Is It Still Me?

Based on the Panic! At the Disco song "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off"

Warning: even more non-con/angry sex. Angry!Faramir.

Author's Note: I realize this is a bit far-fetched for Faramir, in terms of canon examples, but I think he has it in him to be vengeful and angry. Look at his father, and his brother. It was held in check, I think, but a traumatic, hurtful event such as this could easily bring out the worst in someone, even a gentle soul like our Faramir, I think.

When Eowyn returned to the ballroom, she found that Faramir had left. No one could tell her where he went, so she decided to wait for him in their chamber. When she stepped into the room, she found Faramir already there.

"Faramir!" she exclaimed, but all other words died on her lips upon seeing his face. It was grave and pale, his jaw set in a grim line, yet she could see that he had been crying. She looked around the room and noticed that several of her trunks were out and partially filled with her things. Her wardrobe was open and it appeared as though Faramir had lifted everything out in one handful and dropped it into the chest, not caring that trains and sleeves were sticking out every side. Her vanity was empty. Most of her things had been swept into a small box, but there were several items on the floor, and her perfume bottle was broken on the other side of the room. Its heavy scent of jasmine and lavender permeated the small space. She could hardly imagine him throwing it there in a fit of rage, though that is what she knew to have happened.

"Faramir," she began, panic setting in. He knew.

Eowyn did not know that, as she had left the party, Faramir had watched her, trying to excuse himself from conversation to make sure she was alright. He was about to leave when he had seen Aragorn slipping out of the same hallway. Something clicked in his head then, and with a feeling of dread, he had followed Aragorn, who was so intent on following Eowyn that he did not hear anything. From behind a pillar, Faramir had witnessed the whole scene, had seen his wife on her knees before his King. The man he trusted. The man he served.

He wanted to close his eyes against their kiss, against seeing Aragorn's hands cradle her face, against the look in her eyes, but he was inexplicably drawn to it, like picking at a festering wound. He had felt angry, betrayed, ill, but he had stayed until they both had left, hiding in the shadows, making sure no one else stumbled upon this scene, wanting to keep his and his wife's disgrace as secret as possible. He had returned to their room then, and retched violently into a bowl, before he began destroying their room, violently packing her things.

He fought to regain his composure, and by the time she returned, he was as stoic as his father had always been.

"I could have forgiven you anyone else, Eowyn. Anyone but him." His voice was eerily calm, belaying the chaos that was their room.

"You have two choices," he began, as though this had been a rehearsed speech, not waiting for any comment from her. "You may go to Ithilien. The house has several rooms finished. You will stay there until I come to join you. Beregond and a small company shall escort and stay with you. Your other choice, if you have no love left for me, is to return to Rohan, to your brother and your people. I will not have you wither in a loveless marriage, and I will not be disgraced by your affairs. Our bond will be broken and you will be released of all duties to me, save that you will send me the child when he or she is 10, to learn the duties of the Steward."

"Can I not stay with you?" Her voice wavered. She had not thought he would send her away.

"You have forfeit that choice."

"Then there is but one choice," she replied tearfully, "I shall go to Ithilien."

"Very well," he responded, "You leave in the morning. The servants think you are going to make the household ready. That is what you will do. This is NOT to be known to anyone."

"What of the child?" she asked. "Will you come for his birth?"

"I will try."

With that, he nodded to her, then made to leave, but Eowyn reached out to grab his arm. He yanked it back as if burned.

"Will you not look at me?" she pleaded.

"I cannot!" he shouted. "Do you not understand? Anyone but him, Eowyn! Now I have a face for my nightmares! I see his hands on you, his lips. I see you kneeling before him. I see my child," and here his voice broke, "with his eyes. How could you? You knew how I felt about him! How can I trust that this child is mine?" She saw that he was shaking with barely contained rage, yet she could not let him leave.

"I did not mean to hurt you, you must know that. I do not love him. That's not what this was about," she said earnestly.

He laughed coldly, turning on her. "No? Then what was it about? Sex? You just could not bear lying with me? You seemed to enjoy it at the time. Of course, I am not a King…"

"You are being cruel."

"I am being cruel? I hope he was worth it, Eowyn." Again, he turned to leave.

"Faramir, please!" She fell to her knees, throwing herself at his feet, and his body stiffened. In his mind, he saw her again, kneeling before Aragorn. "Please," she breathed, meeting his eyes, her face streaked by makeup and tears. She was desperate to keep him there. He looked down at her, his eyes cold and narrow, as if in a daze, seeing someone else there. Then suddenly, he moved. His hands, shaking with anger and frustration, made quick work of his pants. He did not even take the time to push them down, simply pulling his hard length out and, before Eowyn could react his hand was in her hair, shoving her towards him. He wanted to erase Aragorn from her body, replace the taste with his own. She tried to protest, pushing against him, but he said to her coldly, "You do this for him, yet you will deny your husband?" Finally, she opened her mouth to him, and he began to frantically move inside her, not caring that she was trying desperately to breathe around him and her sobbing.

As quickly as it began, it was over, with Faramir shaking and groaning his release down her throat. He came back to himself in a few moments, wide-eyed with disbelief. She was laying on the floor, weeping and coughing, her hair in disarray. She looked up at him, a beseeching look in her eye, yet he was so disgusted with himself, all he could do was turn and leave, saying roughly, "Finish packing. I will come for you in the morning."