Faramir Fiction Archive

Dark and Dangerous (PG-13)

Written by Helmboy

22 December 2007 | 7800 words

Part Four

Spring had arrived in the lands of the horse lords, bringing with it the promise of foals of great quality. The mearas among them had foaled in the sheltered crags of the spring and summer pasturages, encouraging a careful round up by the farmers who managed the herds. Birds had returned and green shoots were pushing up, providing excellent fodder for the animals after a long winter of dried feed.

The earth had been turned and farmers were hard at work planting and caring for the food that would carry them through the next winter. Flowers were beginning to show their buds and fruit trees fielded oceans of bright fragrant flowers, attracting bees to their nectar. The earth had taken life away for four months and now it was giving it back. The people were happy and busy.

Edoras was bustling with activity as a major hub on the trading route between one settled place and another. Shops were full of goods made in many faraway places and people came there for the monthly county days to exchange or sell according to need.

In the King’s House, activity was just as intense. The King was getting ready to go on his annual sojourn among the towns and villages of his people. Preparations for travel were being made and he was in his office giving orders to his loyal men, who were more than happy to do his bidding. It had been not long before that Théoden had been an invalid, captive to the manipulation of Gríma Wormtongue. Gríma’s name was seldom mentioned by anyone since that cold winter morning he rode out and never returned.

Searching his rooms, Gamma had found potions and other portentous objects in a small chest under Gríma’s bed. They appeared to have been part of the process that had kept Théoden enslaved. Now that he had been gone, life had slowly returned to normal and the king, restored, rejoined his life and his people with the focus and the will of old.

Upstairs, lying on his bed, a tangle of sheets and long blond hair, Éomer sighed. “Come here.”

Faramir stood at the window, staring out at the city as the morning breeze caressed his bare chest. He had just arrived from Gondor, meeting once again with trade guilds concerning practical items of mutual interest and security on the trade routes between Rohan and Gondor. He was Captain of the military units that made sure the trade caravans and other travelers were safe on the long circuitous routes from all ends of this part of Middle Earth.

“The day is going to be clear and bright,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to his lover. “The ride will be beautiful.”

“Any time I can ride with you it is beautiful.”

Faramir snorted and turned, perching on the windowsill as he gazed over Éomer’s body. A few new scars here and there but not much else changed. He was still powerfully built, muscular from riding and fighting and pale skinned from wearing leather armor most of his days. His hair was loose on the pillow, a soft yellow cloud that was his personal halo. Given the circumstances, it ringed his head with light. Éomer patted the bed and yawned. “Come. Be with me.”

Faramir rose and crossed the room, sitting down beside Éomer, his arms bracing himself over the prone figure of his lover. Looking down at him, noting dark lashes flush against his cheeks and his full red lips, he felt the love that was the best part of his life fill his heart. Leaning down, he kissed Éomer softly, his heart fluttering as a strong hand reached up and gripped his head gently. Callused fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed against Éomer’s mouth. “Rise and shine, lazy butt. We have a job of work to do today.”

“Do not remind me,” Éomer said, his hand falling to the bed. He frowned, his eyes still closed and sighed deeply. “I will be glad when that bit of business is over with.”

“We had to do it, Éomer,” Faramir said softly, lying back alongside his lover. “It was for the good of two countries.”

“I know,” Éomer said quietly.

“We for whom much is given, also much is expected. We do not always get to live our own lives,” Faramir whispered.

“If we did, much would be different,” Éomer said with certainty in his voice. He turned and raised himself up on one elbow, resting a broad callused hand on Faramir’s chest. “We would not part the way we do if this was so.”

Faramir nodded slightly, a wash of emotion filling him. He felt a sense of peace at that moment he received nowhere else in his life and it warmed him. With the back of his hand, he touched Éomer’s face, warm skin to warm skin. Dark lashes folded against pale cheeks as Éomer embraced the simplicity of Faramir’s soft touch. Éomer lay back and pulled the big man into his arms, holding him tightly for a moment. “In a moment,” he said quietly. “We will leave in a moment.”

“You are going to kill me.” Gríma looked from one to the other, his hands shaking in his lap. A tear slid down his cheek as he watched them stare back silently. He shifted in his seat. “I can tell you things, important things, things about Saruman.”

“And we are supposed to believe you,” Faramir said quietly, moving to sit on a chair on the other side of Gríma. He was between them, trapped, and it showed.

“You can. Why would I lie to you now?” he asked, looking frantically between the two of them.

“Because that is what you do,” Éomer said, his expression hardening. “You lie the way some people breathe. Nothing you could tell us now can be trusted.”

“But I promise you,” Gríma said emphatically. “I promise you that I will tell you whatever you want to know.”

“That is what we fear, Gríma,” Faramir said quietly. He looked at Éomer, who nodded. Rising, he pulled a thin rope from his pocket, grabbing one of Gríma’s arms. Gríma rose, struggling and Éomer countered him, helping Faramir tie his hands behind his back. Gríma screamed and cursed, struggling as hard as he could as they wrestled him and when the deed was done, he was let loose to fall to the ground.

He cursed and cried, barely able to raise his head high enough to see them. Turning and gathering their winter gear, Faramir and Éomer pulled on dusters and fur-lined overclothes. Éomer grabbed Gríma’s arm and pulled him to his feet, dragging him to the door. Faramir followed, speaking softly to the men who had stepped back out from behind the curtain at the start of the fracas. Then he turned and followed Éomer out into the darkling snowfall and closed the door behind him.

They rode down the trail and up toward the great tree that had such a significance for them. It had been a giant oak, many hundreds of years old and in its split trunk, rent in two by lightning, there was a blackened cavity. On a cold night months before, they had dragged an unwilling man up this same trail, half carrying him to the place where he would meet his end. They had discussed it for a long time, ruling out directly ending him themselves. They chose instead to give him back to Middle Earth and leave him inside the oak tree forever.

When they arrived at the spot, they sat uneasily, each delaying that moment when they would find Gríma there. He would still in all likelihood be frozen and the ghastly possibilities bothered even these two seasoned warriors.

“After you,” Éomer said, glancing at his lover.

Faramir grinned. “It is your country. You must have pride of place. I will follow you.”

Éomer sighed and smirked in spite of himself. He dismounted slowly and waited for Faramir, the two of them then turning and climbing up the slope. They paused before the tree’s broken interior, glancing at each other for a moment. Then Éomer leaned over and kissed Faramir. “All right. Let’s do this together.”

Faramir nodded and took a deep breath. “One, two, three,” he whispered and then they both stepped upward and peered inside.

“Oh, dear god,” Éomer whispered softly…

The End

11/10/2007

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