Withheld Desires

By: WhiteLadyOfTroy

"Éomer, please!"

She was begging, straining for that which she wanted, but he refused to cave in. Éowyn's face was covered in a thin film of sweat. Soft pants and gasps were escaping her from the exertion… Why, Béma, why was he doing this to her?

"Maybe, maybe not." Oh, how he teased her. The grin, not just on his lips but in his eyes as well; the way he effortlessly spurned all her attempts; his chuckles as he urged her to go just a little higher, a little bit further…


Éomer smirked. A ray of sunlight, sprinkled with dust from the hay, caught his hair and turned it golden. The tresses spilled down his broad shoulders, the muscles of which were rippling as he withheld all that she desired.

"My dear sister, patience is a virtue."

Patience. How could she hope to practice it with something so tempting before her, dangling just out of her reach?


As his lips curved into a smile, Éowyn knew she had only fueled his taunting delight even more. He loved hearing her cry his name, using it to plead for what she so desperately craved. The knowledge only inflamed that maddening urge within her.

"I do not think this is proper…" Here he became somewhat serious. He was aware that to give in was what the men firmly discouraged. Your sister is too delicate, they said. Look at her. Thin as a twig, pale as the new moon…

"I care not!" she gasped, then moaned as he yet again deterred her efforts. "Éomer!" She needed this, needed the way her body would feel an hour from now. Already she could feel it spreading through her; that sense of bliss, that rush of exhilaration.


He was caving in. Éowyn saw this and strained even more, her lips parting slightly. Her brother had never been able to deny her for long—it was one of his weaknesses.


Éomer looked down at her, and she knew she had won. "All right," he said at last, gruffly.

Lowering his arm, he handed her the wooden sword.

"Thank you!" Éowyn beamed. She took it from his hands, and paused to admire it for a moment. Sunlight streamed onto the wood, revealing the familiar horse carvings. A triumphant smile spread across her face.

Éomer watched his eight-year-old sister in amusement as she skipped out of the stables and headed towards the training grounds.