his breath coming in great gasps.
"Did I harm you, my lady?"
When she did not answer, he lifted his gaze and her smile was more than reward for all his patience this night. "My lord and husband, I have been the crutch of a king, the lord of the helpless, a shield-maiden in battle. I have been acclaimed as Wraithbane, and the noblest of the Eldar have drunk my hale. But not until this moment have I felt loved and cherished. You have done me no harm. You have made me whole."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.