Faramir Fiction Archive

Half-Hearted Holiday (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

29 September 2006 | 19511 words

Chapter 4

It was growing dark by the time they reached their destination and Éomer was surprised to find out that the ‘disused scout post’ was in fact a tree house settled among the branches of several strong looking trees. It seemed secure enough; his only concern was how to get up there.

Seeing Éomer’s puzzled look, Faramir grinned, having cheered up considerably from earlier. “We purposely chose trees that were difficult to climb. It is safer from passing orcs,” he explained. “Give me a step up.”

Using the king’s hands as a step, Faramir found a foot support on one of the trunks and climbed up to the entrance of the shack with the skill of one who had done it many times before. A few moments later, a rope ladder ran down the length of the trunk, and Faramir reappeared to unload his horse.

Once inside, Éomer looked around the tree house in amazement. It was incredibly well made, and had pallets and an array of supplies in it including blankets and cooking utensils.

“This is actually quite nice,” he exclaimed as he settled down on one of the pallets. “Much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.”

“Thank you. It was one of my first tasks when I became a ranger,” said Faramir happily, savouring the unintended compliment. “Mablung, a couple of others and myself spent a long time working on it.”

At the mention of Mablung’s name, Éomer’s expression darkened, causing Faramir to break out into a grin of amusement.

“He made quite an impression on you I see. Whatever did he say to you?” asked Faramir. “He is perfectly harmless. Well unless he mistakes you for the enemy of course, but you can relax for you do not look Haradrim or like an orc.”

Unfortunately Éomer did not share Faramir’s amusement, he was still angry at the way that Mablung had spoken to him. He glared at the steward. “He was particularly protective of you. What favours have you carried out in order for such loyalty?”

Now it was Faramir’s turn to glare, he had believed that losing his temper earlier would have assured that the comments would have stopped, at least for today. Obviously he had been wrong. He was not about to bite his tongue any longer. If Éomer was insisting on carrying this on, he would give as good as he got.

“If you are suggesting that we are lovers, you are wrong,” he said simply and emotionlessly. “And we never have been. Not that my past lovers are any of your business. The only thing you need concern yourself with is that I am courting no one but your sister, and I have every intention to remain completely faithful to her. Now if you will excuse me, I would like some sleep,” Faramir said ending the conversation. “There is enough food left from our journey tonight if you are hungry, or you can go and catch yourself a rabbit or two. I will be up early to hunt for breakfast.”

It did not take long for the two men to settle down on the make-shirt beds. Feeling too tired to hunt, Éomer had settled for a snack of dried fruit. To be honest he had never been very good at hunting anyway.

Faramir was asleep long before the Rohirrim who lay awake thinking about the events of the day. As much as he disliked the way Faramir had started responding to his comments, he was pleased to discover that the Gondorian had it in him. He resolved however, never to say a negative word about Boromir ever again.

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“Good morning,” exclaimed Faramir cheerfully.

Éomer grunted. He had never been much of a morning person and did not take kindly to being woken up.

“What are you so damn happy about?” he grumbled.

“There is nothing more beautiful than watching the sun rise over the Anduin. I doubt even the golden wood of Lórien could compete with the Ithilien dawn.” Faramir grinned happily, for he had missed this life terribly, the rangers, the land, just being outside. How he had missed going to sleep under the stars each night.

“I am just glad to be home,” he added quietly, as if the words were meant for no one but himself.

With another grunt, Éomer turned over in an attempt to get some more sleep in. He had heard Faramir’s words but chose not to respond to them. He too knew what it was like to miss home; he could not wait until he could return to Rohan. Secretly he was pleased the steward was happy, and could not help but note that that he was strikingly handsome when he smiled, something he could not remember ever seeing during his time in Minas Tirith.

“Alright, go back to sleep then. I am off to catch us some breakfast.”

Part of him was annoyed at Éomer, it would have been nice to have some help, but Éowyn had warned him about her brother’s dislike of mornings, and he refused to let it spoil his good mood.

He was pleasantly surprised however, when he returned a short while later to find a fire burning away happily, and Éomer just setting a pot of water over it to boil.

“You are just in time,” said Éomer with a smile, taking one of the rabbits from Faramir’s hands and starting to skin it, deciding it was high time to call a truce. “I will show you how to make a decent Rohirrim rabbit stew.”

“No offence, but I think I know how to stew a couple of conies,” replied Faramir offishly.

“Suit yourself,” replied Éomer gruffly. “So what do you do around here to entertain yourself? Any good fishing spots?”

“I know of a good spot. We used to keep ourselves busy hunting orcs, but most of them appear to have been killed while I was lying in bed reading poetry,” Faramir replied mockingly, repeating the Rohirrim’s snipe from the day before.

As much as he wanted to be friendly towards Éomer for Éowyn’s sake, the sarcasm came much too easily, and he had had enough of keeping quiet and being the weak fool who stood by and took everything that was dished out.

At that, Éomer refrained from any further attempts at small talk and finished preparing breakfast in silence, only venturing to speak when the stew was done. “Here, try this. Or would you like me to have some first to show I have not poisoned it?”

“I am sorry for earlier,” said the steward quietly, feeling guilty at his impoliteness towards the king. “I guess I am simply not used to you being pleasant towards me. I have a feeling we will be sent on many more of these trips if we are not careful.”

“This is really very nice,” he added as he tried the bowl of stew in his hands. “We will clean up in the river, and then I will show the small tarn the other side of the woodland. Although if you do not mind I will pass on the fishing and read for a while instead.”

“Sounds good, Théodred and I used to fish all the time when we were younger,” reminisced Éomer. “But alas, we became too busy with our duties to go often in the end.”

A while later, they were ready to head off for the tarn, equipped with fishing rod and book, and set off through the trees. There was some talk, which mainly consisted of Éomer telling tales of the fish he had caught as a child. Faramir had a few tales of his own, but explained that Boromir had always been the fisherman in the family. In fact it had been the only time he had known his brother to sit still for more than a few minutes.

“Be careful round this bit, there are some fairly dangerous…” started Faramir, only to be cut short by Éomer tripping over. The Rohirrim grabbed hold of his arm in an attempt to steady himself, which only resulted in pulling Faramir down on top of him. Scrambling to get up at the same moment, they got tangled up in the fishing rod and with each other, causing them to fall back into a heap on the ground, which started the steward off giggling.

Éomer tried to glare, feeling highly embarrassed about ending up on his backside once again, but failed miserably. Faramir’s giggle was highly infectious, and he too found himself laughing.

“… tree roots,” finished the Gondorian in between giggles.

In years gone by, Faramir would have enjoyed the position he now found himself in, but he was sure that the Rohirrim would not be as pleased. Still, he had no desire to move. Deep down he liked the idea of having the king of Rohan underneath him.

Éomer could not help but notice how the sun shone through the steward’s hair, highlighting the rich copper tones, and he found himself fighting the urge to push away the strands that hung over the other man’s face.

Suddenly coming to his senses, he pushed Faramir off of him and got up quickly.

Faramir had watched with interest as Éomer’s emotions had changed. In his eyes he had seen the embarrassment and the anger at being laughed at. Both had faded as he had joined in with the laughter.

He had then seen a flicker of something else, just before he had been pushed away. It had looked like desire, but he knew he had to be wrong; the Rohirrim did not even like him.

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