Title & Chapter Number: Brother/Sister 9/11
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website:
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters I just make them do rude things.
Warnings: Het, Incest
Betas: Nope
Cast: Éomer/Éowyn
Timeline: TTT/RotK
Spoilers: Maybe TTT & RotK
Summary: In their separate rooms, Éomer and Éowyn start to deal with the consequences of the night they have spent together; the story takes a not unrelated detour through the royal bedchamber of Aragorn and Arwen (but if I linger there a little longer than necessary please forgive me - I've been in love with Aragorn since I was eleven :) ); and Éomer has cause to realise he must play a part in whatever comes next for Éowyn and Faramir.
Notes: The comment Arwen reports Éomer making to Gimli is actually canon, see RotK, 'Many Partings' - the image of Éomer's jaw dropping when faced with the beauty of Elven babes always makes me laugh...
In his chair by the window of his chamber, Éomer had made a pillow of his forearms upon the window ledge and rested his head upon them, half awake and half drawn down into dreams as the morning breeze slipped through the open window and lightly stirred strands of his golden hair across his face. He knew he should return to his bed for proper rest and yet, with Éowyn so recently gone from him, he could not quite bear to do so. Every sweet pleasure he had ever ached for since their first touch had been lived there this night, it had been their bed of love - and now it was his bed of loss. Such was the price he had agreed to when she came to him and he did not send her away, the price he accepted for learning beyond doubt that she had desired him as much as he ever had her and for letting that desire have its way with them at last. He knew he should simply start paying it.
I will go and lay me down soon, he told himself in his moments of fitful awareness. Soon, soon - just not quite yet.
~*~*~*~
Éowyn stood before the great carved oaken wardrobe in her bedroom. Her tears had ceased to flow at last, but new ones threatened as she surveyed the row of dresses within, their lustrous colours glowing even in the pale morning light but bringing her no pleasure.
"My very gowns reproach me for my faithlessness," she murmured.
There, that was the first one I ever wore in the style of Gondor, the one the women of the Houses of Healing brought me when I would no longer lie abed but bid the Warden bring me to Faramir as he who held sway in Minas Tirith, little knowing I was meeting the man who would be my mate.
Here his mother's blue and silver mantle he put about my shoulders as we stood together on the city walls looking east in hope and fear, and when he gently kissed my forehead my whole being trembled at the touch of his lips against my skin and my heart whispered to me that we loved each other, though I trusted it not.
Éowyn's eyes passed on over the fabrics before her.
Here the gown I wore the day we stood upon the walls together once more and he, stronger than I, dared to lay bare his love and ask for mine, and my heart, justified and blazing, laid itself to his and we cleaved to one another in the sight of all the city.
Her fingers strayed softly and caressingly over a dress of wine-coloured velvet. This I wore the evening of that same day, when I came to him and we loved each other for the first time. As he slid it from my shoulders and pressed his hands and his mouth to my naked flesh I thought I would melt into nothingness at his touch, so gentle, so naturally deft and arousing and able to draw forth my own passion.
My beloved, my betrothed, Éowyn keened silently, I never meant to betray the sweet mystery between us. When I gave myself to you I did not know my love born in Rohan lived in me still, so strong and deep it must one day take its due.
She shook her head sadly and her hands continued to travel over silk and velvet, cunning beading, gorgeous embroidery.
That one I wore the day he first showed me the length and breadth of his city, his heart bursting with pride. This one of red silk in Edoras when we laid Theoden to rest - for we wore our brightest colours to honour his glory - and the sadness of the day was gifted with a crown of happiness as our troth-plighting was heralded at the feast in the great hall that night. Oh how Éomer showed all the nobility in his being then, to give the tidings to our guests and be the first to wish us joy.
Éowyn's fingers closed around the soft sleeve of the gown and she drew a swift breath.
She saw in her mind Éomer drawing her to him late that evening as the gathering broke for sleep at last. He gently kissed her cheek, then drew back to look at her, the red silk glowing upon her body and her face shining with joy.
"You burn like a sweet flame of love, my lady sister. May you ever thus be a beacon for us all. Glad am I for your happiness, little one."
Well, she had known that to be true from the moment they had been reunited in Minas Tirith on his return from battle. She also knew it was true he wanted her still, even though he had pressed his wanting so deep it was but an occasional flicker behind his eyes, even though he did not speak of it.
And surely it was better that way, Éowyn had thought, as Faramir came up to bid Éomer goodnight and she watched the two men dearest to her in all the world clasp each other at shoulder and forearm in respect and affection, better to let rest in silence the brief moments of anguished pleasure she and Éomer had shared. It seemed cruel to talk of them if they plagued him still while fate had borne her far away from their thrall.
Ay, but not so far as I imagined then, she reflected now. Not so far my desires could not return to me, seizing me with double vengeance for the time I had denied them and locked them away at the bottom of my heart.
She let fall the red silk and traced across the gown beside it.
This one Faramir had made for me as a present because he likes its colour on me so much, the same deep blue as his mother's mantle. Indeed the same blue of the sleeping gown I wear now, she thought, the gown I went to Éomer in. I had not thought of it that way when I put it on.
Thank the gods my wedding dress is still with the seamstresses or I would stab myself through the heart.
But in the same breath she snorted wryly at herself. Dramatics will avail you nothing, woman. Live with the choices you have made and, may it please you, sometime before the ending of the world choose a gown so you might seek out Faramir and learn your fate of him.
At last she picked out a simple day dress that held no memories to torment her further, laying it upon the bed while she untied her robe and shook its softness from her shoulders. She dared not look in the mirror until she was fully clothed again, frightened that in her fevered state she might see both her loves twined about her naked body, dark hair and blond trailing gently across her as warm, full mouths pressed kisses upon her soft flesh. But with her dress upon her she felt armoured, and looked levelly in the glass at her shadowed eyes and pale face, even if she trembled a little as she drew herself to her full height.
I am Éowyn of Rohan. I am strong, and proud. I have been caught in a vice of two passions, and if, in escaping it, I have laid waste to the future I looked to with my mate, then will I be like the fox that tears its own limb to escape the trap - ever after maimed, but free. As Éomer is free, no longer hostage to fearing our love was a freak of desperate minutes one night in Edoras and a dark delusion of his loneliness thereafter. As Faramir is free, free to choose a flawed imperfect woman who loves him truly, or discard her, with good reason, for the pain she has caused him. He must act as his heart directs him, and I will live by its decree.
I am Éowyn of Rohan. Though I should lose all I have gained and my heart break within me, yet there is work for me to do in this new world free from Shadow, and I will endure.
She blinked at her image in the mirror, set her chin, and turned towards the door.
And to her surprise, she felt her shield-maiden's blood, unbidden, start to throb in her veins as though she headed into battle, and as it spurred her body into action she heard what it was singing.
Come what may, I will not give him up without a fight.
~*~*~*~
In the royal bed-chamber, as she lay wrapped in Aragorn's arms, consciousness returned to Arwen Evenstar's lovely eyes and in the space of one gentle heartbeat she sensed new currents moving through the palace, as if she breathed them in through the ether and they subtly mixed with the pulse of her blood.
And for all I know that is how it happens, she thought to herself. Perhaps one day my people will understand just how it is that we sense the vibrations of the souls around us, or those cared for by us even when far away.
Right now she simply accepted that she knew, and felt with relief, that a weight she had carried for two people she loved had lifted in the night's dark hours while she had shared herself with her lord and slumbered sweetly and contentedly with him in the aftermath. But of course she knew the weight was not really gone, it had simply shifted in the balance.
Aragorn, ever sensing when she had awoken, stirred next to her, and placed a sleepy good morning kiss next to her ear. She stroked his cheek softly.
"It is in train, love," she murmured. "Éowyn and Éomer - they are free. If nothing else, they are free."
Aragorn's grey eyes flickered into awareness. Gods, here was a fraught topic to be woken to.
He grumbled softly, and stretched his arms back against the headboard. It made him uncomfortable to be privy to the meaning behind Arwen's words and yet he could hardly blame her that it should be so. Days ago, noticing her increasingly creased brow and moments of distraction, telltale signs that she was carrying someone's secret burden, he himself had pressed her for the reason. And it had not really surprised him that it had to do with Éomer, for the shadow on their friend's soul had been clear to all those who loved him from the moment he had arrived in Minas Tirith, try to hide it though he might. Aragorn's own sharp eyes had noticed Arwen and Éowyn talking intently together at the water's edge the day before, and the swiftly veiled glances had that passed between the Rohan kin as they all started back for the city. From these things he judged both that matters had moved beyond the confines of Éomer's tortured heart to touch his sister once more and that his own lovely wife had decided, rightly or wrongly, that the time had come to speak her mind. Arwen had confessed as much to him yesternight when they retired to their chamber, for having gone to Éowyn in quiet assurance she was now wracked with doubt.
Aragorn chuckled inside thinking about her pacing their chamber, trailing bits of her clothing around the four corners of the room as she took them off. It is the human in me that I should be thus distressed, she fretted, if I were wholly Elven I would simply make my choice to act and live serenely with the consequences.
Yes, yes, and all I would then have to do would be to come and dust you on your pedestal of certainty once in awhile, he had smiled at her. I like you a little vexed from time to time, my love. It gives me interesting options to offer in order to calm you down.
She had thrown a shoe at him at that point, noting that it was interesting that with so many options he always ended up offering her the same one, but it had not been long before she had come and pressed herself against his warm body, which was as aching and longing for her as always, and indeed she murmured to him sometime later before they both fell asleep that she felt as calm and serene as any Elf could wish for, let alone one with human blood in her veins.
Now he looked at her beautiful face as she watched him expectantly, needing his input, and his heart skipped a beat with love for her. He gave a last yawn to shake off the night and sat up, taking her soft hand in his.
"So they have loved each other then, our firebrand king and his sister of the covered flame?"
"Ay, love," said Arwen, "as I judge they were fated to from the moment they first touched, the night before the Rohirrim rode to the aid of Gondor."
"Ah, 'tis long to wait."
Arwen smiled gently. "Father made you wait far longer for me."
Aragorn nodded in remembrance of their years of patient abiding.
"But he did not tell me I should never have felt love for you at all, which is what their own hearts would have chided them all this while, I imagine."
"Ay, I felt it," said Arwen, simply. "It could hardly be otherwise."
"Well if they have found their peace and healing at last, I am glad. But my heart is heavy for Faramir. He will have walked a long and lonely road this night."
Arwen looked at him searchingly. "You believe that she told him she would go to Éomer?"
"I doubt it not, love. Her Rohan pride is too strong to let her go skulking around in corridors in the dead of night behind her mate's back. I am sure when next we see Faramir even I without your Elven eyes will see this to be true."
"He is strong enough to bear it." Arwen wished her certainty could be total.
Aragorn sighed a little. "Ay, strong enough, if his own pride allows."
"I pray he sees with his heart, not his pride. She is worth his loving."
"I venture it is not her worth that will decide him."
Her husband's unspoken doubts only fuelled Arwen's own.
"He must love her still, he must. I could not bear it if he does not."
Aragorn smiled. "Oh, you could not bear it? Well certainly then, he must take her back for your sake."
She made a small noise of exasperation. "Estel, you know I made her think about going to Éomer, really think about letting it be, rather than remaining some fantasy to torment her for the rest of her days. And if it falls out that I have counselled her ill... no, I could not bear it. You should not tease me."
"Ah love, then you should not make such an adorable face when I do, it only encourages me."
Arwen glared at him, and just in case she started casting around for another shoe he gathered her to him and spoke softly against her dark hair.
"Firstly, sweetest, you didn't make anything happen, because as you and I know only too well, no one makes Éowyn of Rohan do anything she does not wish to do. If you helped her see her true heart sooner than she might have otherwise, then you have done both her and Faramir a great service. Think if they were married, had spoken their vows of fidelity before each other and all Gondor, and still this errant passion with Éomer must one day run its course - how much deeper would the pain drive then? It would destroy them all. No love, your path was wiser. Better Faramir suffers through to take her back with a clean heart than such utter ruin later on, better even if the worst happens and there can be no marriage. At least all will have their honour."
"Oh honour," scoffed Arwen. "An overrated quality in the face of such pain as that would be. More pain between three than two have suffered up to now, and that has been cruelly. No, he must take her back."
"He would spite his own future if he did not, but who can say how much time he will need?"
"We must help him, love. We must help them all."
Aragorn stroked her raven tresses. "It is a noble endeavour, my queen. I believe if necessary I would weigh in and seek to aid you as you set yourself to some more meddling in the affairs of men."
Arwen nipped his shoulder, making him yelp. "You are teasing me again."
He laughed. "Yes I am. Are you making that face again? I can't see."
She lifted her lovely eyes to his. "You mock me, Estel. How could I not care for them and want to aid them, even if I had had not the slightest part in what has happened this night. They are our friends. I love them. You do too."
As always, when the full power of her blue crystal gaze was upon him, he felt his heart melting, and he kissed her ruby lips softly.
"Ah sweet, of course I love them, and will do all I can. But I have to mock you a little. How else can I pretend to myself that you do not utterly own my whole soul? 'Tis just a slave's small useless rebellion against the total power of his mistress."
"His mistress?" Arwen's voice dropped into its low throaty register, the sound that always made his manhood twitch against his thighs. Gods be thanked this was no occasion of state, when she would quite often say a few casual words to him in this tone just to torment him.
"Ay, mistress." Aragorn's voice dropped to match Arwen's. He had never quite realised it had exactly the same effect on her as hers on him.
"What kind of mistress? The kind who does this perhaps?" she asked, and slid her hand against his silken arousal. He gave a soft gasp.
"Or this?" She started to work him gently in her hand and nuzzled at his earlobe, taking it in her teeth then swirling her tongue inside his ear, setting a direct line of electricity straight to his groin while he grunted involuntarily.
"Or perhaps this?" Her fingers danced small miracles across his flesh while she fell hungrily upon his mouth, forcing his lips open with her tongue so they could taste each other.
"Was that the kind of mistress you were talking about, love?" she breathed against him.
"Was I talking?" Aragorn murmured. "I can't remember. My senses have clouded, you'll have to forgive me. Old age I imagine. That or my wife stroking my manhood."
She continued to slide her hand deliciously upon him, nuzzling his cheek and lips.
"Oh, you were talking about me being a mistress and you being a slave."
"Mmn," he grunted quietly. "An utter slave."
"Well," she whispered, biting and licking at his other earlobe, "I command my slave to do this..."
She slid his free hand between her legs, and unerringly he slid two fingers inside and began to work her soft flesh in the way she loved. She gave a low, delighted purr.
"See, my slave knows me, knows just want I want."
He pressed his mouth to hers for a long, burning kiss while they writhed against each other in shared pleasure. When they broke apart her skin was flushed with desire, and she felt scorched by the love in his grey eyes.
"Now I command my utter slave to please me... utterly."
She rolled gracefully onto her back and spread her thighs for him as she drew him down and pressed his hips against her. Her flesh was so wet and wanting he could slide into her in one slick motion, and as ever they moaned out their mutual wonder at this moment, he sheathed in her sweetness, engulfed by the beauty of her, she impaled and glorying in the feel of his hard length, drowning in desire.
He tenderly spread her arms out and they clasped hands as he began to move in her, and she against him, building the rhythm that was always familiar yet always new, and for long moments they were lost in the sweetness of it. Then, as Aragorn felt their climax starting its long slow build, something else unexpectedly started to happen also. He looked into his beloved's face, her beautiful lips slightly parted and her eyelids drooping in her passion, and began to feel some strange power emanating from her and wrapping around them both. Man and Elvenkind mating as they were, they had both become used to moments of rapture that one might feel and the other sensed but did not fully enter into - they were of similar flesh, but not the same flesh, and they had learned not to be intimidated by these differences. It had only added to the mystery each held for the other, it had only enhanced the moments when they were perfectly, completely in tune.
But this feeling was not something Aragorn had ever experienced before. It was as though it danced through his body and blurred his sight, and then, with a jolt that was yet no jolt but utterly gentle, he had the distinct sensation that he and Arwen were not alone in their bed, that indeed he and Arwen were not simply he and Arwen, but strangely sharing their beings with two others. His vision cleared - or did it but become more clouded? - and beneath him he saw Lady Éowyn of Rohan, her yellow hair spread out like a golden blanket, her head thrown back and her body arching against him. He gasped both in a kind of horror and total pleasure while she gripped his manhood as he drove into her.
"Éomer, Éomer love," she breathed rapturously, and he realised that this woman both flesh and dream did not see him or feel him as such, but rather her brother the golden stallion of the Rohirrim. In a daze he looked down and found the arms that stretched across her were broad and tanned, his chest wide and deep, the hips that bucked against her and shape of manhood thrusting into her not his own, although he felt every sensation within his own body. He felt the sweet pleasure of her tight embrace, and when he looked back to her lovely face her grey-blue eyes flickered open and she looked at the face above her with utter adoration.
"Oh love," she breathed, "oh love..."
She drew him down into the sweetest of kisses, suffused with passion and tenderness, and he understood now as never before how Éomer, having tasted her a little, must have burned unto his grave unless he tasted her fully. And he felt the need in her also, how her strong, compelling brother had claimed a part of her soul she could not give to Faramir until she had taken Éomer to herself at last. He knew he could ride with them until their fulfillment came, their release into freedom and joy, and the siren call of the hips bucking beneath him were almost enough to seduce him there, but with his soul he rebelled. He wanted only his own sweet wife beneath him, only the love of his heart sharing his bed.
"Arwen, Arwen!" he cried out, not sure if it was his own voice making the sound, or his anguished spirit. "Arwen, beloved, I beg you, come back to me..."
A flash of white light tore through him, and something like pain, and then it was Arwen once more beneath him, raven hair not golden spread out around her, her blue eyes hazy as if waking from a dream.
"Oh my own sweet love, thank the gods..."
"Estel..."
He covered her ruby mouth in a fevered kiss. Her hands clenched his more tightly and he stayed locked to her mouth while he pounded ferociously into her, seeking to claim her as his own more deeply than ever before, take her inside himself so she would know every part there belonged to her. He was steel, he was liquid, he was fire inside her: she was the earth, she was the sea, she was the moon, she was his one beloved breaking their kiss to moan his name over and over, and as she reached her climax the sweet spasms of her body locked around his called forth in him last moments of excruciating pleasure and he released himself into her in a long gasping cry that was part fulfillment and part howling relief that this strangest of journeys had ended.
When his eyes re-focused on her beautiful face it was wet with tears, and when she put a hand up to smooth his cheek he realised his own was also.
He stayed inside her, his love, his haven, his home. He was stunned and bewildered at what she'd allowed him to see, to feel, from the deepest parts of her Elven gift that gave her access to the emotions and experiences of those she cared for. For long moments he said nothing, could not even find words in the wake of what had passed, and beneath him he felt her holding her breath.
"Why Arwen, why?" he finally asked her, with a hint of desperation in a voice still ragged from their lovemaking. "Why did you do that, make me feel that? It was their own... it was... private... why?"
Her face crumpled. "I know, gods I know, it is a hideous betrayal. I did not will it I swear to you. It came from the darkest part of me, the part of me that knows you could have loved Éowyn once and dares to wonder if you could love her still. In my waking life I have never feared it and been at peace. In my deepest nightmares, not so. It seems they saw their chance to put her before you and know the truth at last."
In his mind Aragorn saw Éowyn's beauty beneath him, her legs wrapped round the body that was both his and Éomer's, urging them on, and as though he experienced it for the first time again, he felt his whole being calling for Arwen. He looked at her, knowing she could take what she needed from his gaze, then laid his head against the Evenstar's breast.
"And do you know the truth now, love?"
She stroked his shaggy head gently.
"Always my mind has known, and my heart has believed. Now my soul both knows and believes, but it was a low way to come by such reassurance. I dishonour them and I dishonour you."
"Think not on that, beloved, 'tis done, no regret will change it. But know this: when I knew Éowyn loved me, I spent nights burning, and I shed tears. But I burned for you, so far away in Rivendell, and my tears were for the cruelty of this world: that she should lie in one chamber longing for me, and I in another longing for you. I can look upon her form and find it lovely to behold, I can admire the proud spirit that lights her from her core, and since you have been imprudent enough to show me I see she is as sweet and enticing in her abandonment as any man who loves her could wish for. But I am not that man. I am your man. Yours."
Her voice was barely a whisper. "I know it love. I have always known it. Only my fears which seek to make me less than myself have not known it."
He kissed the tears at the corners of her eyes, kissed her closed eyelids. She pressed her lips against him, and her tongue sliding into his mouth made him feel both cherished and vulnerable, as though he were being penetrated and pleasured like a woman being entered by a man, as though she slid into his soul. He felt himself stir again with in her, she was the sweet drug of which he could never tire, she was the one creature on earth who knew his whole being, she was the rock on which he could break himself over and over and always become whole again, and the feel of her beneath and around him and her mouth upon him made him hard and longing to take her once more.
He looked in her tear-stained face, his eyes softly seeking permission.
"Yes, love," she breathed, "always. Your need is ever my own."
Her soft, lingering kiss and her hands sliding over his back and buttocks to press him closer to her were but further confirmation. He started to move again, and he was sweet, and he was slow, and she took his love and returned it to him with her body's own sinuous undulations and her soft murmurings in Elvish that made his soul lurch with desire.
As Aragorn revelled in the pleasure of this new joining there was something tickling the back of his mind, and while it was formless he little cared to know what it was, but when it took on words he found he could not help but speak them, easing his movement within her a little to give him breath to do so.
"Arwen?"
"Yes love."
"You made me feel Éowyn, as though I were Éomer, and yet myself..."
She knew where this was going. "Yes, love," she said softly.
"Then was not some part of you Éowyn, feeling Éomer inside you?"
She considered telling him some wild story, that the strange Elven-born re-living of events she had bestowed upon them only worked one way, but she had never lied to him and would not start now. And besides... she felt her native impishness stir within her.
"Ah yes, our virile horse-lord..."
"Arwen..."
"He makes a beautiful lover does he not?"
"Arwen, you minx. Do you wish me to look twice at you both when he is in your company, is that your revenge on me for fears I never meant to cause you?"
"No love," she smiled at him sultrily. "I am just teasing you - because you make such an adorable face when I do."
Aragorn laughed heartily, knowing he had been out-manoeuvred. "My mistress bests me yet again."
"Let me not tease you any more, beloved, only assure you. It is as you just said of Éowyn - I look upon him and find him beautiful, I admire him, and truth be told, I have felt his pain so intensely I almost feel I know him well, but the pleasure of his body is for others to enjoy. What I so shamefully allowed us to feel today will not make me covet him."
"Arwen..." He leaned in to kiss her. She accepted his gentle passion, returning it in equal measure, then turned her head away a fraction, her face a picture of innocence.
"Although Gimli did once tell me Éomer thinks I'm more beautiful than Grandmama."
"Arwen!"
"Oh look, you're making the face..."
"ARWEN!" He thrust deep and hard into her, making her gasp.
"Aahh... who thinks they are master now?" she smiled.
Aragorn said nothing, just captured her crystal blue gaze and started to forge a rhythm deep within her. Her hips rose to meet him and soft moans started to escape her which only aroused and encouraged him further.
"You know I crave only you, beloved," she whispered. "Only you."
"Tell me again."
"I thought I was the one who needed reassurance."
"Tell me again."
"I crave you..."
"Arwen... love of my life..."
He gathered her to him, feathering soft kisses across her face and her throat and feasting gently upon her perfect lips until she captured his mouth and wove her own magic around it and within it. Always, coiling through the sheer sensual pleasure they took in each other, was something as sweet as the first time, as desperate as though it might be the last time, as deep as the earth which holds all life in its arms and -when at last their passion reached its aching zenith and they lay skin to skin, sweat-sheened and trembling in the aftermath - as peaceful as the eternity to which that life will return. It was the sum total of their love, tested by time and tempered by trial until it was bonded and unbreakable, and they gave it quiet reverence as they each held other for a few gentle minutes more even when their pulses had eased and their breathing returned to normal.
But at last the moment came when they must rise, and bathe, and dress, and go out into the new day as the King and Queen of Gondor. Aragorn sat up, and looked at his beautiful naked wife lingering amongst the white linen, her hair fanned out about her in a dark, glossy, wondrous cloud, her deep blue eyes shining upon him softly and her perfect Elven skin still flushed from his loving.
"Arwen."
"Yes, love?"
"You *are* more beautiful than your grandmother."
Her smile was equal parts amusement and adoration.
"It's as well you think you so, since you must share a yoke with me for life."
"'Tis a sweet bondage, love."
He could not bear not to kiss her just once more, then Arwen rose and they stood against each other by their bed. She wound her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder.
"I am sorry love, about... what I made happen before, you can't know how much."
"Arwen beloved, dwell on it no longer. I am only sorry myself to discover you have borne these secret fears all this while. If they are laid to rest now it was worth the... well, the what?... what was it passed between us Arwen? Does it even have a name?"
"I don't know, Estel, truly I don't. I have never experienced its like."
His voice was rueful against her ear. "I think I shall have to try to put it from my mind also. It was a little too alarming. Ah well, one must expect a little strangeness if one marries - "
"Ay, an Elf, I know," sighed Arwen.
"Well, I was going to say 'a woman' ", laughed Aragorn.
"Estel, you beast!"
But she was laughing too, and held him to her tightly, almost fiercely. Ah he had been worth all the years of pain and uncertainty, the stolen moments of passion all too brief and overhung by anguished partings, the fears, always the fears for his safety, the grey pall over her life that had been his absence from it. To have him now, to know that everything ill to come would be endured because shared with him, and everything good twice gilded, was a gift and treasure she had no words to describe.
Let me not have jeopardised Éowyn's chance of like happiness, Arwen prayed. I am sure, so sure there could have been no other way, and yet...
"Arwen?"
"Yes, beloved."
"You were right to speak. Do not doubt the wisdom of your heart."
"Are you Elven after all, King of Men, that you read my thoughts?"
"Nay, but I know you well enough to wager you will think of little else until Éowyn is back in Faramir's arms. And I will have to smooth your brow and keep you from bumping into the furniture while your mind is thus occupied."
She scratched his shoulder lightly and smiled. "Blessed am I to have such a thoughtful husband."
He laughed softly against her hair. If he spoke the blessings he found in his wife they would be here all day.
"Come let us face the new morning, my queen. We will see how it stands with our friends and do what we can for them if they are in need. I suggest a hearty breakfast first."
Arwen nodded at him, gave him a last tender kiss, and headed for the royal bathroom. Aragorn watched her with a fond smile as she left him, drinking in the wonder of her raven tresses spilling over the creamy skin of her back and brushing the top of her delectably swaying behind.
And that sweet sight, he reflected, is definitely one of my uncounted blessings.
He decided not join to her as she bathed, but slip in afterwards. No, they had spent far too much time in their chamber this morning as it was, and needed no further temptation to stay. But, unforeseen disasters aside, there was always tomorrow.
And that was the greatest blessing of all.
~*~*~*~
Mercifully unaware now and forever of what had passed between the King and Queen of Gondor in the last half an hour Éomer surfaced from waking dreams he could hardly bear to leave, for in them Éowyn his sister sat next to him, sweetly wrapped against him and holding him steady against the shock trembling at the core of him that this night she had been Éowyn his lover.
It will be alright love, she told him, you will survive this, we all will. But take your rest now I beg you, you will need your strength.
But Éowyn, you are there in my furs, the scent of you, and all the loved we shared.
Would you deny it?
Nay -
Then seek not to hide from it. Embrace it, and remember this night will be forever in my heart also.
Forever, Éowyn?
Ay love, you know it. Now will you go to bed, or must I stick pins in you?
I will. I love you, Éowyn.
I love you, my Éomer.
Éomer lifted his head, his dream sister melting away as he opened his eyes on the morning once more, and rose wearily from his chair. He rested his forehead upon the window frame, stretching his arms between the narrow walls of the alcove.
A few gentle breaths of the morning perhaps, he thought, the touch of its healing breeze on my face.
He threw the half-open window wider on its hinges, which squeaked protestingly against his vigour.
He winced slightly and made a mental note to find some grease for the metal, then looked out upon the new day only to see the noise had arrested a figure on the ground below. A man stood with his hand upon the ornate clasp that opened the door from the palace to the gardens, lips parted slightly in reflexive surprise as he looked upwards.
Éomer found himself staring down into the pale, haunted visage of his sister's mate.
His mouth went dry and he felt a jolt go through him as though someone had thumped their clenched fist into his abdomen.
Faramir's eyes met Éomer's with all the agony he had suffered this night naked within them. For long moments neither man could look away from the other, then Faramir's gaze travelled slowly over Éomer's form, taking in the spill of his thick blond mane, his broad shoulders and deep chest, the slash of hard tanned smooth skin visible beneath his loosely-tied robe, as though seeing him for the first time. Then his eyes rested upon Éomer's once more, pinning him beneath his regard, which seemed silently to say - so this is flesh that has bewitched my love away from me. Well then. Well. So be it.
Faramir shook his head slightly, as though to flick the image of Éomer from his mind, turned away from him and moved slowly onwards into the gardens.
Éomer didn't realise he had been holding his breath as it left him in a gust, but otherwise transfixed he watched Faramir's retreating back until it disappeared beneath the trees.
He recognised the droop of the shoulders, the attitude of defiance mixed with defeat, for he knew it intimately. It was the cast of body he himself had worn for months, trying to fight off the knowledge that he loved Éowyn, and that Éowyn had given herself to another. He would not wish that pain upon another living soul, and yet had dealt it upon Faramir the moment he let Éowyn stay in his chamber this night.
We did this to him together, he thought, I no less than she.
And in the next instant Éomer knew that the burden of trying to heal the hurt done this night lay with him as much as his sister.
He could almost hear Éowyn's voice inside his head.
Do not go to him, love, you are the last person he will want to see, except perhaps for me.
Ay, true enough, Éomer reflected, but when will I ever be able to look him in the face if not at this moment? I have not been a friend to him this night: I must do what I can for him now.
His tired body let out a sigh and as he swung from the window he cast a rueful glance at his bed.
Well friend, just when I was reconciled to laying me down upon you I find I must leave you.
He grabbed the closest set of fresh clothes from his wardrobe and rapidly dressed, rifled his boots out from under the bed and pulled them on, and headed for the door.
Gods give me strength, I know not what I should say or do if I find him, I only know I cannot bear to have him look at me with those eyes again if I have not spoken with him, nor leave Éowyn to bear his pain alone if I have not done all I can to aid her.
And with that King Éomer of Rohan strode from his chamber and went forth to seek the Steward of Gondor.
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