Faramir Fiction Archive

Forming an Alliance (NC-17)

Written by Phytha

20 December 2008 | 4566 words

Title: Forming an Alliance
Author: Phytha (email; website)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer
Beta: none but repeatedly proofread. Still all mistakes are mine
Disclaimer: Faramir and Éomer still belong to Mr. Tolkien, not to me (sigh!) Just played around with them in my crazy mind.
Summary: Two warriors are sent on a diplomatic mission.
AN.: this story seemed to take on a life of its own. I’m not sure if it really matches your request, but I hope you still enjoy.

Written for the 2008 Midwinter Swap.

Request by Helmboy: Request: I don’t have much of a request. a good solid story about Faramir and Éomer, perhaps not an easy attraction but an alliance of convenience and how two men with great dignity and internal passion live with it would do

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Alliances

For the first time in his families long tradition of hosting the meetings of the dignities of the neighboring realms Hyeldred felt himself at a loss. As owner of the House on the Hill he was well aware of the importance that protocol had for his high-born guests. Like his father and his father’s father before him, he had been brought up with the knowledge of the importance of a proper conduct of, more than often critical, meetings of the leading members of the two kingdoms. And it was his duty, as it had been the duty of his ancestors, to grant this proper conduct. Not only would the safety of Middle Earth depend on his dealing with his current problem, but the very existence of his own family.

Since the very beginning of their political relations, the House on the Hill had hosted every kind of negotiation between the realms of Rohan and Gondor. Placed right between the borders of the two countries the former owners of the small district had been able to find their place in the middle, pledging their loyalties to both of their neighbors, without giving up their own autonomy. Thus the estate had become the perfect neutral place whenever the emissaries of the two mighty dominions were about to discuss old and new unions, trading arrangements and all other matters so important for the benefit of the realms.

It wasn’t the problem that he had been informed on very short notice that another meeting had to be arranged, it wasn’t even the really serious reason, a reason probably deciding over life and death of all beings in Middle Earth, that made his stomach clench. It was a matter of protocol, so very miniscule compared to the gravity of the negotiations, that caused pearls of cold sweat forming on his forehead. But protocol was everything, so he had been told by his father, told with the help of a thick wooden stick as it was, the proper conduct of protocol was that decided the success of a meeting of the realm. Whomever he greeted first, whomever he introduced first to the other would be seen as outranking his partner. Normally this was no problem, a king outranking a steward, an order that could easily be transferred to their equal ranked ambassadors. But this time everything was different. Did the nephew of a king outrank the younger son of a steward? What if he made a mistake? What if the members of one party felt insulted and turned away, leaving matters unsolved their pride greater than the menacing danger? Would he be to blame for the downfall of the world as he knew it just because he’d greeted the wrong man first? Desperately trying to hide his unease Hyeldred straightened his shoulders and nodded to his guards to open the doors of the conference hall.

Faramir schooled his features to an unreadable expression as the big door connecting his rooms with the hall of conference was opened by a guard dressed in the brightly colored garb of the House of the Hill. It was the first time his father had appointed him to a diplomatic mission and he wasn’t quite sure how he should feel about it. Surely it was an honor to be allowed to negotiate such an important issue, but if he was being honest to himself, Denethor wasn’t known to honor his second born. And besides he never had been told the name of Rohan’s attorney, what if the dignity refused to confer with the Steward’s lesser son. Rising his chin he entered the well-lit room, ready to deal with everything that would come up in its own time. When the young ranger first laid his eyes on the man with whom he’d debate the future of Middle Earth he couldn’t suppress a secret sigh of relief.

Éomer was nervous. He’d never understand why his uncle had sent him to represent his realm. He was only the Third Marshal after all, a warrior, a man of the sword, not of the word. He shifted uncomfortably in his official gear, wishing with all his heart to be allowed to change into his usual riding habit. How could he stand a single chance against a well-educated ambassador of Gondor? The whole mission was bound to fail and he would be left to blame. Carefully hiding his worries, not wanting to give away the last shred of a chance for a satisfying solution, he stepped into the room of what could only be his doom. A stone weight seemed to be lifted from his soul when he noticed with whom he would have to discuss the safety of his country.

The guards, two of each realm took their traditional places at the doors, a relic of former times when diplomatic meetings were likely to be interrupted by intruders. The scribes rushed to their desks at the windows, both bearing deep frowns of disapproval on their foreheads. To witness two rather young warriors, inexperienced in diplomatic matters, as high-borne as they might be, being left to discuss a contract of mutual help was not what they had expected. Being trustful servants of their respective lieges, they had both been given secret orders and were now even more as ever determined to keep to them. Every single word, every stammer and even every gesture expressed in this room would sincerely be held down on their papers.

An uneasy silence arose as only Hyeldred and the two warriors were still standing. The owner of the House on the Hill felt the moment of his failure drawing nearer at light speed. Still unsure whom he should address first he felt his palms getting moist and sweaty. Secretly he tried to wipe them on his tunic, his eyes darting from one man to the other.

Trained to notice every slightest sign of body language Faramir pitied his distraught host, but he was himself unsure about how to proceed. If they’d met somewhere on a battlefield they would have been equals, but in diplomatic coursed everything was so much more complicated. Surely a son was higher in rank than a nephew, but a king clearly outranked a Steward. Not that any of this mattered to him, and he dared to think the same of the Third Marshall, but he distrusted his father’s scribe enough not to provide him with anything that could fuel Denethor’s scorn. Searching for Éomer’s eyes he noticed a faint smile of sympathy playing around the other man’s lips at the barely concealed discomfort of their host. Trusting that the Rohirrim had undergone the same military training he locked their eyes. Sometimes, being on patrol and surrounded by enemies the ability of being able to communicate only with ones eyes would save one’s life. Now Faramir used his skill to save his host’s honor and the success of a most important meeting. Coming to a swift agreement in a way not even the scribes could deduct, both men stepped forward in mutual understanding, they clasped their hands in a strong warrior’s grip, greeting one another as equals.

Feeling the weight of a whole mountain lifted from his shoulders Hyeldred easily slipped back into his role as master of protocol.

“Lord Faramir of Gondor, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, Captain of the Rangers, in representation of his liege” he started the traditional opening of a diplomatic meeting, “and Lord Éomer of Rohan, sister-son of Théoden, King of Rohan, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, in representation of his liege, meet here at the House on the Hill to negotiate an alliance of the realms of Gondor and Rohan to grant mutual help in times of war and assaults. Please let me proof the seals and credentials of your realms.” Casting only a quick glance at the provided seals and other items, he turned towards the scribes to pronounce the final ritual words. “The seals and credentials of the realms of Gondor and Rohan have been proofed and found true and valid by Hyeldred of the House on the Hill. Every word the representatives speak in this room has to be regarded as if spoken by those they represent.”

They started by describing the situations of their realms. Both of them being warriors they had seen enough of the increasing raids of orcs and other vile creatures creeping out of the foul caverns of Mordor. The only thing that was new for Éomer was Faramir’s notion that the raids were becoming more and more organized, bands of marauding orcs forming into well-trained armies. Both men were well aware that only their united armies were able to hold the mounting danger at bay. If it would be according only to them, they would have signed the contract without any further ado. But they had to speak for their realms and were well aware that the bargain contained so much more than simply a union of their weapons. There were agreements to be made, privileges to be granted as securities for their deal, as both realms wanted to gain as much benefits as possible. And every single word they uttered was directly written down by the scribes.

Not having been given any further instructions than “doing what he deemed best for Gondor” Faramir was not quite sure how far he was allowed to go with his agreements. More and more he got the suspicion that he was running into a trap his father had set up for him. But he’d been given the seal of the House of the Steward and he was determined to make the best out of it, the best for Gondor, just like his father had said. Éomer proofed to be a skilled partner in negotiation, holding his ground with great eloquence and determination. Slowly the two warriors started to warm up to this new kind of combat, a combat of words instead of arms. Having reached a basic mutual agreement within the very first minutes, they found themselves delighted to discuss their bargain down to the last detail just for their own fun, the sake of their realms – and the sake of the scribes, who were busy to keep up with writing.

Faramir was becoming more and more enchanted by his partner. The handsome face of the Marshal was like an open book, unable to seclude any emotion. From time to time the brown orbs would sparkle with mirth whenever Éomer managed a new unique twist of their conversation, showing clearly how much he enjoyed the duel of words. Glad to have found an equal opponent the ranger delved deep into the glee of a well-conducted dialogue.

Every now and then the Gondorian would dart his gaze at the scribes in warning and every time Éomer answered with a understanding wink, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips, and both were trying to suppress their amusement as they continued to pretend the picture of two hard working men in dire negotiations. Nothing was at stake any longer, they had long ago agreed on sending two of Rohan’s famous breeding stallions together with a master of horse lore to increase Gondor’s breeding stock in exchange for the mining rights in one of the Gondorian iron ore mines and a master armorer to teach Rohan the secrets of Gondor’s famous weapons.

They were down to discuss the final details of wheres and whens and hows when hey notice that the sun was already setting and a soft rumbling of their bellies reminded them that they had been negotiating for hours without a single break to refresh themselves. Sharing a wicked grin at the thought that the scribes had to undergo the same ordeal they stood up and announced their meeting to be concluded for the day.

A delicious dinner was soon served in the rich decorated dining hall. Soon the conversation turned to the increasing difficulties to keep the borders safe, a topic both warriors had quite a bit to tell about. Again they lost themselves in their discussion and only realized the time when Hyeldred was unable to suppress a yawn, the tension of the day clearly taking his toll on him.

“Lord Faramir, may I invite you to my rooms to continue our talk, it seems that out host is in dire need of some rest and it would be very rude to keep him awake.” Hopefully Éomer smiled at the ranger. He had the feeling that he could make a great friend here and didn’t want to stop their conversation, now that they would finally be free to speak their minds without unwanted ears listening to every single word.

“I would feel honored, Lord Éomer, and rude it would be indeed to keep the man, who has done so much to grant the success of our meeting from his well earned rest.” Faramir too was curious to hear what his new comrade had to say when they were without the spying scribes.

Wishing everybody still awake a good night the two men made their way to Éomer’s rooms where a homely fire had been lit in the fireplace. The Horse Lord opened a bottle of wine, provided for the guests and filled two cups, before he settled into one of the comfortable chairs.

“To the alliance of our realms, Lord Faramir!” He raised his cup to a toast, smiling at his new friend.

“To the alliance!” Faramir responded, bringing the cup to his lip and taking a sip of the delicious liquid. “But may I utter a small request. Now that w are in the privacy of your rooms, away from prying ears, could we please cease the formalities? More than I am Denethor’s son I’m a warrior, and I’d like nothing more than to be able to talk to you as an equal. So would you mind if we’d forget about the Lords and just address each other by our names?”

“Thank you Faramir, It will be good to be able to speak with one another without dancing around each other with every word, as much fun it has been.” The Rohirrim grinned broadly at the remembrance of their former official talks, a grin Faramir wholeheartedly answered. „The whole day I have wished to have met you somewhere in an open place, getting to know you as a friend, not as the representative of a future ally. I think we have so much to discuss and shouldn’t waste our time on formalities.”

They continued to speak of the dire situations their realms were in, of the increasing cruelties of the marauding orcs, of villages they found burnt and citizens they found slain whenever they came too late for their rescue. Never did the vile creatures waste time with plundering, they seemed to have no interest in captured goods, their whole purpose seemed to be to spread death and destruction over the lands.

““What do you think of the idea of training our warriors together?” Éomer looked questioning at the ranger. “Although our ways of warfare are quite different I think we could learn a great deal from one another, and it would be of great advantage to strategize our moves once we find us together on a battlefield.”

“You’ve got a point here.” Faramir nodded his agreement. “It would do us good to learn from each other, it would make it easier for our armies to rely upon one another. I cant tell you, how glad I am that Théoden King sent the commander of his army to negotiate the alliance. Who else would know exactly how grim the circumstances have become. I already feared that I would have to state my point with some dire old counselors who were just all to ready to ignore every warning. Although I have to confess that I was a little surprised to meet you in the conference hall. Pleased, but surprised.”

“So was I when my uncle assigned me for the task” Éomer agreed thoughtfully.” I am a warrior after all, trained and skilled in everything concerning warfare, but I’ve never been an ambassador. Ere today I didn’t even know that I had any diplomatic skills. I really feared I was set out to fail.” With a halfhearted chuckle he shook his head. “And if I dare to say, the – well, situation between you and your father is no secret even in my country. I would never have believed he’d send you on such an important mission. No offence meant, I’m really glad it was you he sent.”

“I thought the same when I got the call.” Eyes wide with worry Faramir stared at his new fiend. “Until I saw you I really thought my father had set up another trap for me to proof my worthlessness. To arrange everything so that I couldn’t do other than fail and have something more to blame me for.” At the Marshall’s shocked intake of breath he nodded his head sadly. “I wouldn’t put it beyond him to ruin his own country only to have something to unleash his temper. My father,” pleading for understanding with his eyes he continued in a whisper, “has changed within the last years. He was never someone easy to deal with, but since he uses this damned globe, this palantir, to get knowledge about the future, his state of mind has gone from worse to worst. He has become so full of distrust and hatred – yes, I really wouldn’t put it beyond him… But Théoden? I can’t believe something like this of Théoden. He is known as a wise, thoughtful king, doing everything for his realm. I’m sure he knew he could trust you, knew you’d be the best to grant the success of the negotiations.”

“Denethor is not the only one who has changed to the worse lately.” Éomer answered wistfully. “Théoden seems no longer to be himself since he announced this new counselor of his, this Gríma Wormtongue, a most despicable and untrustworthy creature. It seems that my uncle is completely under his spell, doing nothing at all without Wormtongue’s consent. It has been him who decided that I should be sent on this mission. I wouldn’t wonder if I had been really sent out to fail.”

Both man stared at one another in silent horror. Finally Faramir found his ability of speech again: “So it seems that we both were meant to fail by those who should be responsible for the safety of the realms. But then,” his eyes shone with new determination as he straightened his back, “the Gods themselves seem to have gotten involved to bring us together in this place, to save our world even against the will of our lieges. And save it we will!”

Their hands found together in the grip of the warriors promising mutual help and resolute determination. Both men felt the hairs on their neck rise at the importance of the moment,

“This would be the moment, according to old legends, I would promise you the hand of my daughter, in order to seal our alliance.” Desperately Éomer tried to ease the uncomfortable tension that seemed to stifle their breaths.

“Well, figuring that you’re about my age,” Faramir smiled, although slightly uncomfortable at the sudden change of the topic, but still glad to have something to distract his mind of the serenity of the moment, “your daughter should be no more than a baby. Quite a long time for me to wait until she’d be grown up.”

“But unfortunately I don’t have a daughter.” Shrugging in mock despair Éomer had to smile at the expression if relief on the Gondorian’s face. “Although –,” the Rohirrim’s face was a picture of pure mischief, “well, I could promise you the hand of my sister.”

“No, I can’t, you…“Literally taken aback by the sudden suggestion Faramir almost fell out of his chair, instinctively raising his hands to a gesture of defense.

“No I can’t.” Grinning broadly at the ranger’s obvious discomfort Éomer becalmed his new friend. “As much as I liked to have you as in-law, as much I respect the temper of my sister. I wouldn’t live long enough to explain the whole story to her if I even made as much as a faint hint of what I suggested, be it in joke or not. But why does the thought of being betrothed scare you so much? Is there already anyone waiting for you in Gondor? “

“No one waiting.” A little bit ashamed of his unreasonable reaction Faramir was still trying to get his wits back together. “It’s only, that I…” Realizing what he was about to confess he averted his head, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“So we still have to find something to seal our agreement.” With a faint predatory gleam in his eyes Éomer moved closer to the ranger, the little display of emotions having told him everything he needed to know. “Seems that all I can offer you for the moment would be the small comfort of a warrior.”

Stunned Faramir gazed at the young Marshall. Had he really said what his ears told him he’d heard? Or was it just a wishful dream. He had been well aware all the time of the graceful beauty of the Rohirrim, and yes, he had secretly wished that they’d met under other, less formal circumstances. Noticing the gleam in his hopefully soon to be lover’s eyes his face lit up in a bright smile.

“I’d feel honored by this offer and gladly accept.” In a fluid motion he rose, meeting his mate halfway. They clung to one another in a firm embrace, both moaning hoarsely when their bodies came into contact for the first time.

“Do you kiss?” the ranger’s whisper was rough with desire. “For I’ve wanted to taste these luscious lips of yours for hours.”

Without delaying for an answer Éomer caught the hungry mouth in a fevered kiss, letting his lover feel that he’d too longed for this union for quite some time. Eager tongues danced around one another, plunging deep into hot, moist caverns, giving and taking at the same measure. Being the leaders of their warriors both of them indulged very seldom in these pleasures of the flesh, knowing quite well, that their subordinates would do everything they asked for and if only out of a sense of duty. To find an equal partner this eager and willing was more than they ever had hoped to experience.

Moaning into the kiss they moved towards the bed, never ceasing in the hungry exploration of their mouths. Tearing at their clothes they managed to get rid of their tunics before they even reached the soft covers of the four-poster bed, both of them sucking in a sharp breath of pleaser when their naked chests touched skin to skin for the first time.

“How far do you want this to go?” Finally reaching their destination Éomer rubbed his hand over the straining bulge in the Gondorian’s trousers, already reaching for the lacings.

“As far as you want to take it.” The ranger was barely able to form the answering words, the pleasure already spiraling in hot waves through his body. “But please do something already, you promised comfort, not torture.”

Chuckling hoarsely at his lover’s eagerness the Horse Lord let his teeth trace over an already hardened nipple, sucking the pebbled marvel as deep as possible into his mouth to soothe it with a calming tongue. Faramir was unable to suppress a sharp cry of rapture at the sudden onslaught of one of his most tender parts.

“Hush, not one sound.” The words were mumbled as the eager mouth moved over the muscular chest, all the way down to the hairy trail, leading the path to his final goal. “You’ll wake up the scribes and I’m sure they’d write down every single noise they hear coming from our room. We won’t grant them this pleasure.”

“How can I stay quiet if you do this to me?” Faramir was biting his lips to stifle another wail as the first licks of a nimble tongue dragged over the sensitive head of his swollen manhood.

“Need something to stuff your mouth with.” Growling in mocking agitation the Rohirrim quickly divested himself from his trousers, moving his body so that his leaking shaft was touching his lover’s lips. Eagerly Faramir opened his mouth, swallowing the thick column down to the hilt as at the same time his own hardness was sucked into an equal willing cavern.

To feel his mate’s twisting member pulsating in his mouth at the same time as he himself was sucked into oblivion was more than Faramir had ever been able to imagine. Éomer’s increasing moans reverberated through his whole body and it didn’t take long until he felt his balls draw up against his body and the telltale tingle of an upcoming release made his nerve endings sing a chant of pure, unadulterated bliss. All of his senses working on overload he gathered the last shreds of conscious will, trying to hold on, not wanting to let this end so soon, but the steady leaking of precome on his tongue, the pulsating of the thick vein against the inside of his mouth, the swollen member, swelling to even bigger hardness with every move of his tongue proofed to be to much for him to bear. His cry of ecstasy vibrated around the hot pole filling his mouth so pleasurable as endless spurts of his essence poured down his lover’s eagerly swallowing throat.

The salty-sweet liquid floating his mouth in combination with the unbelievable sensation of the rapturous wail against his over sensitive member was enough to drive Éomer over the edge as well. With a hoarse growl he spilled deep into the Gondorian’s throat, giving back everything he’d got drop for single drop.

When they were finally able to speak again Faramir smiled, still breathless from the most intense climax he’d ever experienced.

“As amazing as it was, it’s nor exactly how I wanted to end this evening. I’ve hoped so much to get a first-hand experience of the legendary Rohan riding skills.”

“Saved this for another day, won’t let you have all at once so that you can disappear again.” Still slightly spaced out on endorphins Éomer slurred the words in a raspy mumble. “We still have quite a lot of negotiations to do. All the small details that are so important, we can’t let them stay unsolved. Maybe we’ll even have to stay longer than anybody expected.”

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