Faramir Fiction Archive

Half-Hearted Holiday (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

29 September 2006 | 19511 words

Chapter 5

The more Faramir thought back to that look in Éomer’s eyes, the more he became convinced it had been of desire. And so, the more confused he became. Why would you constantly speak ill of a man you wanted as a lover?

He looked over to where Éomer was fishing, and took his time admiring his fine physique. He had always thought the King of Rohan to be an attractive man, as much as Éowyn was beautiful, and wondered briefly if he desired him.

‘It would be hard to say no to him,’ he thought to himself. He had spent much time watching Éomer while he had been in Minas Tirith, he was a proud man, and this pride could easily be portrayed as arrogance. He could be very cold, but usually only when Faramir was present. Towards everyone else he was perfectly pleasant and friendly. He created an impression instantly when he walked into a room and always seemed cheerful and at the centre of everything.

‘If he treated me with the respect and kindness with which he treats everyone else, then I could easily find myself wanting to be with him,’ thought Faramir reaching a conclusion. ‘Perhaps it is a good thing that we do not get along.’ Even if he did want him; he could do nothing about it. He could not simply attempt to seduce a king, especially when he was engaged to his sister, and he knew that Éomer would use any possible excuse to stop the wedding from going ahead. But the most important reason however was that he had orders to obey.

He had been in love twice before, both men had served with him as rangers, both had fought beside him, and both had lost their lives. It had been Boromir who had picked up the pieces afterwards, and tried his best to mend Faramir’s broken heart.

“Promise me,” his brother had begged. “Promise me that you will never give your heart to a warrior again. I can not bear to see you like this again.”

“Please Boromir, I can not promise you, for my mind does not choose who I fall for, my heart does,” he had replied, not wanting to make a promise that he knew he probably could not keep.

But Boromir had not accepted his reasoning, and with his next words he sealed the fate of his little brother’s heart, “I forbid it.”

For that reason alone, Faramir had not lain with another man again, for fear that his heart would be stolen once more, and how now, could he go against the command of his late brother?

Angry and upset at his thoughts, he threw the book he had not yet opened across the ground; maybe he needed a walk to clear his head.

Éomer looked up in surprise as the book flew passed him. “And I was led to believe that you were a good shot,” he exclaimed teasingly, unable to resist a small dig at the steward. It was then that he noticed that Faramir looked upset, and feeling concerned added, “Are you alright? It is nothing I have done I hope?”

He had spent most of the time they had been by the lake trying to work out his own feelings towards the steward, he was beginning to accept that he had always been attracted to him, and that was why he had started with the insults, to ruin any chance they may have had at a relationship. It was not that he did not want a relationship, but more that he did not want to risk the hurt that almost certainly went with it. He had been through that before.

Faramir’s first instinct was to snap at the Rohirrim, after all it was none of his business, and he certainly did not want him to know about the thoughts he had been entertaining. However, when he caught the concern in his voice he was surprised and found himself wanting to reassure the king that he was fine.

“I am alright, I have just spent a bit too much time reminiscing about people who are here no more. It seems to have effected my concentration. Will you throw me my book back?”

“Would you like to talk about them?” asked Éomer gently, before getting up to retrieve Faramir’s book. “What are you reading anyway?”

He read the spine of the book as he carried it over to where the steward sat and grinned, “The laws and rights of land owners, sounds very exciting. I can see why you have been having trouble concentrating. I am surprised you have not already read it.”

Faramir smiled back, it really was one of the most boring books he had ever had the displeasure of reading. “Alas it appears that a steward must know about these things,” he said with a sigh. “You should see the pile of books I have waiting for me back at Minas Tirith. The details of every law of Gondor are not something I ever thought I would have to concern myself with.”

“Surely you know everything about a steward’s duties. You do the job so faultlessly, it is sickening,” said Éomer sounding a little surprised. “Unlike myself, I have not got the first idea how to be a king.”

Faramir laughed, “I know nothing about being a steward, I am having to learn everything as I go along. Do not worry Éomer, you will make a great king, your people adore you, and there are many who will help you until you find your feet.”

If he had been surprised before, Éomer was even more so now. How could a man he had treated so badly have such faith in his abilities? He just opened his mouth to respond when they were interrupted by the sound of horse’s hooves.

Two horses stopped in front of them, although only one had a rider. “Orcs, my lord,” panted the rider. “We are in need of your bow.”

Immediately Faramir was at his feet and gathering his weapons, “How many are there Damrod, and how many men?”

“With you and his highness,” said the ranger, gesturing towards Éomer, “We have three swords and two bows. It is Mablung and Anborn, so we have the best on our side. We believe the orcs to be about thirty in number but we had not managed to get up close before they started to move, something has disturbed them from their camp.”

During his assessment, Faramir had jumped up behind him and Éomer mounted the other horse and they galloped off as quickly as they had come.

“Stick with Damrod and Mablung, and do not get yourself killed,” Faramir ordered the Rohirrim, “I do not wish to explain to Éowyn that I got you killed.”

Éomer was about to snap back, disliking being ordered about, but bit his tongue in time, recognising that these were Faramir’s men and his land, and he knew little about the fighting ways of the rangers.

They pulled to a halt where Mablung was waiting, leaning up against a tree. “They will be here in a couple of minutes, my Lord,” he said quickly as the men approached, then signalled to a tree a fair way in front of them. “Anborn is already in position.”

With a nod, Faramir left them and practically leapt up a tree near to where Mablung had gestured, with such grace that would please even the most agile wood elf, while the men on the ground positioned themselves out of sight. And then they waited.

When the orcs came into sight, Faramir did a quick count. Damrod, had been right, there were about thirty of them. But he was not too concerned; he knew from experience that he and Anborn should he able to take out about half of them before they reached the others.

As the orcs came closer, the actions which followed were ones that had been repeated many times previously. At his captain’s signal, Anborn started to pick off orcs one by one, and he and Faramir had brought down three a piece before the enemy even knew it was happening.

The orcs had no clear leader and so panicked, not sure how to get to the archers. Some charged towards the trees where the arrows were coming from, while others continued on in the hope they would not get taken down. There were only fourteen left by the time Mablung led the ground assault from their hiding place, but they would not go down easily.

As soon as he could, Faramir jumped down from the tree to help his men, and quickly disposed of a few more. With eight orcs remaining, half of them ran, and were swiftly chased down by Damrod and Mablung, leaving Éomer and Faramir two each.

As the Rohirrim struck one, he lost his balance and slipped, which distracted Faramir just long enough for one of his opponents to strike him on the shoulder with a club. Although there had not been much force behind the blow, it landed in the exact place he had been injured only months before and pain shot through him. However he was determined not to show he was in pain and quickly finished off his orcs.

“I see you did not manage to kill each other,” Mablung teased. “So does that mean you will be joining us for a celebratory dinner back at the caves?”

“I think that sounds like a very good idea, especially since the fish did not seem to be biting today,” said Faramir with a smile.

A while later the five men had disposed of the orcs’ bodies, collected their things, and set off towards Henneth Annûn.

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