Hello fellow LOTR fans. The following story is my riff on the relationship between Eowyn and Faramir that is barely hinted at in The Return of the King. If you hold Tolkien's work and characters to be sacrosanct - STOP READING RIGHT NOW! - try something else.
This story involves "non-consensual" sex. However, if you persevere to the end I think you'll enjoy my little tale.
1 - The Fog of Battle
Eowyn walked slowly through dark swirling mists. A cold fire burned within her, though it was no longer the fire of battle. Her legs and arms were cold and leaden; they seemed empty of their strength. Somewhere, somehow she had lost her helm, her sword and her shield. Her heavy armor, designed for fighting on horseback, made every movement an effort.
Around her, unseen, the sounds of battle continued. Yet no matter which direction she walked the battle came no nearer. She encountered only the countless bodies of the slain. Stepping over the dead she searched in vain for a working weapon or unbroken shield.
Her memory was as foggy as the battlefield she traversed. She had killed the Nazgul, that Fell beast that threatened her uncle, King Theoden. The next part was less sure the fate of the Witch King himself- she had killed him too, hadn't she? Had he not collapsed before her in a foul pile of rags and broken armor? Certainly, she'd heard his horrific cry of defeat and death; she was sure of that - wasn't she?
Eowyn stopped and stood still for a moment. Or had she been the one killed? Was she wandering in some glory-less hell of the vanquished? Had she committed some great warrior sin in riding to battle unbidden? Even though she had fought to save and defend King and country? A cold blackness fell upon her and she felt so very alone.
Alone. Lost. Alone, lost, and empty; as empty and useless as a battered helm.
Empty in her life - empty in her heart - empty in the very core of her womanliness. For far too long she had known this emptiness, it seem her constant companion. The emptiness had been filled briefly, upon meeting Lord Aragorn, a man worthy of her love and a man to be loved by in return. She had felt, truly for the first time in her life, a deep yearning to share herself with a man.
On the eve of battle, alone in her tent, Eowyn had let her fingers trail down between her legs. As her fingers explored the hot, wet folds of her need, she had let her mind explore the possibility of being Lord Aragorn's woman - even if just for this night. Her fingers teased her cunt into a swirling cauldron of stimulation. Slowly she had climbed toward her pleasure. Then at the peak, about to soar in release, she felt the emptiness within her. Her scream of frustration was muffled by her forearm and she knew her duty - her need. She went in search of him.
She found him, by his horse, and the intensity of her desire overrode all thoughts of shyness and proper behavior. She told him that she wanted to be possessed by him, filled by him, loved by him - even if for just this one night. She took his hand and pulled it to her wet heat. She offered him everything that was hers.
"No."
Eowyn's mind reeled in anguish at the memory.
He said no. Aragorn had declined her, dismissed her, speaking of his promise to another far away. And then he turned from her. Eowyn saw that he was preparing to leave, to ride away on the eve of the battle. How could this be? How could he leave at this hour of greatest need?
Eowyn was left with nothing.
She had returned to her empty tent. Lain in her empty bed. All too cognizant of her empty cunt. She cried bitterly until empty of tears.
She looked at the darkness and the emptiness around her. She realized that it was a pale shadow of the darkness and emptiness within her. Into the shadowy nothingness she barked out a harsh laugh.
She accepted the dark fellness of death to come, gratefully embracing the nothingness that filled her, the nothingness that surrounded her. A great battle was coming, a battle that would be known for it's staggering loss of life, of future, of love. Eowyn felt her heart steel itself, her mind become adamant, she would ride to battle - she had nothing to lose.
Eowyn looked around and saw nothing to look forward to. She listened and heard no one calling out to her. There was no one and no thing for her. Eowyn was alone.
She collapsed to the ground and wept a bitterness such as she could barely stand.
2 - The Houses of Healing
The newness of peace, since the Great Victory, was still encumbered by the many wounded and the some yet to die. It was not simply the physical wounds of battle and war, there were many who could heal those wounds. A greater healing, a deeper healing was needed for the many shattered minds and hearts.
Faramir, the young Captain of Gondor, moved lowly among the wounded,carefully administering the healing tonic in the manner that Gandalf the White, the great wizard, had instructed him. As a student of Gandalf's, Faramir had studied herbology and healing and many other things, both elvish and wizardly and the time was come for this knowledge to be applied.
Faramir's father Denother, the late Steward of Gondor, had thought less of him for that study. That a warrior and a leader of men indulge in the healing arts seemed unmanly to Denother. But his father was dead, and the responsibilities of being a leader to his people buoyed Faramir's work. It was exacting work; it wasn't just a matter of sprinkling a few herbaceous materials in some hot water. Proportions had to be precise; timing was often literally 'of the essence.' And above all, the healer's heart and mind had to be in harmony with the intended effect.
