Faramir Fiction Archive

Half-Hearted Holiday (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

29 September 2006 | 19511 words

Chapter 3

Éomer was still trying to find his voice when he felt Faramir’s weight shift off of him, and the knife removed from his throat. He opened his eyes to see a man dressed in ranger’s garb, physically dragging the steward away, talking softly as he did so.

Faramir had not taken kindly to being pulled off Éomer. He was fuming, and wanted nothing more than to kill the man who had insulted his beloved brother. He fought frantically, trying desperately to get away from the man who held him but found it impossible to do so.

It had been a long time since Mablung had seen his captain lose his temper quite so spectacularly, and he struggled now to hold him as Faramir fought like a man possessed, in an attempt to get away.

He had arrived just in time to hear Éomer’s last words, and to see Faramir’s reaction to them, and had wanted nothing more than to give the Rohirrim a severe beating himself; you did not upset the captain and expect to get away with it, especially on his own land.

But there were much more important matters to attend to. First, he had to calm the steward down before he did something else he would regret later, and then he would make sure that Éomer understood exactly who Faramir was.

Éomer watched as the ranger spoke softly to the young man in a language he did not understand, and vaguely remembered that most of the rangers were Dúnedain and spoke an ancient variation of elvish. From the tone, he could tell the words were aimed at trying to calm Faramir down, and they seemed to be working as the young man had stopped struggling.

It took at few moments for Faramir to quieten down enough to realise he was being spoken to, and another to recognise who was holding him, which caused him to cease his struggling immediately.

Realising in horror what he had done, he buried his head against Mablung’s chest, as the older man wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.

“Let all the anger go now Captain,” urged Mablung gently. “He is not worth it.”

“Thank you Mablung, I hate to imagine what would have happened if you were not here,” said Faramir, sounding more like his usual self. Mablung had saved him from many a sticky situation, and Faramir felt forever in his debt. “Will you stay with King Éomer for a while? I just need a few minutes on my own.”

“Of course Captain, take as long as much time as you need.”

With that, Faramir broke the other man’s hold and walked off into the nearby woodland.

“He will be back in a few minutes,” said Mablung, wandering over to where Éomer now sat. “He has just gone for a cold shower.”

“That man is dangerous,” Éomer stated, with a look of annoyance on his face.

“Aye he is,” Mablung agreed. “Especially when provoked.”

“I am Mablung by the way, and you are very lucky it was I, and not Damrod or one of the others that found you, or else upon hearing the words you spoke, they would have dug the hole for your body,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Éomer glared at him, irritated that this ranger could find amusement in the situation, and bit his tongue to refrain from answering back.

“Let me explain something to you,” Mablung continued, determined to give the Rohirrim a lecture before Faramir returned. “Us rangers are all rather wild. It comes from years living in caves and too many meetings with orcs. It all makes us highly protective of our own, and foreign titles mean little to us here.”

“While you are in Ithilien, you are no longer a king, you are merely a trespasser on our land, and you would be wise not to insult our Prince again,” he emphasised Faramir’s honoury title, making it clear that it was as royalty that he was seen by his men, “Or you will not only suffer his wrath.”

“Faramir is well loved in these lands, and has been our captain for many years. We are much saddened by his loss in these parts that we will not choose a captain in his place, for no one has his skill, his bravery, or his ability to lead.”

“Mablung, you flatter me with untruths. There are many as good as I, yourself included,” spoke Faramir from them behind them, having returned from the woods.

Mablung grinned. “Or his modesty. Feeling better Captain?”

Éomer eyed Faramir wearily, still cautious of the young man, especially since he felt incredibly sore from hitting the ground earlier. He noted with surprise that the young man’s hair was wet. Mablung had not been joking about him going for a cold shower.

Turning to address him, Faramir bowed his head, “I must apologise for my earlier actions your highness; they were completely unforgivable.”

Seeing the sincerity in the steward’s eyes, Éomer nodded, “Apology accepted.” He felt he should also apologise for his words, but found he could not quite bring himself to do so in the presence of the ranger. “We will speak no more of it,” he added.

His words earned a glare from Mablung, who had fully expected Faramir to receive an apology after Éomer’s words, but the steward did not seem worried. He had been highly relieved at being forgiven, although he was still slightly concerned that Éomer might tell Aragorn and Éowyn of the incident.

“Would you like me to ride ahead and let the company know that there are two more for dinner, Captain?” inquired Mablung. “No one informed us of your arrival.”

“There is no need, thank you Mablung,” said Faramir shaking his head. “Our lady specifically requested we spend the time alone so that we may learn to play nice, and as you have observed, we have not quite mastered it yet. I thought we would head for the disused scout post near Cair Andros.”

Mablung glanced over at Éomer with a look of displeasure on his face. He disliked the idea that the two men would be camping away from the company, having already planned to keep a close eye on the Rohirrim.

Éomer had not noticed the look. He had been pleasantly surprised that Faramir had described Éowyn as their lady; he had been so worried about losing her altogether after the marriage. Maybe it was not so.

“What is the orc situation like around that area?” asked Faramir

“There are occasional groups, usually no more than fifteen or so. They grow desperate however; it is worth keeping an eye out just in case.”

“We had best be setting off again, it is getting late,” said Éomer suddenly entering the conversation, having led the horses over to where the two men talked. Mablung’s presence made him uneasy; he was too protective of the young steward, and he could not help but want to put some distance between them.

“Yes, you are right, we have tarried here too long,” agreed Faramir, taking his horse and mounting it quickly.

“Give my regards to Damrod and the others; tell them I will visit as soon as I may. Farewell my friend,” he said to Mablung before turning to ride away, with Éomer following slightly behind him.

“Take care Captain,” called the ranger after them.

The remaining journey to the scout post was completed in silence; both men still feeling bad about the earlier incident, but it gave Éomer time to reflect on what Mablung had told him.

He had been surprised at how well thought of Faramir seemed to be by the man and could not help wondering if maybe he had jumped the wrong conclusion, after all his men would know him better than anyone else. Did they really think that highly of him?

Maybe he had been unfair to Faramir; he had never really given him a chance, maybe his gentle nature would even be good for Éowyn, she had seen far too much war and sadness in her short life.

As long as that temper was kept well away from her.

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