An Artless Decadence

Author: sagralisse
Pairing: Elessar/Éowyn/Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is based on characters who won't be in the public domain for a while yet.
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A/N: Following the sequence of events in the book, this story would occur after Elessar's coronation and before Éowyn leaves for Edoras.
Thanks to Eyebrowofdoom being such a wonderful beta. I hope you all enjoy it as much as she did.

Ascent

At the appointed hour Éowyn found them in a small dining hall deep within the King's house. She and the food arrived almost together, both brought by quiet servants who set a table for three and bowed their way out.

Lord Aragorn -- no, he was Elessar now -- Elessar and Faramir stood by the fire. They sketched bows to her. She flushed and curtsied and felt awkward. She had sworn not to flush, but she had also sworn to learn to curtsy as the women of the city did. At least she wasn't wearing her sling this night, though her arm felt weak from its long confinement. Faramir held his hand out to her. She took it and he kissed her cheek, muttering something low and sweet. He smelled of wine, but it felt good to have his fingers twine around hers when she turned to Aragorn. No, he was Elessar now.

"My Lady," he said, although she did not belong to him. She wished his eyes had changed with his name.

"My Lord," she said. "Thank you for inviting us to dine with you. You must have many duties, and little time."

"There will be time for more than duty now, I think. We have fought hard for many years." His eyes swept across the room: the fire, table... Faramir. "Now that we have prevailed there will be room in our lives for much else."

"Much happiness," Faramir added. He held his free hand out to Elessar. "Much wine... many evenings with those we love." Elessar took it, chuckling.

"I think you have had much wine, Faramir," Éowyn frowned. "You speak... freely."

"I am sorry, Éowyn. I speak my heart. I think that my Lord knows it already."

"Aye. I am better for knowing such a heart. All is well, Éowyn."

Éowyn didn't think that all was well, but she nodded. "It is only that the men of the Rohirrim do not speak so..."

When Elessar turned his gaze from Faramir to her she could not bear it for long. She looked down at Faramir's hand in hers. There was still a black bruise under one of his nails.

"Pay no mind, beloved. The wine makes me babble sweets like a lady's minstrel." Faramir's spoke softly. "Sometimes I think there is a decadence in my blood that leads me to such sentiment."

"If not decadence, perhaps ambition," Elessar said. "We of the Dúnedain desire much."

"I have much," Faramir looked from Elessar to Éowyn. "For my part, I am content."

Aragorn released his hand and considered the table. "We should eat before the soup cools," he said. "The woman who is to be my cook returned from Lebennin just last night. I have word that she is frantic that her dishes should please the King."

Faramir grinned. "Poor Inzil. She is often frantic."

They stood by the table to observe the standing silence. When it was done, Éowyn forgot to let Faramir hold her chair for her. "It smells wonderful, my Lord."

"Inzil needn't worry. If she has not rolled the meat in the ashes of a campfire I shall be quite pleased. I am unused to civilized food." Elessar lifted covers from the dishes. They began to eat soup and roast fowl and bread. Faramir filled Éowyn's goblet with wine.

"If you drink deeply," he whispered to her, "it will make me seem more clever."

Éowyn drank, but not deeply. She feared that the wine would make her much less clever. Unlike Faramir, she felt neither sweet nor sunny. She ate quietly and was thankful when the men turned the conversation turned to Ithilien, of which she knew little. But still she startled when Elessar's eyes met hers, and cursed herself for startling.

She must have lost track of the conversation. Now Elessar and Faramir were talking about climbing to the top of the White Tower. Faramir promised that the food had cleared his head and that the climb was safe. Elessar took him at his word.

"Will you come with us, Éowyn?" Faramir was looking at her. His smile made his eyes crinkle. She kept forgetting how easily he could disarm her.

"Where you go, I will follow, Faramir."

He kissed her cheek again. The three of them left the hall and caused a stir among the servants. With much ado, Elessar's new household brought them warm cloaks and a wineskin. Faramir asked if Inzil had made a dessert, and it too was brought to him, packed in a basket and smelling of spice. Faramir breathed it in and smiled.

"I should have been more reluctant to give over the Stewardship, my Lord, had I remembered that I would lose her. If I hear that you are unkind to her, I shall launch a raid for her rescue."

"I will be kind."

They stepped into the cool night and walked from the King's house to the tower. In the hall they paused. It was dark but for a pair of braziers. The Steward's chair had been taken from its place below the throne.

"It looks different," Faramir said. "It feels different." Éowyn caught his hand.

"Does it make you sad, Faramir?" Elessar asked, before she could say anything.

"I cannot say exactly." Faramir frowned. "No, not sad."

Elessar drew him into an embrace, and they stood with their foreheads touching. Éowyn shifted, but Faramir held tight to her hand. Elessar released him after a moment, and they made their way to the next story and past the empty council chamber.

They found lanterns at the base of the stairway and lit them. Faramir led the way up the spiral steps. Éowyn followed, watching, but he kept a hand on the wooden rail and did not falter. Elessar came behind with another lantern, and when her slipper betrayed her it was he who reached out to steady her. Éowyn's face burned, and she strove to forget the feeling of his hand on her hip.

At the top they found themselves in the Tower's inner chamber. Their lanterns revealed humped shapes that resolved into ancient chairs, a writing desk and a divan. A scarred table held maps. The room was cold and cheerless, but Elessar found charcoal laid ready in a brazier.

"My father preferred the room above, I think," Faramir indicated a small alcove that held a locked door. "It was more secret." He led Éowyn past it and opened a larger door. "I prefer to look out at the land with my own eyes."

Éowyn stepped out and saw that the outer chamber was ringed with windows open to the night. She exclaimed at the view. The Pelennor lay quiet under the stars and she could see the curves of the Anduin. The Fence of Mordor was there, but no longer dominated the horizon. Faramir clasped her around the waist and pointed out the faint shape of Cair Andros, where they might begin rebuilding. He showed her Henneth Annûn too, but it was hidden in the darkness.

"Do you think you will be happy there?" he asked her. His voice was soft, his breath warm against her ear. "Ithilien was once a fair land. It will be beautiful again."

He kissed her neck then, and she closed her eyes and floated in the moment. The air was chill, but she felt Faramir's warmth behind her, his rough beard, the softness of his lips.

"I will be happy," she whispered.

She heard Elessar come out, and though Faramir still held her close she felt her contentment vanish. She looked down, and remembered her day on the plain far below. She remembered shedding her male disguise, remembered also casting aside the burden of being a woman: the demure silence of it, the polite acceptance of every humiliation. And now, somehow she had picked that up again, had breathed it in with scent of kingsfoil.

Yes, she would be happy in Ithilien. She would be happy when she was far away from Elessar, when his tower was a speck of white in the distance.

When she turned, he was near, too near. When she turned his hand was on Faramir's shoulder and Faramir's hand was on his. She was silent, and would not meet his eyes. Her stomach ached with frustration. He drew away then and went to another window. He looked to the East, toward the Morgul Vale, and Éowyn felt free to breathe again, though the night air was cold.

Faramir held her as if they were alone. He kissed her cheek and she could tell that he did not feel what she felt. His gray eyes were clear; his war was over. He was not besieged by longing and anger. "Éowyn," he whispered and kissed her mouth, and she found herself wishing that she could feel as he did. Faramir loved whom he would love. He was careless of pride and consequence.

When their kiss was over she saw that Elessar was watching them. His expression was soft and almost sad, and she flushed to think it might be pity. When Faramir turned to him, Elessar smiled. Faramir held out his hand toward him, but Elessar remained where he was. He lifted his hand to Faramir's and their fingertips touched in the space between them. To Éowyn it seemed much like a lover's touch.

Éowyn lowered her eyes. For the last few nights her sleep had been troubled. She had dreamed that she was trying to mend Faramir's shirt, but her thread kept turning to knots while the fabric fraying away to nothing. The dream left her weary and frustrated and now the silence of the men oppressed her. She did not even know what it was about Faramir that needed mending. She felt that she must speak, that she must say something while still had the strength to breathe.

"My Lord Elessar, Faramir said that you know his heart. What does it hold that I do not know? Will you tell me?"

Elessar paused long until she would meet his eyes. When at last he spoke his voice was soft, and she felt herself drawn toward him to catch his words.

"He knows that I have hurt you, that despite my wishes I have made you feel small and unworthy. Though you have tried to hide it you have dreaded coming near me. You have dreaded this night. He sees that. He would have us heal that breach."

Éowyn frowned and bit her lip. Faramir's eyes were on her, waiting. "Faramir loves you, my Lord."

"He does, Éowyn," Elessar answered gravely.

"But what of your own heart?"

Elessar looked at Faramir for a long moment.

"For many years I felt that the greater portion of my heart was left behind in Rivendell. I feel now that what is left to me has grown. I love you. I love Faramir. I will love you for all your lives. It something that cannot be measured."

Éowyn could not speak. She did not want to weep. She was suddenly tired of contending with kings, tired of setting her will against theirs. Her shield arm had been broken. Elessar crossed the space between them and touched her hair, cupped her chin in his hand. He traced the line of her lips with his thumb.

"You are beautiful, Éowyn. Know that. Spring or summer, frost or fire, you are beautiful."

He pulled her close and she allowed his kiss, let him part her lips as Faramir had done. He smelle cle clean herbs and faintly, faintly of horses. His tongue found hers, opening her mouth. Faramir was close behind her, his lips in her hair, his arm around her waist again. She clasped his hand.

When Elessar drew away she was silent. Her fingers traced the stitching on his collar. She remembered first seeing him in Meduseld, remembered the spark of hope he had brought to her then, the thought that the shadow that held them might someday pass away. She wondered at herself, that in her heart she had allowed that hope to twist itself into resentment. Faramir's sigh at last disturbed her reverie.

"My Lord, it seems that I have a choice before me," she said. "I may live with my bitterness, within a Shadow of my own making, whether in Edoras or Ithilien. Or I may accept the love that you offer."

"It is not love offered, but given, Éowyn. There is no bargain to be sealed. If a kiss is enough, it is enough." He looked at her gravely, and she no longer felt the urge to shy away.

"Would you think me decadent, that I would have more?" It was Faramir speaking, his breath in her ear. Again she felt a deep ache, but now it felt more like hunger.

Elessar reached for him, pulling him close until their lips almost touched.

"No Faramir, I would not find you decadent." And that was her speaking with a voice not quite her own. She watched them kiss, and it was not quite the night air that made her shiver.