For a moment, when Aragorn takes her in his arms, Eowyn is afraid.
She has learned so much of love since she first thought that she loved Aragorn, when she first imagined this. She has learned so much about herself, and about him, that she might almost be another woman with a different man. And yet she is not. Somewhere within her is the girl who fell in love with the Ranger -- the girl who believed that he was the only man she could ever love. And when she looks at Aragorn, she still sees, beneath the King, the man he had seemed to be then.
His kiss is hungry, curious; it is not like any of the kisses he has given her before, which were always affectionate but cautious, in gratitude to her for sharing Faramir with him. Eowyn cannot explain even to herself why it excites her to know that her husband gives himself to the King. She had envied Arwen before she ever met her, because Arwen was beloved of Aragorn. Yet inexplicably, the knowledge that Aragorn craves Faramir's touch has changed Eowyn's feelings about the man she once loved, though not about the man she to whom she is now pledged.
Whatever residual resentment or regret she might have carried has been transformed, for Eowyn now sees that Aragorn can never give his heart fully to one person, not even his own wife. His love belongs to all of Gondor, to his long past among the Elves and Dunedain, and to all the people he has ever lost, from his parents to her own uncle to her husband's brother.
If she were Aragorn's wife, Eowyn doubts that she would share him as generously as Arwen does. With Faramir, she has no such concerns. Oh, he may love Aragorn, who is also his King and his savior and the hero of prophecy for whom he longed throughout his childhood, as well as his final tie to Boromir. But she knows that Faramir loves her no less, and when they have children together she thinks their bond will only become stronger, replacing the painful memories of Denethor's family, of whom Faramir is the only survivor.
He loves her enough to keep his eyes averted when she puts her arms around Aragorn and returns the King's kiss, tasting for the first time his passion not as something deferred or shared, but as it might have blazed between the two of them, had things been different. In his arms, for one moment, she is the Queen of Gondor, and the admiration that she is certain she once saw in Aragorn's eyes glows undiminished from him. It is as though Arwen and Faramir have never existed in their lives as they do now.
It is not a feeling that she relishes. She pulls back from Aragorn, and reaches for her husband's hand.
Faramir is touching Arwen as if she were a fragile sculpture, fingertips barely grazing her fine cheekbones and silken hair. Though she has always found the queen impossibly lovely, Eowyn understands at once that were Arwen not Aragorn's wife, her ageless beauty would hold little appeal for Faramir. But she is Aragorn's wife, and Eowyn thinks Faramir might be aroused not by his own hands and lips on the beautiful Queen in his arms, but by imagining the hands and lips of her husband touching her so.
Glancing at Aragorn, she sees a smile playing on his lips and wonders whether he suspects the same thing. He meets her eyes, but waits for her to pull him toward her and toward the other pair before kissing her again. Faramir's hand slides from hers to circle her waist, and Arwen's palm brushes her cheek on the way to clasp Aragorn's shoulder. Eowyn's fingers find Arwen's on Aragorn's arm and link through Faramir's around her own waist so that they are all knotted together.
Her husband turns her, capturing her mouth from Aragorn's, and Eowyn wonders whether he is tasting his lover on her. He must have been able to taste her on Arwen, for she can taste herself very faintly on his lips, and it makes her ruin the moment by giggling. But Faramir only laughs with her, while she can feel Aragorn's chest shaking with amusement behind her, and she looks up to meet Arwen's smiling eyes over Faramir's shoulder.
The girl who fell in love with the Ranger fades away, not through any force of will but because Eowyn does not wish to be that girl any longer. Nor does she wish to be the Queen of Gondor. She smiles back at Arwen, at Faramir, then at Aragorn behind her as she steps aside, embracing the beautiful elf so that her own husband can move into the King's arms.
Though Eowyn has seen Aragorn and Faramir kiss one another before, she is unprepared for how the sight makes her ache anew. There is such need in the way they hold one another when Faramir's fingers dig into Aragorn's arm more roughly than he would dare to touch her and Aragorn grabs him possessively around the waist. There is a kind of violence in their clasp, but also a sense of completion, as if neither of them had known how empty his arms were until the other filled them. For an instant she feels the presence of a phantom, a man she has never met -- Faramir's brother, once beloved of the King, whose loss left them both with wounds that will never fully heal. Yet they pull back to gaze at one another, hands finding each other's faces, and as they smile together, Eowyn thinks that Boromir could find no more loving tribute than this.
Arwen is stroking her hair and Eowyn turns her attention to the Queen, who appears to have become just as aroused watching the men. From his reading, Faramir had told Eowyn that Elves were not as passionate as Men -- that they married and bore children while they were young, and the cravings of the body faded for them in time. Yet Arwen is descended from Men as well as Elves, and her desires, though perhaps not as impulsive as Aragorn's, seem no less intense. Kissing her, Eowyn is again reminded of trees, and running water, and the scent of flowers newly pressed in damp soil.
In a single, elegant gesture, Arwen tugs Eowyn's shift upward and over her head, discarding it behind her, leaving her clothed in nothing but long disheveled hair. A moment later she does the same with her own shift, and their breasts brush together as Eowyn moves close to slide her hands over the flawless pale skin of the Queen.
Aragorn falls to his knees on the braided rug that covers much of the floor, kissing first his wife's hip, then Eowyn's. Instinctively her body turns toward his mouth, and a whimper escapes her throat. She sees Aragorn glance up at Arwen with a mirthful smile and feels Arwen nod beside her. Then Aragorn reaches up and turns Eowyn to him, pressing his lips along her belly before dropping down, tonguing the wetness that has spread down her legs and soaked the hair between them. She keens, and arches against Arwen, and tosses her head back to see Faramir watching wide-eyed, with his breath panting between his lips and his hips rocking in thoughtless rhythm.
Suddenly, painfully, she wants him inside her. "My love," she moans, and none of the three of them have any difficulty ascertaining to whom she speaks; Arwen steps sideways to let Faramir move behind Eowyn, while Aragorn turns his head to nuzzle her thigh. Eowyn hears Faramir's clothing drop to the floor piece by hurried piece, and then, just as she feels her husband's heat and the pressure of his body against her back, Aragorn flings aside his vest and shifts again, pushing Eowyn's legs further apart to dive between them. She can feel from the jolt that runs through Faramir the moment when the King's tongue touches his Steward's cock.
They stand so for a few exquisite, excruciating moments -- Faramir twitching against her and groaning loudly, Aragorn humming and licking at them both, one hand on Eowyn's hip for support and the other on his own wife's belly, Arwen with her arms around Faramir and Eowyn both. Then Aragorn sits back, letting his fingers slide down Eowyn's body to find Faramir's cock and guide it against her. She moans loudly again, spreading open and rising on her toes, the moan turning to a shriek as Faramir grabs her waist and presses inside, pushing her open with each shove of his hips until he is deep within her, holding her upright with his hands.
Arwen nudges Aragorn out of the way to kneel before Eowyn, moving her mouth against damp hair and flesh until she finds the swollen knob just above the point where Faramir's cock is stretching Eowyn open. He rubs Eowyn inside as Arwen's tongue strokes over them both, making her tremble, though she thinks Faramir's legs must be quaking as well from the effort of holding both himself and her upright in this position. A moment later Arwen's breath gusts over her in a cry, and Eowyn opens her eyes to see that Aragorn has driven himself into his wife, with one hand cupping a breast and the other between her legs, though his eyes are focused somewhere behind Eowyn's face...on Faramir, she realizes, though a moment later he gives her a strained smile before letting them drift closed in concentration.
None of them will be able to keep to this position for long, for Faramir's thighs are shaking in earnest and Eowyn knows that both Arwen's knees and Aragorn's must be sore from supporting their own weight, but she gives herself up to sensation for a few moments...her husband's cock, the Queen's mouth, the rhythm triggered by Aragorn's thrusts which pulses through all of them. Crying out over and over, Eowyn cannot repress a single scream, and their tempo disintegrates as the others laugh breathlessly.
"Now everyone in Minas Tirith will know what we are doing," Faramir snickers, sliding his swollen cock out of her and stretching his legs upright with a groan, while Arwen's amusement puffs against Eowyn's belly as the Queen straightens and Aragorn sits back on his heels, grinning. He takes great pleasure in hearing of how Eowyn's screams have scandalized the maids, and Faramir reports to her -- with pride, she notes -- when Aragorn has teased him about it.
"You are only pleased that I am as incorrigible as the two of you," she wheezes, helping Arwen to stand, as Aragorn rises smoothly to his own feet despite his erection and holds out a hand:
"We are all of us without shame. So let us go someplace more comfortable," he says. Yet he pauses, looking at Arwen, as if to be certain of her willingness to invite others into the bed they share, and it is only after the Queen smiles and takes his arm that the King leads them all across the room and between the hanging tapestries fluttering in the wind from the open doors.
Aragorn takes off the rest of his clothing and makes love to Eowyn with his mouth as Arwen holds her open for him and Faramir watches, stroking himself, regarding the two of them intently. Aragorn's beard is coarser than Faramir's, and he is less aggressive with his tongue, or perhaps it is simply that he does not know her body as well as her husband does; it feels good but strange, with Arwen's soft, soft skin against her thighs. The ascent to climax is slow, and it is only as Faramir's breathing becomes audible, hitching as he watches Aragorn devour her, that she feels herself shattering.
As she begins to scream again, the Queen kisses her, swallowing the sound before the court can come running to see what has befallen her. When the tremors wracking her body finally cease, Eowyn is breathless and giddy. Then Arwen sinks onto her husband's cock and rides Aragorn while, head elevated on Eowyn's knees, he sucks Faramir who straddles his upper body, leaning over to kiss Eowyn who in turn reaches around him to caress Arwen's breasts. With her eyes closed Eowyn focuses on the contrasting sensations: the velvet softness of Arwen's skin, the prickly dampness of Aragorn's hair, the familiar feel and smell of Faramir as he pants against her with his eyes and hands wild on her face.
After Aragorn climaxes, much more quickly than the two he is pleasuring, he has the Queen lie down in his place and puts his mouth between her legs, lifting his hips in the air behind him so that Faramir can slick himself with oil and press into the tight channel that sends him over the edge very quickly. Watching with Arwen's head against her thigh, her hair like a warm blanket of silk, Eowyn presses a hand against herself and convulses from the sight of her husband's face as he spills himself inside the King.
Aragorn and Arwen make love again while Eowyn and Faramir lie sleepily together, rocking with the movements of the mattress, too tired to enjoy it directly but content to smile at one another and sigh with pleasure. Arwen cries out in Elvish, her words musical as a song. When finally Aragorn has exhausted himself, he moves behind Faramir, wrapping his arms around his dozing Steward and smiling at Eowyn with open affection.
"Are you happy?" murmurs Arwen as she settles behind her husband, looking into Eowyn's eyes. Eowyn nods easily, glancing from King to Queen, wondering whether this copious generosity can have spread from the rulers into the soil itself, remaking Gondor into a land of bountiful lushness. The breeze is gentle from outside the snug confines of the room, and love, she thinks, must swell with the same abundance.
Eowyn has known much darkness, death, and her hands are not unstained. But here there is only joy, and she wonders why she was ever afraid.