Faramir Fiction Archive

Brothers in Arms (R)

Written by Laurëlóte

24 June 2007 | 3900 words

Title: Brothers in Arms
Author: Laurëlóte
Beta: Minx
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Summary: A seed of friendship is planted on the battlefield
AN: AU – Faramir did not ride out to Osgiliath, instead he fought on Pelennor fields

Written for the 2007 Midsummer Swap

Request by Kissa: I would like a Faramir/Éomer fic, one where they meet on the battlefield, Éomer is gravely injured and Faramir offers to take care of him. But I would like it a lot if the mighty Middle Earth warriors were not all gay, just awesome close friends who, in some rare cases, take their bond to another level. Éomer should be a lonely man who’s always done what was asked of him and who never had a love of his own. Which doesn’t mean he didn’t attend the Rohirrim orgies :P and the ladies didn’t appreciate him. But it would be great if he saw Faramir’s gentle and loving nature and the magic started to happen between them. Sure, a NC17 fic is always a treat, but I’ll have any rating as long as the author who writes it likes the request. Thank you!

---

Brothers in Arms

This was it. As he lost his footing he knew that this was how he was going to die. He was too weak to move out of the way and so he was destined to die by an orc’s blade upon the Pelennor fields, just another casualty of war. Strangely, he felt ready for it.

He closed his eyes and waited, but the killing blow never came.

When he opened his eyes he was greeted by the sight of a mighty blonde warrior, one of the Rohirrim, standing between him and the uruk-hai, engaging the orc in combat.

Faramir himself was not badly injured. ‘Twas but a scratch’ as his brother would say, but it was bad enough and he had sustained it early on. He had lost a lot of blood and so was grateful for a few moments reprieve from the intense fighting.

However when the Rohirrim, whom he now recognised as Éomer, nephew of King Théoden, appeared to be in trouble he took his sword in hand and bought his time waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

His timing was perfect as he drove his blade into the uruk-hai’s back; it was a strike which could only result in the death of the orc. But at that exact same moment Éomer must have been distracted by something and he could only look on in horror as the orc’s poisoned blade buried itself deep in the Rohirrim’s side.

Within moments Faramir was by the man’s side.

The wound was a bad one; he knew that the poison would already be seeping into the blood circulating the Rohirrim’s body. It was an invasion that could be easily fought if one was at full strength, but often fatal when combined with such an injury. Faramir had seen many men die of lesser wounds than these but that did not stop him from begging Éomer to hold on. The battle was in its final stages and he was prepared to do anything it took to save the life of the man who had saved his own.

Éomer woke confused, he did not know where he was, nor could he remember where he had been. His only memory was of the darkness that had enveloped him.

He tried to open his eyes, needing to see that the cold, lonely darkness had left him. It certainly felt like it had, but his eyelids were too heavy. In fact, it seemed as though his whole body was refusing to do what he asked of it.

As he tried to sit up he felt a pressure on his shoulders pushing him back down upon the bed. He panicked.

“Shh, it is alright, My Lord,” came a gentle voice. “Do not try and move just yet, it will hurt, you are still wounded. You have been asleep for a long time. It is good to see you finally wake.”

Éomer did not recognise the voice which spoke to him but its soothing tones caused him to relax almost immediately settling down in the soft bed feeling warm and safe, once more drifting off into a healing sleep.

It was a few days before he woke again, a fever delaying the healing process. But despite his unconscious state, ever since he had awoken that first time; he had been aware of the same voice talking to him softly and reassuringly. And along with it came the cool, soothing touches willing him out of his nightmares filled with the horrors of the battlefield, and the sight of loved ones dying before his eyes.

This time when he woke he found he was able to open his eyes and that the pain he had previously felt throughout his body had ceased. Now it was only his right-hand side which seemed to hurt.

He slowly looked around the room taking in his surroundings. He was lying in a small bed with heavy drapes half drawn over the large window which led out onto a balcony. In front of him was a large desk, covered in a mass of books and papers, but aside from that, the room was largely bare. There was a mirror on the wall, and various pots and containers full of herbs sat on the mantelpiece above a crackling fire.

To the left of him was a big armchair in which a man was sleeping soundly, his cloak lying over him like a blanket. He seemed a kind, gentle looking man and Éomer could not help but think that the voice that he had heard so often in his dreams would match this man perfectly.

He was also quite an attractive man, his reddish, brown hair hanging down to his shoulders in soft curls, making him unique among all the men Éomer had ever known.

Éomer also could not help but note that if this truly was the man who had been caring for him, he would have been doing it one handed, for this man had his arm in a sling and was obviously nursing an injury of his own.

Despite his distinctiveness, Éomer could not help but think that he had seen this man somewhere before, but right now he was unable to place him. He was not worried though, he would find out who he was soon enough.

At that moment, Faramir woke suddenly and cursed himself for falling asleep when he might be needed, berating himself even more when he noticed that his guest was awake.

“I am terribly sorry,” he said flustered, jumping out of the armchair, his cloak falling to the floor. “Have you been awake long? I will get you some water; I imagine your throat must be dry.”

Éomer smiled at the sudden awkwardness of the man and started to speak; wanting to reassure the man that he was alright and that he had been awake barely moments, when he tried however only a small croak managed to pass his lips. His companion was right, his throat was parched and he felt in desperate need of some water to moisten his throat.

Faramir poured out a glass of water and offered it to the younger man before resting his palm on his forehead to check for any signs of the fever lingering.

“You still have a slight fever,” he said softly. “I will get you something for it shortly, though I think it will only last a couple of days more, the worst is over. Do you feel up to eating something?”

Éomer nodded, “Thank you.”

“Éomer,” he croaked, offering his hand by way of introduction, feeling awkward that he did not even know his companion’s name. In fact he felt awkward about the whole situation, this man had obviously been caring for him for a long time, and from his dress, he was not a simple healer. In Rohan he had never had anyone to care for him. Since his parents had died, the only one who ever looked out for him and took care of him was himself.

Faramir flushed. How could he have been so rude? He could have talked on for hours without even considering introducing himself for a moment. It would take a while before he remembered that he was no longer as insignificant as he had been when his father was alive.

“I am so sorry,” he said, blushing a little. “I am Faramir, second son of Denethor, and newly appointed Steward of Gondor.”

Éomer frowned for a moment and was at a complete loss as to what to say. Why was someone so highly ranked bothering with someone like him? He was a soldier; he was no good at anything else. Fortunately he was spared from his awkwardness as Faramir went to speak to the guards to ask for food to be sent to the room.

He sat down when he returned to the bed and they spoke for a while as they waited for the food to arrive. Faramir informed the Rohirrim of the extent of his injuries and delivered news of his sister, Éowyn, who was now doing well in the houses of healing. He also confirmed the death of King Théoden, whom Éomer had seen fall.

He went on to explain how the battle had been won, how Aragorn had summoned the ghost army to him and how they had fulfilled their oath, and how later, Frodo and Sam had destroyed the ring in the fires of Mordor.

“Actually I have to thank you,” said Faramir taking the Rohirrim’s hand and squeezing it gently in gratitude. “You saved my life. That Uruk-hai would have killed me if you had not been there.”

Éomer smiled. That was where he remembered the Gondorian from, the battlefield; his had been the last face he had seen before the darkness had taken him.

“And you saved mine it seems.”

Those last few moments had seemed to happen slower than the rest of his life, as if time had almost stopped. Though many things were still hazy, he could clearly remember Faramir striking the orc just as he himself had been struck.

He worried for a moment that Faramir had only been caring for him as he felt that it was his duty to do so, but he knew from the other man’s eyes that that was not true. They looked at each other with a mutual understanding; all debts had been paid upon the battlefield.

They slipped into silence but remained holding hands until the food arrived.

Éomer found the next few days quite awkward. He felt uncomfortable having Faramir waiting on him hand and foot even to the point of insisting that he sleep in the bed, while Faramir himself slept in the armchair. He just was not used to that sort of attention.

It did not help that the steward was clearly overdoing things, using his bad arm and shoulder, even when Aragorn had told him not to. He was often removing the sling which the king had strongly advised him to wear at all times.

The man fascinated Éomer, especially the way that he refused to lie, which amused Éomer to no end. He himself was willing to look Aragorn straight in the eye and tell him that Faramir was resting properly and that he kept his sling on all the time. After all it was the least he could do in the circumstances, but Faramir was just far too honest, refusing even to bend the truth just a little.

One night Éomer lay awake unable to sleep, instead spending his time reflecting on the friendship which seemed to have developed between them.

Back in Rohan, he did not have many friends. He had had many bed-partners, but none that he could reveal his thoughts and feelings to. Instead he had just kept his head down and carried out his duties as he was told without so much as a complaint.

With Faramir it was different. Almost from the first instant he felt as though he could tell the Gondorian anything; every thought and every worry. And he did; knowing that Faramir would listen and never laugh or mock him for them.

He was startled from his thoughts as Faramir suddenly started to thrash around and cry out in his sleep.

Having an overwhelming desire to comfort the older man, Éomer managed to ease himself up from the bed to sit on the edge and gently rubbed Faramir’s arm trying to wake him without panicking him more.

Disorientated, Faramir woke, throwing his arms around the man next to him and clinging to him tightly. Burying his head against Éomer’s neck he murmured, “I saw it again, I saw his face, why will he not leave me alone?”

Suddenly coming to his senses he let go of the Rohirrim, jumping back as if he had been burned.

“Oh gods, I am terribly sorry,” he said going bright red, and then starting to explain. “I often have nightmares. I see things which have happened and sometimes things that will. And well, it was always Boromir who comforted me; I guess I thought you were he. He would wake me and then slip into bed beside me and hold me all night. He kept my dreams at bay every time.”

Although he smiled at the memory, Éomer did not miss the sadness which tinged his voice. He knew that Boromir’s death had affected the Gondorian terribly, to the point that he did not think Faramir would ever fully recover from his grief.

“You should not be sitting up,” exclaimed Faramir, suddenly remembering Éomer’s injury. As he tried to help the Rohirrim back into bed, Éomer caught his hand.

“I will lie down again, but only if you will join me,” he said softly. “I am not your brother, but I am someone’s brother, and I used to be able to keep Éowyn’s dreams at bay, maybe I can sooth yours.”

Faramir paused. He knew that he should refuse, to protest. But he found that he just did not want to. The idea of someone holding him after so long was far too much of a temptation.

Seeing Faramir’s reluctance, Éomer tugged gently at his hand, inviting the Gondorian to at least sit down next to him on the edge of the bed.

“As a big brother who did this for many years, I can assure you that it is no trouble. In fact, it would be a pleasure.”

Faramir did not need any further persuasion. Still upset from his nightmare he yearned any comfort he could receive. He quickly slipped under the bed covers beside Éomer and into his welcoming arms.

It felt so good to be curled up next to the Rohirrim and he slept far better that night than any he had since Boromir had left for Rivendell.

From that night on, they slept in each other’s arms, both finding comfort there.

Faramir hurried back to his quarters that day wanting to spend as much of his evening as possible with Éomer. Now that the Rohirrim had recovered, he was returning to Rohan, just for a few weeks to see what the state of his lands was and to ensure that any immediate work was underway. He had promised however, to return as soon as he could to help with Gondor’s rebuilding work, and then, once it was complete Aragorn had promised to repay him in kind.

He found Éomer sitting on the bed staring into space. He knew that the younger man was worried about his new role as king, and who could blame him? It was something that was never supposed to come to him, that role had been his cousin’s, but suddenly war had changed history.

Faramir quietly went and sat behind him and gently started to rub his neck and shoulders.

“You are so tense,” said Faramir. “You should try not to worry so much. You will make a good king. People will still adore you as they did your uncle, how could they not?”

“Now,” he continued. “Lie on your stomach and let me help you to relax.”

Éomer had been so far lost in his thoughts that he had not heard Faramir enter the quarters. He was worrying terribly about the task he had ahead and if not for the fact that he knew Faramir was needed where he was, he would beg him to come with him.

What troubled him the most was how much he was going to miss the older man. He realised he had become far too close, and that his feelings for him ran far deeper than just friendship.

When Faramir told him to lie down, he raised an eyebrow questioningly, curious as to what Faramir had in mind, but did as he requested. He almost yelped in surprise as he felt the Gondorian straddle his hips, but ended up purring in encouragement as Faramir started massaging his shoulders and back.

“That. Feels fantastic,” he exclaimed, as felt his body relax as a result of the other man’s attentions.

However soon he decided that it was a bad idea as he found himself starting to imagine the Gondorian straddling him for other, less innocent reasons.

He groaned as he felt the blood rush straight to his groin and his newly acquired erection throb against the mattress.

“That is enough,” he said in a panic, not trusting himself to resist taking this any further, and that it would only result in making his true feelings known. Trying to make light of the situation he added, “If you continue much longer then you will have to fetch me a whore to finish the job you have started.”

Faramir tensed when Éomer told him to stop, terrified that he had done something wrong, but then relaxed as he realised what the problem exactly was, although he could not ignore the surge of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of someone else touching Éomer the way that he wanted to.

Maybe it was that thought that caused him to be so bold.

He leant forward slightly, pushing his own hard erection against the cleft of Éomer’s buttocks.

“It may be rare, but it is not unheard of in Gondor for friends to find their release with each other.”

If this was the only way that he could have the man he had fallen in love with then he would just have to be content. He just prayed that Éomer did not reject him.

Éomer froze in disbelief. He felt he could almost cry. He wanted Faramir so much and here he was offering himself but, this was not the way he wanted it. He did not want Faramir to have sex with him as a friend, someone to help quench his desires on this one occasion, or even until one of them found someone to marry and set up home with. No, if he got to have Faramir at all he wanted him to desire him the way that he did, to be his forever.

He used all that was left of his will power to turn himself over and push Faramir off of him, feeling almost sick at the look of devastation in his friend’s eyes. He knew then he had to be honest, even if it cost him this great man’s friendship.

“Faramir,” he said quietly sitting up and taking the older man’s hands in his. Looking in his eyes he continued nervously, “What you offer me is a simply wonderful gift, but one I can not take from you.”

Faramir started to apologise and tried to pull away but Éomer held his grip firm, he needed the Gondorian to hear all of what he had to say. “No, listen. Please.”

“I can not accept this because I care for you too much. I know that if we were to take our friendship to the level you propose I would not be able to let you go again. I would not only want to be your friend, Faramir, I would want to be your lover, your mate, and I would not be able to step aside if you fell in love and wanted to be with someone else.”

With that said he dropped Faramir’s hands and brought his own to cover his face. Those had been the hardest words he had ever had to say to anyone and he could almost feel his heart begin to break.

Faramir could barely keep the tears from his eyes as Éomer rejected his offer. He had been such a fool to give into his desires and now he had ruined everything, or so he believed until he had started to hear Éomer’s reasons.

His tears quickly turned from sorrowful ones to joyful as he realised that the Rohirrim cared for him in the same way that he did.

He took Éomer’s hands gently and lowered them from his face. Then he leant forward and placed a kiss against Éomer’s lips before pulling away to be able to look in his eyes.

“I love you Éomer,” he said softly. “I do not wish to share you, or for you to have to share me. I want to be yours and yours alone, I just never believed that you would want me to.”

He leant forward and kissed Éomer again, this time lingering, running his tongue over Éomer’s lips invitingly. The Rohirrim parted his lips almost instantly, deepening the kiss, allowing their tongues to dance together. His hands finding their way up to Faramir’s hair, pulling him closer, hoping that all his desire showed.

This time neither of them pulled away.

They undressed each other quickly without ever breaking the kiss and their hands explored each other’s bodies, running down muscles and everywhere possible.

Sounds of ecstasy soon filled the night air as they became one for the first time. Until finally they collapsed together, their bodies glistening with sweat, in each other’s arms and there they remained until morning came.

“Farewell my friend,” said Éomer holding Faramir in an iron-like grip at the gates of Minas Tirith. He would only be gone a short while but he knew that he would miss the man’s friendship and support and everything else that Faramir had offered so unconditionally.

“Have a safe journey,” replied Faramir, trying his best to smile while knowing that he too would miss the other more than he dared imagine.

“Hurry back, I will miss you lying beside me as I sleep,” he added quietly in the Rohirrim’s ear, causing him to blush.

“If I remained,” Éomer whispered back, “You would not get any sleep.”

Reluctantly pulling away, Éomer mounted his horse and turned to leave, “I will be back before you know it.”

Both men knew that their separation would be hard, but their relationship had reached a new level, one that that would be virtually impossible to break and soon, they would together once more.

Faramir smiled as he returned to the Citadel, remembering the moment than he and Éomer had met; many lives had been lost that day, but upon the battlefield a great friendship had been forged, one that would last for generations.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/brothersinarms. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!