Faramir Fiction Archive

Half-Hearted Holiday (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

29 September 2006 | 19511 words

Title: Half-hearted Holiday
Author: Laurëlóte
Beta: Minx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer
Summary: Faramir and Éomer don’t get along; how far are they prepared to go for the woman they love?
Feedback: Feedback is always highly appreciated. Send it to laurelote@hotmail.co.uk
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they all belong to Tolkien, I’ve merely borrowed them

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Chapter 1

With eyes fixed to the floor, they looked very much like a couple of children being scolded by their mother for play fighting or missing their lessons, but they were not. They were fully grown men, and the lady addressing them was clearly not happy with their behaviour towards one another.

“I have no idea what your problem is,” fumed the voice in front of them. “All I want is for the two of you to get on. Is it really that unreasonable to want my brother and future husband to be able to have a conversation for more than five minutes without is resulting in snipes and cheap insults?”

Faramir and Éomer exchanged a look, it was not that they disliked each other exactly; it was just that they were so different.

Faramir had just been named as Steward of Gondor, and although being brought up as a ranger, he was a scholar at heart, a reluctant soldier who would much rather spend his time studying texts and seeing to paperwork.

Éomer on the other hand was a soldier through and through. He had never wanted to be the King of Rohan as was now his fate, he was much happier protecting his country, patrolling the borders, ridding them of orcs.

In any other circumstances they would never have bothered speaking to each other at all, but they had been thrown together, sharing only one thing in common, Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan.

Faramir had met Éowyn in the Houses of Healing. Together they had been working through their grief caused by the loss of loved ones during the war of the ring. Left in Gondor for the final battle at the gates of Mordor they had comforted one another, there had been an attraction from the start and they cared for each other deeply.

Éomer wanted nothing more than for his sister to be happy, he only wished that she had chosen someone more suitable. He had wanted her to marry a soldier; someone who could protect her if necessary and look after her.

To him, Faramir was weak. He had heard many of the rumours of the steward being feeble and useless. Indeed, he had seen it for himself on previous visits to Gondor.

His mind wandered back to the last time he had visited Minas Tirith, a couple of years ago. From his balcony, he had watched Faramir, who had not long made the rank of captain, on the archery range, and to put it mildly, he was terrible. He had watched as the young man missed the target again and again.

Having been told that the youngest son of Denethor was better with a bow than a sword, Éomer wondered how he ever made Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, and concluded that it could only be due to his parentage.

This was not the type of man he wanted for his beloved sister, Éowyn. Especially since is meant that he would no longer have her by his side back in Rohan. But deep down he knew she loved Faramir, and that was the only reason he had agreed to the marriage between them.

What he did not know, was that at the time of seeing Faramir practising his archery, the Gondorian had been recovering from an injury to his left shoulder, his normal draw arm, and so had taken it upon himself to learn to draw a bow with his right. He was now a completely ambidextrous archer, and probably one of the best in the whole of Gondor.

“I spoke to Aragorn,” continued Éowyn, “and he agrees that the two of you should spend some time alone together before we return to The Mark.”

It had been agreed that Éowyn would return with her brother to help restore some normality to the realm of the Horse lords before returning for the wedding. While Faramir would remain in Gondor tending to his duties as steward, and helping to restore Minas Tirith back to its former glory.

It was Éomer who ventured to speak first. “What exactly are you asking of us dearest sister?”

“I want the two of you to take a couple of horses and spend a few nights in each other’s company in the wilds. Go fishing, kill some orcs, anything, I do not mind. Just spend some time together and learn to get along.”

The men looked at each other once more, they could not think of anything worse. Days in the wild with no one but each other for company. They could not stand even being in the same room as one another.

Faramir did not want to dislike Éomer, and in the beginning had tried to get along with him, but the Rohirrim had made it quite clear that he did not think him worthy to marry his sister.

Much experience with his father had caused him to avoid altercations as much as possible, and to show as little emotion as possible to any insult he was given. Therefore after receiving the first few insults Faramir had given up all attempts of friendship, choosing instead, to spend as little time as possible with Éomer.

The words had upset him deeply, stirring up feelings he had never dared feel while his father was alive, then, he had stored up his emotions, until they could be released on some unsuspecting orcs in Ithilien. Without his usual methods of release, the last thing he wanted was for Éowyn’s brother to realise the effect his comments had on him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so, Éowyn placed a finger gently against his lips requesting silence.

“Before you protest that you have duties to tend to here my love, Aragorn has already agreed that you can have the time off,” she said softly, and then moving to address them both she added, “Do this for me, please. For I love you both dearly and it would mean so much to me.”

Everyone who met her knew that Lady Éowyn was a difficult woman to say no to; especially when her words were combined with that sad, pleading look she always used which brought men to their knees before her.

It did not take long for the two men to give in, and they both found themselves agreeing to the trip. It was, after all, what Éowyn wanted and it would make her happy. They would only have to put up with each other for a few days and then maybe she would let the matter drop if she felt they had at least tried to get along.

Chapter 2

As they prepared to leave a few days later, neither man was in a good mood. They both saw the whole exercise as pointless and a complete waste of time, especially when there were so many important things to be done within the city. Yet instead, they were being sent off by Éowyn and the king, in the hope they might become friends.

Although Faramir was willing to try for a final time, it was purely for his fiancées sake, and he was having difficulties seeing how in being forced to spend time with him, Éomer would suddenly find him a worthy husband for his beloved sister.

“Éowyn, I really can not see what this will achieve,” pleaded Éomer, making a final attempt to get her to change her mind. “Surely we are much more use here?”

“There is much work to do finding housing for those who have lost their homes and assigning what resources we have,” added Faramir, having assigned himself to helping all the refugees who had found themselves homeless during the war.

Éowyn smiled in amusement, if nothing else they had been working hard together to try and get out of the trip.
“I am sure we will be able to manage without you for four days. I promise to ensure that no one will starve in your absence. Now go, I will see you soon.”

Accepting defeat, both men sighed simultaneously; it was going to be a long few days.
All traces of teamwork vanished as they rode away, and Éomer was happy to pin the blame for the whole situation onto Faramir.

“You do realise that we would not be doing this if it was not for you. Aragorn is probably desperate to get rid of you, you are so highly irritating.”

As usual, Éomer’s reasoning made no sense at all, but Faramir decided not to point out that Aragorn had only agreed because he too found it impossible to say no to Éowyn. He was well aware of his considerable temper, and knew that if he said anything in retaliation, it would likely result in one of them getting seriously hurt. It was best to say and do nothing, and just let Éomer finish his ranting.

“I really wish I knew what Éowyn sees in you, you can not even stick up for yourself.”

Éomer hated the fact that no matter what he said, Faramir never once responded. Was he really that unfeeling, that he did not care what anyone thought of him? He was becoming desperate to know just what it would take to cause the younger man to react.

“All the time you should have spent defending your own home, you managed to spend in bed reading poetry, while my men did the job for you, and people still have the audacity to call you a warrior.”

Faramir had never classed himself as an excellent soldier, certainly not in the same league as Boromir, but he knew that he was very good with a bow and more than sufficient with a sword. Éomer’s comment was a step too far, he already felt bad enough about not being able to take part in the battle at Minas Tirith, but as he had been gravely injured as the time, it could hardly be helped. He definitely did not need snide remarks from some arrogant Rohirrim reminding him of the fact.

“Are you forgetting all the years I spent fighting in Ithilien, or are you just choosing to ignore the fact I was captain there?” asked Faramir coldly, not being able to refrain himself from commenting any longer.

He would not deny that he hated war and fighting, but he had risked his life many times to protect Gondor and his rangers, and although he would never admit it, he was very proud of it. The life of an Ithilien ranger was not for the faint hearted. Or at least, it never used to be, trouble in the area had greatly reduced in the area after the war had ended, and for that Faramir was highly relieved. While orc attacks still occurred, they were much less frequent.

“It is surprising the positions men can acquire simply from being born into the right family, skill does not come into it,” replied Éomer, deeming it unnecessary to add that he believed Faramir to be one of these men.

Faramir found the suggestion that he had gained his position simply on being the steward’s son alone, highly laughable, but instead of pointing out that his father would never have permitted such a thing to happen, be decided to turn the other man’s words against him.

“Well I must confess, I was wondering how you managed to secure your position as Third Marshal of the Riddermark. And now you find yourself a king no less. I strongly suggest that you work on your people skills before heading any important diplomatic missions.”

Faramir’s words stung Éomer like a slap across the face; he was unaccustomed to being spoken to in such away. Although they were harsh, they were fully deserved, and deep down, he knew that the young man was right. He was a warrior and certainly no king for a time of peace. He was worried that he would be unable to do the right thing by his people, and that was the main reason why he so desperately wanted Éowyn to remain by his side in Rohan; she was so much better at diplomacy than he was.

Lost in thought, Éomer ceased his verbal assault on the young man and an awkward silence descended upon the pair.

After a while, Faramir pulled his horse to a halt, and Éomer was unsurprised when the steward announced that they had reached the borders of Ithilien. Not knowing the land, he had let Faramir lead, and knowing his fondness for the region, had always suspected that was where they would end up.

“We can rest here for a while, let the horses have a drink,” said Faramir, dismounting and leading his horse to a nearby stream.

Éomer followed suit, unable to resist another comment as if did so. “So this is the famous home of the Ithilien Rangers.”

“It has always seemed unnatural to me, a group of men spending so much time together in the wilderness, without a woman in sight,” Éomer continued. “Must lead to all sorts of morally unacceptable practices. Your men all seem so… close. Tell me is having a preference for men compulsory, or is it just advisable?”

Faramir frowned and looked away, hoping not to show the anger, which ran through him. He was well aware of the rumours which surrounded his men, although he personally did not believe such relationships occurred any more frequently than in any other company, maybe even less in some cases. The close bonds which were formed were more like that of blood brothers than of lovers, as was so widely believed.

Sensing that the steward was close to losing his temper, Éomer turned his comments onto Boromir, knowing how close the brothers had been. He disliked speaking ill of the dead, especially words which were untrue, and had respected Boromir tremendously, for being a great leader, and an even better warrior. But being driven by an ever increasing need to push Faramir over the edge, he spoke the next words before he even had a chance to realise what he was saying.

“Of course, from what I have heard, Boromir would never have made a good ranger; he liked the ladies far too much. But I do not think he would have remained loyal enough to actually marry one of them.”

Faramir shot Éomer a warning glare, there was a line which was rapidly being crossed, and he was quickly losing his temper.

‘Just ignore him,’ Faramir told himself. ‘He is a king, and you will treat him as such. Just take a deep breath, and remain calm and relaxed.’

Despite desperately willing himself to relax, he felt his hands clench into fists. Éomer really was going too far this time. In a final effort to regain composure, he turned to walk away.

Seeing the effect he was having on the young steward, Éomer could not help but push him that little bit further. He had been trying for weeks to get him to lose his temper and he was not about to stop now.

“It would not surprise me to find out that there were dozens of baby Boromirs running about the streets of Gondor.”

Faramir snapped.

He spun back around, swinging his right arm as he did so, punching Éomer square in the jaw.

Falling backwards, the Rohirrim only realised what was happening when his back came into contact with the hard ground.

Before he had the chance to get back on his feet, Faramir was on top of him, with a look in his eye, which could only be compared with a warg’s who had been starved of food for several weeks.

Éomer was scared. Whatever reaction he had been expecting from the steward, he certainly was not expecting it to be this intense. He tried to push Faramir off him, or at least to reverse their positions, but found him to be surprisingly strong, and impossible to budge.

The attempt to move the man on top of him ended abruptly as he found a knife pointed at his throat.

“I do not give a damn what you think about me,” spat Faramir, still full of rage. “But if you ever attempt to dishonour my brother’s name again, I will kill you regardless of the consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Éomer tried to reply but found his mouth too dry to speak. He was not used to not being in control, and the fact that he had no idea how far the Gondorian was prepared to go, terrified him. Faramir could kill him right here and now, no one would see, and who would disbelieve him if he said that they had been ambushed by orcs, after all, he never lied.

“I said,” repeated Faramir slowly. “Do I make myself clear?”

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.

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.

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.

Chapter 6

As the blindfold was removed, Éomer was surprised by the sheer size of the cave he found himself in. There were various tunnels going out of it here and there, and he found that he had no idea which one they had entered through.

There were many rangers scattered around, most were sitting in small groups, drinking and chatting merrily; some were fletching arrows while others were playing chess.

The moment he entered they stopped talking and they all turned to face him, it was then that he realised that the ranger named Damrod was addressing them.

“Tonight, there is cause for celebration; our prince has come to visit us.”

Damrod paused as a cheer from the men echoed around the cave. “And with him, comes King Éomer of Rohan, his sword has proved most useful today so I hope you make him most welcome.”

The rangers stood and bowed, before raising their goblets for a toast. At the same time one of the men presented the returning group with cups also.

“To our prince and the King of Rohan,” declared Mablung before taking a sip of ale, his words echoing around the cave as all the men did the same before returning to their seats.

“Welcome to my humble palace,” Faramir said to him with a grin, but clearly a little embarrassed with the welcome he had received, being much more used to being just ‘one of the men’. “Come let us sit. Food should be served soon.”

The next hour or so was spent eating and drinking. Faramir was kept busy talking to his rangers, all of whom wanted to wish him their congratulations on his newly acquired titles and to ask after his health, commenting how well he looked after his near fatal injury.

Although some spoke to Éomer also, he was largely forgotten next to their beloved captain, and so the Rohirrim spent most of the time studying his companion, and to his surprise, he found himself feeling jealous that Faramir’s attention had been taken from him.

Faramir’s feelings about the situation were mixed; on the one hand he was delighted to be back home at Henneth Annûn and among his rangers, but at the same time he could not help but feel uncomfortable with them fussing around him. They were treating him like a hero and he was nothing of the sort. All he had done was lead men to their deaths, and he hated himself for surviving when they did not.

In an attempt to compose himself, he got up to refill his and Éomer’s goblets with more ale, and turned sharply as he did so causing pain to shoot through his shoulder. He tried to stop himself from flinching, but failed.

Éomer witnessed the flinch and frowned. He had seen Faramir get hit during the skirmish with the orcs and knew that he had been trying to hide the injury from everyone. He had also noticed the steward’s increased discomfort at the rangers’ praising words and quickly made the decision that Faramir needed a break.

“Is there somewhere more private we can go?” he asked, standing up to meet Faramir returning with the ale.

Faramir was a little surprised by the Rohirrim’s request, but did not question it. Instead he nodded, secretly pleased to get away from the hustle and bustle for a while. “Follow me,” he said quietly.

Éomer followed the Gondorian through a network of tunnels, each of which had candles placed in alcoves along it lighting the way. Eventually they came to a stop in a smaller cave, which appeared to Éomer to be used as sleeping quarters. There was a pallet which was probably used as a bed against one wall, and a desk and small bookshelf against another.

“Did you wish to talk about anything in particular or did you simply want to get away from the main hall for a while?” asked Faramir, breaking the silence. “I know it can be awkward being a stranger among such a close group.” He had noticed the Rohirrim had been unusually quiet, only really speaking when he was addressed directly.

“You are right, it is a little awkward. I just needed to go somewhere quiet for a bit,” replied Éomer, not quite willing to admit that it had been for the steward’s sake that he had suggested leaving. “Besides, I did not dare insult you there, not with so many people willing to kill to defend your honour,” he added teasingly.

“And we can not have that now can we?” said Faramir with a laugh, seeing that Éomer was not all that serious, but at the same time feeling slightly disappointed that the other man did not seem to want to spend time alone with him as he had hoped.

“I must say this ale is very nice,” said Éomer taking a sip. “Much nicer than that stuff Aragorn has us drinking back at Minas Tirith for his celebrations.”

“You mean Gimli’s dwarvan ale?” asked Faramir with a laugh. “It is very strong, too much so for me, I try and stay away from it. The rangers brew this themselves, it is a fair bit weaker, but so drinkable it is just as dangerous.”

“Maybe I should take some back with us, let them know what they are missing,” he added, more in thought than to the other man.

Éomer could se what Faramir meant about it being dangerous, he had already drunk more than usual and the night was still young. He would have to be careful not to do anything he would regret later.

“Take off your tunic,” said the Rohirrim suddenly, completely changing the subject, knowing he needed to see to the steward’s injury before they were missed.

Faramir looked at him both startled and confused, causing the other man to smile, “I am going to take a look at your shoulder,” he went on to explain.

The Gondorian shook his head instantly. “It is really not that bad, just a little bruised. You need not trouble yourself,” he replied a little annoyed with himself. Although he was in a lot of pain he thought he had done a good job hiding the fact, he especially had not wanted to give Éomer another reason to take cheap shots at him. He could not even take down three orcs by hand without getting himself hurt in the process.

“I had heard you were stubborn, Steward, but to let yourself carry on suffering because you are too proud to let anyone look at your wounds is just plain stupid. Take off your tunic and let me take a look at your shoulder,” demanded Éomer. “And if you do not, I will go and find Mablung. I am sure he will happily take matters into his own hands.”

Faramir groaned and slipped off his tunic. The last thing he wanted was Mablung fussing over him.

“I thought that would do the trick,” grinned the Rohirrim as he attempted to find the small bottle of oil which he knew he had on him. Finding it at last, he looked up triumphantly and his eyes came to rest on the bare chest in front of him, looking quite appealing dressed in the light of the candles.

Though Faramir was slender and a little too thin, he was quite well toned. Éomer felt the sudden urge to run his hands over all the different muscles of the man’s body, savouring each one in turn.

“Are we going to get this over with or are you just going to stand there and be irritating?” snapped Faramir in impatience, forcing Éomer firmly back into reality.

He really had to stop drinking that ale.

“It will be over before you know it,” replied Éomer, pouring a little of the contents of the bottle into his hands and walking over to Faramir. “I will try not to press too hard, your shoulder looks very sore.”

The steward nodded and shut his eyes as the Rohirrim started massaging the oil into his shoulder. He noticed that Éomer in fact was being extremely gentle and it actually felt rather nice. “What is that stuff?”

“It is some oil Aragorn gave me at Helms Deep. It is very good for bruises, so they should clear up quicker, and there is also something in it which dulls the pain a little,” explained Éomer. “If you want to know what is in it, I am afraid you will have to ask him. Am I hurting you at all?”

“No, that feels nice,” responded Faramir dreamily, ‘too nice’ he added to himself as he suppressed a groan. It was a shame he had not hurt a few other places as well for he certainly would not say no to a full body massage from this man right now.

The steward was just too beautiful to resist and Éomer found himself moving himself around so that their lips were just a few inches from each other. “Do you have any other injuries which need attending to while I am here?” he asked softly.

At the question, Faramir opened his eyes and was startled to find himself staring into the most lovely pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. “I… I might have one or two,” he stuttered, never once breaking eye-contact.

“How about here?” whispered Éomer as he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Faramir’s.

Instantly the kiss deepened, both men full of feelings of passion and desire, both fighting for dominance over the other. Faramir brought his hands upwards and tangled his fingers in Éomer’s blond hair, pulling the other man closer; while Éomer ran his hands down Faramir’s back exploring all the flesh before him. The two men kissed each other frantically, neither wanting it to end, desperately wanting to explore and taste and feel everything they could.

Eventually they broke off the kiss, both flushed and out of breath. Being the first to catch his breath, Éomer moved forward to claim the other man’s lips once more only to find himself pushed away, and he caught sight of a look of panic in Faramir’s eyes.

“I am sorry,” stammered Faramir obviously distressed, grabbing his tunic and dressing quickly. “I should not have. Forgive me.”

“Faramir please,” begged the Rohirrim, grabbing the other man’s hand, desperate to know what was wrong.

Once again the steward pulled away, “We should be getting back,” he said simply before rushing out into the tunnels, not once looking back.

“Faramir!” called Éomer after him, before sinking to his knees in despair.

He did not know what had just happened or why the Gondorian was fleeing from him now, but he did know that they had both wanted it, and Faramir could not keep on running forever.

Chapter 7

Éomer had just risen to his feet when Mablung charged into the room, his eyes displaying as anger similar to that which had possessed Faramir the day before. He had just seen his captain flee from the caves in an extremely distressed state and was determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

Just seconds later, Éomer found himself pinned up against the wall. “What the hell did you say to him?” spat Mablung. “Did I not warn you?”

The Rohirrim found himself unable to speak; he was far too shocked and confused to think straight. How did you explain to one who seemed intent on killing you, what you did not really know yourself?

“I said nothing, I swear,” he answered after a few moments, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Then why, pray tell, have I just seem him in such a state?”

“I… we…” stuttered Éomer before falling silent. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to this seemingly over-possessive ranger what had happened. His lack of answer however caused the grip on him to tighten more so he was almost choking.

“Answer quickly or I swear I will cut your cursed tongue from your mouth.”

“We kissed!” Éomer snapped, obviously flustered.

“We kissed,” he repeated again softly in defeat. “And then he fled, I know not why. I wish I did.”

Mablung growled but released his grip on the young man, at once becoming calmer, knowing exactly why Faramir would be upset. He could only guess at the emotional turmoil the young man was going through.

“And you did absolutely nothing to hurt him?” he asked, needing final confirmation before going to talk to his captain.

“No, I could never hurt him.” As soon as the words left Éomer’s mouth he knew that they were true. He did not want to see Faramir hurt ever again.

Mablung nodded; he may dislike the man but he found that he believed him. “Come my Lord, I will take you back to the main hall and then I will go and find our prince.”

Outside, Faramir cursed himself for being so foolish. He wanted the Rohirrim, he could not doubt that for a moment, but kissing Éomer had just made everything so much more complicated.

The kiss they had shared had been incredible; he had never experienced anything like it. If he had stayed, things would have gone further, and he knew that he would never be able to let him go if that happened. But they had stopped at a kiss, so maybe they could just go back to the way things were before, forget that it ever happened.

Faramir sighed, he was fooling no one, it was impossible to go back to hating Éomer, and he found that he was increasingly fascinated by him. He was a man of contradictions; he could be both warm and cold, both charming and spiteful. He wanted to experience everything about him.

He closed his eyes and found himself wondering what it would be like to give himself completely to Éomer, and how it would feel to have full control over the Horse-lord, to make him beg…

He shook his head angrily, attempting to rid his thoughts from his mind; he had to stop thinking this way. He could not hurt Éowyn like this, she did not deserve it. He had promised he would be faithful to her and look after her, and here he was in danger of breaking his oath before they even said their vows. And then there was Boromir.

He had told his brother that he could not choose who he fell in love with, and now he could feel his heart being stolen away from him; he was breaking his brother’s order and there was simply nothing he could do about it.

“He would not want you to be miserable, my friend,” said Mablung softly, resting a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, knowing exactly what the young man would be thinking.

“Those words he said were designed for the dark times we were in. The world is at peace now; there are not the same dangers as there used to be. If Boromir was here, he would take back his words.”

“But he is not. So he can not,” replied Faramir angrily, bitter that Boromir was not here when he needed him; the realisation that his brother would never be there for him again was more than he could bear.

Mablung sighed and wrapped his arms around the young man. He had looked after Faramir ever since he had first come to Ithilien and had watched him develop into a good leader and soldier, and an even better man. Over the years, the steward had confided in him, telling him many of his troubles and worries. It pained him now to see this lovely young man hurting yet again.

“Then I will leave you with this,” he said quietly. “A King is not a soldier. He is first a peace keeper and a diplomat.”

“Whatever you decide, you must talk to him tomorrow. I do not doubt that he cares about you, he is worried and it is only fair that you explain. Maybe he can help you find a solution to your worries.”

With that, Mablung rose to depart, leaving Faramir to his thoughts. He only hoped that the young man would take some time to think about what had just been said.

Chapter 8

Dawn arrived too early for both men. They knew that they would have to talk before they returned to Minas Tirith the next day, but neither of them particularly wanted to bring up the subject of the kiss, each worried about how the other would react.

They broke their fasts in near silence, participating in small talk only when directly spoken to by one of the rangers and all too soon they were ready to set off back to the scout post.

Faramir could not help but notice how drained Éomer looked; the sparkle had gone out of his eyes and his hair did not seem to have its usual golden shine. He had obviously had an uncomfortable and restless night, and Faramir could not help but feel guilty about the fact, knowing that he was almost certainly the cause of the younger man’s state.

The Rohirrim had felt terrible, and after Mablung had shown him back to the main hall the night before, he had consumed even more ale in an attempt to forget his rejection. Despite the alcohol, he had found it impossible to sleep and so instead he continuously played over the events in his head. He ended up being so confused that he no longer knew what to think, say, or do in an attempt to put the situation right.

He felt that he should apologise for his actions but he did not regret them for a moment. He did not wish to say sorry for the most perfect kiss he had ever had.

Faramir also had slept little, choosing instead to spend most of the night outside, wandering around the nearby woodland. It was something he had always done when his mind was troubled. Normally it helped him to reach conclusions to his problems, but this time it seemed as though he would reach just one answer, when several more concerns would start to plague him.

Neither man spoke as they walked towards the scout post, and the tension between them was building. Faramir walked in front, never once turning back to see if Éomer still followed. He desperately wanted to reach their destination before saying what he had to say, wanting no possible distractions.

Unable to stand the silence a moment longer and desperate for some answers, it was Éomer who spoke first.

“Faramir, I…” he started slowly, unsure of exactly what to say. “I am truly sorry for what happened last night. Not for kissing you, for I will treasure that moment for the rest of my life, but for the distress my actions appear to have caused you. That was never my intention.”

Faramir stopped walking as he heard Éomer’s apology. It was all he could do not to throw himself into the Rohirrim’s arms; he had never heard words so sweet and caring. Instead he replied softly, taking Éomer’s hand in his and looking him deep in the eye.

“It is I that am sorry, I should never have left you like that. I do want you, but you know things are never quite that simple.”

“Come, we are not far from camp now, let us return and then I want to explain my actions to you.”

Faramir turned to continue on their way but Éomer refused to let go of his hand, afraid that upon reaching the tree house the Gondorian would tell him that could never be.

Faramir smiled as he turned back to the man who had so quickly stolen his heart and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Do not worry; I do not intend to leave you alone again.”

Éomer smiled as Faramir’s words provided him with all the reassurance he needed, that he was not about to be rejected a second time.

“Well what are you waiting for then ranger?” he replied teasingly as he walked quickly past the Gondorian, causing Faramir to snort and shake his head, secretly pleased that most of the tension between them seemed to have disappeared.

He desperately wanted to explore the feelings he had developed towards Éomer but he knew that having a relationship would be by no means easy, especially with his up-and-coming marriage to Éowyn. He wanted to remain faithful to her but it would be impossible to resist the temptation that her brother presented him with.

The silence on their journey was much more comfortable now and they walked quickly, both now eager to arrive at their destination.

Upon arrival, Faramir watched as the Rohirrim checked over their horses that they had left roaming wild the morning before. He had always admired the way that Éomer was so gentle and caring towards his splendid creatures, treating each one like a member of the family.

Boromir had always said that you could tell how a man would treat his lover from the way he acted towards his horse; a man who treated his horse simply as a possession would be a selfish lover, taking but giving little in return. “Boromir would have approved of Éomer,” thought Faramir to himself happily, now convinced that his decision was indeed the correct one.

It was not long before they were settled on the pallets in the tree house and Faramir started to explain about his lost loves and his brother’s words.

Éomer’s eyes narrowed in anger as he heard how Boromir had forbidden his brother from giving his heart freely. He just could not understand how you could prevent someone you loved from being happy.

Seeing the disapproval on his companion’s face, Faramir shifted closer to him and placed a hand on his knee.

“I know it sounds an awful thing to do to someone, but it was only ever said out of love.”

Éomer moved to speak, but Faramir stopped him and continued.

“I am sure you remember how Éowyn was when Théodred was killed, she told me herself that she fell apart, that it was only that she had to be strong during the war which guided her through. You would do anything to stop her going through that again, would you not?”

“Not anything,” thought Éomer to himself, but found himself nodding in reply. “For I could not let you go now for anyone in the world.”

As Faramir fell silent the Rohirrim took the opportunity to explain his own actions, feeling guilty for the way he had treated the steward in the beginning.

“I was in love once, or at least I thought I was,” he started softly. “I was young, and I did not know any better. He left me once he got his promotion within the ranks, he was only ever with me so he could further his career.”

He could not hide the bitterness in his voice, and it upset him that he was still affected by it after so long. He still felt ashamed and could not bear to look Faramir in the eye as he told his tale.

“I have not allowed myself to get close to anyone since. My unfriendly behaviour towards you was partly because I chose to believe all the lies and thought you unworthy of marrying my sister, but mostly because I knew that I was in danger of falling for you.”

As he spoke the last words he turned back to face the Gondorian, and tried to will away the tears which were forming in his eyes. “I am so sorry. You never deserved any of it.”

Faramir instantly wrapped his arms around the young man, pulling him close. Éomer seemed so vulnerable and upset and he wanted nothing more than to comfort him.
“Do not be sorry, it matters not,” he said gently, lying down on the pallet, pulling the other man down with him. “Rest now, I know you did not get much sleep last night. You will feel better when you wake.”

He watched happily as Éomer curled up in his arms, pushing himself backwards in order to make as much contact as possible. As the Rohirrim slipped into sleep he placed a gentle kiss against his brow and watched a small smile form on his lips.

“Forgive me my love,” he whispered softly. “For I can not marry your sister now that you have stolen my heart.”

Chapter 9

When Éomer woke, he was more relaxed than he had been for a long time. All his insecurities had disappeared, absorbed by the warmth and comfort of Faramir’s arms around him.

The vision of beauty lying next to him took his breath away. Smiling contentedly to himself, he started to place dozens of little kisses all over Faramir’s neck and shoulders causing the Gondorian to stir.

“Mmm… That feels nice,” murmured Faramir, pulling Éomer close to him. Gently he lifted the Rohirrim’s chin with his fingers, allowing him to reach the lips which had woken him in such a delightful manner. Slowly, he closed the gap between them, kissing Éomer softly.

As he pulled away, Faramir teasingly ran his tongue over Éomer’s bottom lip, enticing a groan from the blonde.

Accepting the unspoken invitation, Éomer instantly brought his hands up to the Gondorian’s head, pulling him towards him almost forcefully. He kissed him hard, fighting to explore every inch of the other man’s mouth.

The kiss was every bit as passionate as their first, both once again wanting dominance over the other, neither wanting to be the first to pull away for breath.

Faramir positioned his hands to mirror Éomer’s own, and then rolled him swiftly onto his back, pinning him down against the pallet.

The action caused the Rohirrim to growl and to instantly reverse their positions. He ground the hard bulge in his breaches into the Gondorian’s thigh, causing him to moan with need and anticipation.

“Well now that you have me at your mercy,” whispered Faramir breathlessly. “Just what are you going to do with me?”

“I thought first, I would remove every item of your clothing,” Éomer purred seductively as he skilfully started untying the bindings of Faramir’s tunic. “And then, I thought I would explore your gorgeous body with my tongue. I wish to taste every inch of you.”

Faramir suppressed another groan, the Rohirrim’s words travelled straight to his groin, and had succeed in arousing him more than he had ever thought possible. Part of him however, was not quite ready to give up complete control.

He leant up slightly to allow Éomer to pull his tunic over his head, before pulling the other man back down into another kiss. He briefly wondered if he would ever satisfy his hunger for the soon-to-be king. However any such thoughts were quickly lost as Éomer broke off the kiss and began to move downwards, exploring his neck with small kisses and licks.

The Rohirrim was very pleased with Faramir’s reaction to his ministrations. The Gondorian wriggled and bucked with every lick, his neck obviously very sensitive. Experimentally, he nipped gently at the skin with his teeth and was rewarded with an even more delightful response from his lover; he was definitely now the one in control.

“Oh God!” cried Faramir as Éomer nibbled on his neck; it was the one thing which never failed to turn him into a quivering mass, and he found himself completely at the Rohirrim’s mercy.

With one final lick, and a lot of reluctance, Éomerstopped torturing Faramir’s neck, concentrating instead on exploring the man’s chest. He loved what he saw, the well-toned muscles and the light covering of copper coloured curls.

He continued to admire the sight as the Gondorian started work on ridding him of his own tunic, followed by his breaches. Before he knew it they were both lying there naked, taking in the sight of each other for the first time.

Éomer straddled the ranger’s thighs and leant forward, swiping a dark nipple with his tongue and then suckled on it gently.

Faramir groaned at the new sensations and grabbed a handful of the Rohirrim’s hair, pushing him down on top of him, as if desperately seeking more contact.

“Do not torture me so,” he groaned his voice full of desire. He wanted more, he needed Éomer to touch his erection, and he felt like he would explode if there was no contact soon.

“Do you want me to taste you lover?” purred Éomer, then smiled at the moan he received in response. He mover slightly, allowing him to whisper in the other man’s ear, “Beg me for it.”

Faramir whimpered, this time in despair. There was no way he could beg, no matter how much he wanted this to happen, he was not ready to give his arrogant lover that satisfaction.

Using all his strength, he flipped them over, pushing Éomer onto his back, and then teasingly ran his tongue over the slit of his erection, gathering up the droplets of pre-cum. He would not be the one to beg first.

Éomer growled as their positions were reversed, but any attempt to protest died as soon as Faramir moved to the source of his arousal.

Faramir’s licks and light touches were pure torture. He thrust his hips upwards slightly and did everything he could think of to encourage the Gondorian to give him more but failed miserably.

When he could take it no more, his resolve broke. “Please Faramir, give me more. I need more.”

As soon as the plea had left Éomer’s mouth, Faramir took his erection deep into his mouth, allowing the Rohirrim to thrust into the warm, moist cavern.

Knowing that he would not last long, Éomer took his lover’s shaft into his hand and skilfully stroked it in time with his thrusts, wanted them to peak together. He soon had his wish, as both came hard, moaning each others names; Faramir, collapsing beside him moments later.

Éomer brought his hand to his mouth and slowly licked off the spilt seed of his lover, savouring the taste, for what he hoped would be the first time of many.

Neither of them wanted to move, they just stayed there, slowly returning back to the present, enjoying the moment in silence, for as long as it could last.

As they lay there, Faramir suddenly felt a twinge of sadness and regret. No matter how much he wanted Éomer, it did not alter the fact that he had broken his promise to stay faithful to Éowyn, and so had failed in his duties before they had even said their vows.

He knew that Éomer had never been happy about the marriage, but needed to know where things stood after this latest development. Knowing that it would do no good to put off the inevitable, he decided to take the plunge.

“Well at least now you get your wish,” said Faramir softly. “For I cannot marry your sister now that I have broken my oath to her.”

Éomer tensed in his arms, before pulling away, suddenly becoming the protective brother once more. “You said you loved Éowyn.”

Although he wanted Faramir and knew that he would never be able to resist the temptation that he presented him with, the last thing he wanted was for Éowyn to get her heart broken once again in the process. She had been through far too much in her short life; he did not want her to suffer any more.

“I do love her, replied the Gondorian reassuringly. “She is smart and witty, and not to mention very beautiful. She is everything I could ever want for in a wife.”

“But how can I marry her, knowing that she would never hold the whole of my heart? She deserves so much more than that. She should be free to find someone who will love her completely.”

“I think…” started Éomer, then paused briefly as he tried to phrase his thoughts in his mind. “You will have to marry someone, your duty as Steward dictates it. I do not wish to share you with anyone; I would forsake my duties and stay here with you forever if I could. But I can not. If I have to share you with anyone, I would want it to be Éowyn.”

“We have to tell her about us, we can not keep our feeling secret from her.”

“I know Faramir,” replied the Rohirrim with a sad sigh. If it had been at all possible he would have spared her from the pain it would cause. “I will speak with her when we return and tell her how I love you.”

“I just hope she understands.”

“So do I. Although I have no idea how she will react to the news.”

“Now enough talk. It is late and we have an early start in the morning,” continued Éomer. “I wish to sleep in your arms once more.”

Faramir could not help but smile at Éomer’s words, thinking that he could happily spend every night with his proud, blonde god curled safely in his embrace.

Chapter 10

There were two figures waiting for them inside the gates of Minas Tirith as the Steward and the future King of Rohan arrived just after midday.

“You are back!” cried Éowyn, throwing her arms around both as soon as they got off their horses.

“How was your trip?” inquired Aragorn while trying to read their body language, hoping that the two men had at least learnt to get along.

Éomer screwed up his face in disgust, “Do not ever ask me to do that ever again. I was forced to spend a night in Henneth Annûn… And they say that soldiers are uncivilised!”

Faramir looked momentarily shocked at the Rohirrim’s words. He had believed that they were well and truly past the insult stage, then quickly realised what Éomer was in fact doing.

“Just remember who took out over half that group of orcs. They would have ripped you to shreds if I had not been there,” he stated coldly.

“And good riddance it would be too,” he added under his breath while desperately trying not to laugh at the look of horror which passed between Éowyn and Aragorn. Neither had ever heard Faramir speak a harsh word about anyone. Things had got worse, not better!

It was Éomer who cracked first. An amused grin spread slowly across his face, earning him a playful slap from Éowyn, and causing Faramir to laugh.

“I believed you! How could you do that to me?” said Éowyn, trying her best to look angry. “You know how important this was to me.”

“We were good Éowyn,” replied Faramir with a smile, adding a ‘very good’ silently to himself. “Do not worry.”

Éowyn smiled happily and grabbed their hands, pulling them towards the citadel. “So, tell me all about your trip.”

Aragorn chuckled at her enthusiasm, “Maybe you should at least let them get cleaned up first?”

A while later Éomer was sitting on the bed in his chambers, while his sister was busy unpacking his things and putting them away, fussing over him, and paying no attention to the fact that he wanted her to stop so that he could talk to her.

“Éowyn, Éowyn!” he desperately tried to get her attention. Finally she turned to look at him. “Stop that for a moment and sit down, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Seeing her brother’s serious look, she frowned, and sat down warily on the edge of the bed.

He took her hand in his and turned to face her, not quite daring to look her in the eye.

“Éowyn love, you know me better than anyone,” he knew however he said this it was never going to sound right. “And you know that what I am about to say, I do not say lightly. Please do not be angry, but…”

“Éomer what is it? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

She was very worried now, Éomer had broken off what he was saying and had buried his head in his hands in despair.

He did not know how he was going to tell her, what if she never forgave him? She was all the family he had left. For a brief second he could not help but wonder if he should forget the whole thing, but picturing Faramir in his mind, he knew that it had to be done, for he could never walk away.

“I am in love,” he blurted out suddenly, meeting his sister’s eyes briefly before looking away.

“Is that not a good thing?” prompted Éowyn, desperate to know what exactly was going on in her brother’s mind.

“It is Faramir. I am in love with Faramir.”

Éowyn sat expressionless as she slowly processed the information in her mind. This was defiantely the last thing she had been expecting.

“You can not choose who you fall in love with,” she said gently trying her best to remain calm but inside she was in turmoil. Faramir was hers; this was never supposed to happen. But at least it was her Faramir loved, and her brother would certainly not jeopardise her happiness over someone he could never have.

“I am not angry with you Éomer,” Éowyn continued softly. “I just feel sorry that you have fallen for someone who can not return those feelings.”

“He loves me too,” he replied quietly, his voice barely over a whisper as he struggled to say the words out loud for fear of breaking his sister’s heart.

“What?!”

Éomer could see his sister’s temper rising. This was certainly not going to end happily but he could not back out now.

“I love him and he loves me. Not as much as he loves you of course, but we want to be together. You can still marry him though,” Éomer spoke quickly without so much as a pause of breath, and then cringed as he repeated back what he had said in his mind. Faramir would have put it so much better.

“Oh, I can still marry him can I?” replied Éowyn with a glare. “Well that is all right then.”

With that she stood and ran out of the room, trying her best to stop the threatening tears from falling.

Moments later, the door to Faramir’s chamber was flung open.

“Is it true?” asked Éowyn accusingly.

Faramir’s heart sank as he saw the look on his betrothed’s face, she had obviously been crying. She hated them both.

“Éowyn, I am sorry,” he said softly, hoping to calm her down, if only slightly. “I am but a weak man, and we all have our downfalls.”

He walked over and stood before her, taking her hands in his.

“I love you so very dearly and want nothing more than for you to be my wife, but if it had not been Éomer, it almost certainly would have been another man.”

“I should have told you that from the beginning, but I thought I could resist, but I can not, and for that I am truly sorry. If you want nothing more to do with me then I understand. But I beg you to think long and hard before you finish what we have.

“We have nothing!” cried Éowyn, tearing her hands away and slapping Faramir hard across the face, then stormed out the room just as quickly as she came.

Chapter 11

Éomer found Faramir in the private gardens that had once belonged to his mother.

It had been days since they had told Éowyn and she had not uttered a word to either of them since. The whole thing had put a strain on their own relationship, mainly out of guilt over the pain that they had caused.

Just that morning, Éomer had said some things that he had instantly regretted, so now he was here, preparing to beg for forgiveness, for he was not sure how he would cope if he lost his beloved as well as his sister.

Nervously, the Rohirrim approached, only to find strong arms wrapped around him.

“It is alright,” said Faramir gently, releasing his hold after a moment. He knew exactly why the Rohirrim was here and he too felt sorry about the morning’s argument. “I know that you did not mean those things.”

“That does not give me the right to say things that hurt you,” Éomer replied sadly allowing the Gondorian to lead him over to the bench in the corner of the garden.

“I do not deserve you,” he continued, raising a hand when Faramir tried to protest. “I should have just stayed quiet and let you marry Éowyn. At least then you would both be happy. Instead, I have brought misery to you both.”

For a moment, he fell quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

Sensing the Rohirrim had more which he needed to say, Faramir resisted the urge to speak and stayed silent.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Éomer buried his face against the Gondorian’s chest, his shoulders shaking with pent up tears.

Faramir wrapped his arms round the younger man and pulled him close, trying his best to comfort him.

“What have I done?” Éomer asked, turning to face the Gondorian once he had recovered his composure. “What if she never speaks to me again? She is all the family I have left.”

“Shh… do not talk like that,” replied Faramir softly. “You are her brother and she loves you. Yes, she is angry now, but she just needs time. She will forgive you.”

Unbeknownst to them, a silent figure watched them sadly from a window above, only turning away when a hand gently squeezed her shoulder.

“I have never seen him cry in front of anyone before, not even me,” she said quietly.

“Éowyn, he feels safe with Faramir,” Aragorn replied gently. “I know that you feel betrayed, but they never meant to hurt you.”

A few days ago, he had been shocked but pleasantly surprised by the development as Éowyn had run crying into his arms. He felt sorry for her, but he understood completely how it felt to love two people at once, and the two men were perfect for each other.

However he knew that the only happy ending would be if the Rohirrim siblings were happy to share.

“I know that you are upset, but I also know that you adore Faramir, are you really willing to throw that away?”

“I care nothing for Faramir now.”

“If that is true, why are you so upset?” challenged Aragorn.

Éowyn had been moping around for days now. Finally losing his patience with her stubbornness he decided to speak frankly, believing it was the only way to make her see sense.

“At the end of the day, it is you who are missing out. They will have each other and you will be alone.”

“Marry Faramir and yes you will have to share him, but you will get to be with him every day. Éomer will not. Need I remind you that one is Steward of Gondor, the other King of Rohan? Realistically how often do you think they will get to see each other?”

With that he strode out of the room, leaving Éowyn to her thoughts, hoping that she would realise exactly what she was throwing away.

Faramir frowned and got up from his desk. He was convinced he had heard a knock on his study door but no one had entered. He opened the door just in time to see Éowyn walking away.

“Éowyn!”

Hearing the Gondorian call her name, Éowyn paused briefly, trying to decide what to do. She had come to speak to him, but as she had knocked at his door, she had realised that she just was not ready to see him.

“Éowyn, please speak to me,” pleaded Faramir, “Or if not me, Éomer. Do not throw your brother’s love away.”

Éowyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Reluctantly she turned round and headed back towards the study.

“You love him very much, do you not?” asked Éowyn after a while, having settled down in one of the chairs by the fire.

“Yes I do,” said Faramir softly, kneeling beside the chair and taking her hand. “I would not mess with his feelings or yours Éowyn. I love you both deeply; I never wanted to hurt you.”

Éowyn smiled sadly and turned to face the Gondorian. She knew that what he said was true, but never less she had been hurt, and inside her heart was breaking.

“I love you Faramir with all my heart, but I can not and will not share you with anyone.”

“Please do not ask me to choose,” replied Faramir quickly, a hint of distress in his voice. It was the one thing he dreaded most, having to choose would only serve hurt her more and would widen the rift between her and Éomer further.

“I do not ask you to choose, for I fear that you will choose duty over your heart, and then we shall all be miserable.”

“I release you from your vow to me, Faramir,” she added after a long pause. “I will not marry you.”

Faramir was saddened by her words, but deep down he knew that he was not as upset as he should be, it was only then that he realised that his heart belonged to Éomer completely.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” he asked, biting his lip.

Éowyn squeezed his hand gently. “Yes, I am sure, and I give you and Éomer my full blessing. You are good for each other.”

“And now I will go and tell my brother the same as I have told you.”

“I thought you might need a little cheering up,” explained Éomer having arrived at Faramir’s chambers later that evening, armed with a large dish of strawberries and one of Aragorn’s best bottles of sweet elven wine.

Faramir smiled broadly on seeing his visitor and showed Éomer in, taking the dish and wine from him and placing them down on the table. “Thank you, although you should realise that you do not need to bring anything other than yourself to brighten my mood.”

“So tell me my love,” he said grinning as he leant over the back of the chair Éomer had settled himself into and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s neck. “Whose idea was the strawberries then?”

“Mine!” exclaimed the Rohirrim indignantly.
“Are you sure?” questioned the Gondorian teasingly.

“Oh alright! It was Éowyn…” he said defeated. “But the wine was my idea!”

“And a very lovely idea it was too my love,” said Faramir softly in between placing small kisses along Éomer’s neck.

Regretfully he pulled away to pour the wine, but returned moments later with two goblets and passed one to the Rohirrim.

“Let us propose a toast. ‘To us, and to all those we hold dear. May we all find happiness.’ “

This part was co-written with the very talented Kissa She played Faramir while I took the part of Éomer. So a big thank you goes to her for all her help.

The Epilogue

Éomer smiled as his lover spoke of happiness for their friends and families, it seemed that no matter what was going on in his life, Faramir always put others first. He deserved to be spoiled, and the Rohirrim was going to make sure that he was, at every possible opportunity.

He placed his glass carefully down on the table, and took Faramir’s hand, pulling him gently down onto his lap before slipping his arms around his waist.

“My only wish tonight my love, is to make you happy. Will you let me do that?”

“That will not be such a difficult task to carry out,” Faramir said. “As nothing would make me happier than seeing you happy. Do you have anything particular in mind? A lengthy game of chess, perhaps?” He added teasingly. No way was he going to spoil such a wonderful evening by playing chess!

Wrapping his arms around Éomer’s neck and burying his hands in the soft golden mane, he sighed.

“I still cannot believe you are here with me… It feels like one of my fevered dreams, like the ones I used to have in the Houses of Healing.”

His eyes were sad and his face had a dreamy expression etched on it, but he was also smiling.

To Éomer, nothing had ever felt more right, than having Faramir in his arms, and if he did not do anything else that night, he was determined to, at the very least, remove the sadness which clouded those eyes.

He leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on Faramir’s lips and smiled.

“I assure you this is no dream,” he said softly. “And I am going to make sure that you never forget it. Unfortunately to do that, I am going to have to move you.”

With that he detangled Faramir’s hands from his hair, and carefully slid himself out from under him, ensuring that the Gondorian landed on the soft seat below.

Returning moments later with the bowl of strawberries, he sat on the arm of the chair and took one out of the bowl, making sure that it was covered in the cream he had poured over them, before holding it to the other man’s lips.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Faramir poked his tongue out and licked a wee bit of cream from the tip of the strawberry. Grinning, he looked at Éomer and said,

“This is a mighty huge strawberry!” Then he licked some more cream and wrapped his lips around the fruit cleaning it of the sweet white delicacy. When his mouth retreated, the fruit was cream-free, but intact.

While his favourite horselord was staring and probably wishing he were that strawberry at the moment, Faramir took advantage of the distraction and bit down hard at the base of the fruit, leaving only the small leaves and tail in Éomer’s hand.

“Mmm…” came his verdict after having swallowed the fruit.

Éomer found himself holding a breath as he watched the Gondorian’s skilful tongue remove all traces of cream; the sight was one of pure bliss. Unconsciously his tongue flicked out and moistened his own lip, and moved forward to capture Faramir’s lips once more.

Faramir tasted perfect, his own unique taste, mingled with that of the sweet fruit and the cream. With a soft moan Éomer deepened the kiss, desperately wanting more.

Faramir gasped as his mouth was seized so fully by the younger man. Éomer’s need for him could not be more explicit than that. His mouth was taken, explored – nay, roamed- by Éomer’s tongue and he drowned in how good it felt to actually have Éomer kiss him so… wildly, yet tenderly. They clicked together perfectly, so there was no bad timing, or crashing of teeth against teeth.

Faramir had kissed before and had been kissed by many, but never had kissing felt like making love. Or so… right. In case there were still some hidden reserves he had against giving himself to Éomer completely, they were now gone.

His hands moved forward in search of tunic laces and deftly began undoing them, his mind refusing to get out of the wonderful high Éomer’s mouth had brought about.

Strawberries abandoned on the table, Éomer pulled his tunic over his head, breaking the kiss at the last possible moment. Then remembering the effect it had had on Faramir that morning in the tree house, he started to lick and nibble at his neck, while desperately tugging at his bindings so that he could expose more of the soft, delicious creamy coloured skin. He was rewarded by a soft moan of desire that sounded like heaven to his ears.

Unable to untie one of the laces of his lover’s tunic, Éomer growled in frustration, before pulling hard, ripping the cloth in his fingers to expose Faramir’s lean, muscular torso.

Feeling pleased with himself, he moved to straddle the other man’s lap, although wishing that their positions were reversed, so that he could hold the Gondorian once more in his arms, to run his fingers over every inch of his body, memorising each and every blemish on the fair skin.

“Gods I want you!” he said huskily as he wound his hands in the copper coloured locks before instigating another kiss which demonstrated every bit of need and desire that he felt in his body.

“Then you shall have me!” said Faramir huskily, and in the next moment he reversed their positions, once again surprising the Rohirrim with his hidden strength. Now he was the one straddling Éomer’s hips and before his lover could act he laid himself out over him, letting their bodies touch from chests to toes.

“I want…” he began, stopping to suckle and lick at a surprisingly sensitive patch of skin hidden beneath Éomer’s hair on his neck, “to know what it feels like to be taken… by you.” he spread his fingers and entwined them with Éomer’s, drawing back a bit to look at the effect his words had had on the gorgeous god beneath him.

Éomer groaned as Faramir’s words rushed straight to his groin, his leggings becoming tighter than he had ever thought possible. Seeing the raw desire in his lover’s eyes, he knew that it really was what they both wanted. There would be no more fights for dominance, this wonderful man, seated on his lap, was giving himself to him completely.

The concept was unbelievable, he still did not understand why someone as knowledgeable and considerate as Faramir, would want someone like him. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, wanting his full attention on the other man. He wanted to make this perfect, as everything had been so far. But he could not help but worry that something would go wrong and that he would not be worthy of this precious gift.

Not wanting Faramir to see the worry in his eyes, he turned his attentions back onto Faramir’s neck, nibbling gently from his earlobe to his shoulder. He smiled as the Gondorian wriggled in his lap and whimpered at his actions.

“Eru, your smile..” Faramir said in between laboured breaths. “Shall we take this to a more comfortable place?” he added and nodded towards the bed. With that he stood up and gave his lover a hand too. When he had Éomer where he wanted him, he grinned and fell onto his knees, hands behind his back and unlaced Éomer’s leggings
with his teeth alone.

Once the leggings were unfastened, Faramir stood up again and let Éomer rid himself of his remaining clothes, while he made short work of his own.

Watching the Rohirrim unselfconsciously stand before him naked as on the day he was born, Faramir licked his lips.

‘Now I know why they call him a horse-lord‘ he thought, drinking in the sight of slightly tanned, smooth skin stretched over beautifully sculpted muscles and of course, the one attribute that had made him think of horses at that precise time.

Instead of reaching out to do as he desperately wanted, to touch Éomer all over, he laid himself out on the bed, hoping the sight he presented was an inviting one.

The Rohirrim’s first instinct was to throw himself on top of Faramir; he wanted to touch him, to taste him, to explore every part of the Gondorian’s body. However he fought the urge for a moment, choosing instead to admire the beautiful body from afar.

Smiling to himself as a thought came to him; he picked up the bowl of strawberries and placed them down next to the bed.

Carefully he selected a juicy looking fruit from the bowl, and lay down on his side next to Faramir, before proceeding to guide the strawberry over the Gondorian’s body; down his neck, over a darkened nipple and across his navel, taking every care to see that a trail of juice was left in its wake. When he was satisfied with his path, he followed it with his tongue, lapping up the sweetness in dozens of little licks.

Reaching the nipple, he suckled on it gently, taking pleasure in feeling it harden in his mouth. He pulled away, just enough to be able to blow gently across it, enticing a soft moan from the other man, before continuing along his trail.

Once he had licked up all traces of the fruit, Éomer bit off half the strawberry which was still in his hand and savoured its taste, before placing the other half to Faramir’s lips.

Faramir had been looking at a precise spot on the ceiling, trying hard to focus on steadying his breathing and not making a complete fool of himself by coming the very moment he had hardened. Watching Éomer move across the room, the feline muscles rippling under the shiny, honey-coloured skin thoroughly drawing the full attention and admiration from every last cell in Faramir’s being.

As Éomer shared the enticing fruit with him, Faramir found it profoundly symbolic and stirring… If he could be more stirred than he already was. He had not tasted strawberries many times before. They were a delicacy his father had never allowed him to sample, and in Ithilien there was only a short time right after winter during which wild strawberries grew, but the Rangers had always had better things to do than pick them.

So, to him, Éomer sharing the tasty treat with him held a promise for future happiness he could not even begin to accept as real. It was the reason why not only arousal, but also sheer wonder shone in his eyes when he locked gazes with his Rohirrim lover.

The look in Faramir’s eyes showed everything that Éomer himself was feeling, it seemed incredible that they had gone from despising each other so much, to this. It was true what people said, there was indeed a fine line between love and hate; a line which the Rohirrim prayed that they would never ever cross again.

“I do not ever wish to wake up from this,” he whispered, unable to hide a hint of nervousness in his voice, he was convinced that one day Faramir would come to his senses and leave, and on that day, Éomer knew that his heart would be shattered in thousands of little pieces.

Until then, he was going to look after this gift he had been given, he would worship him and savour every single moment they had together.

Faramir propped himself up on his elbows and sat up, reaching to bury his right hand in his lover’s golden mane, bringing their lips together once more, this time being the one to initiate the kiss… one that left them both feeling like two battling blades from whose clash sparkles flew out.

“You have no idea…” he spoke softly against Éomer’s open lips, “… how beautiful you are and how much I wish we were never parted. I have never felt so strongly about anyone in the past, and there will not be anyone else, my love.” He kissed Éomer again, and again, small shallow kisses full of love and tenderness, feelings that he had kept well under lock and key, knowing that any other man or woman would have laughed and called him soft. But right now he felt this was just what Éomer needed. Straddling his lap, he sat back on Éomer’s thighs and wrapped both arms around his neck, caressing his lover’s hair and scalp. Smiling softly, he looked around hoping Éomer would get an idea of what he was searching for.

It never failed to surprise the Rohirrim that Faramir always seemed to know exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. His honest and reassuring words filled Éomer with the confidence he needed to continue with his explorations.

Gently he nuzzled his nose against the Gondorian’s neck as he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, feeling in that moment that he would never be able to let him go. He shut his eyes as his hands roamed the length of Faramir’s back and unconsciously he noted the feeling of every muscle and every scar he found there.

Then using all his strength, he turned Faramir over onto his back, reversing their positions once more, and started to place soft kisses from his neck down to his navel as his hands ran over the back and insides of the Gondorian’s thighs.

Faramir was suddenly hyper-aware of the slight chill in the room, of the air that licked along his skin, making every last hair on his body stand. In contrast to this, Éomer seemed to be warm, hot even, and he longed to feel every bit of Éomer covering him. Gods, how he wanted his gorgeous lover close, as close as possible! The chill intensified and he began to tremble almost imperceptibly, but he knew his lover’s fingertips would pick up the slight shivers.

He looked down at his lover who was teasing the ticklish spots behind his knees and he gasped:

“Éomer, love, you are torturing me… please, stop taunting me.” And with those words he reached for the other man, trying to get up and close the distance between them.

As Faramir trembled, Éomer pulled him closer, wrapping himself around him like a cloak. He wanted to cover the other man completely, as if they were one, keeping him safe and warm.

He teased and nibbled at Faramir’s bottom lip, as his hand found his arousal and moved along its length. He brushed his fingertips across the top, before slowly running his fingers back down and massaging the testes that he found at the base.

Faramir mewled unrestrainedly and he opened his eyes, a mixture of panic and surprise in their wet depths. He knew the slightest touch from Éomer could undo him, but he had not expected it to feel so… frighteningly right. He asked himself fleetingly whether this was what elves felt when they recognized their chosen one.

Éomer fought the urge to taste, reluctant to expose his lover’s body to the cold draft which wafted through the room.

With a sudden laugh, he stood up from the bed, scooping the Gondorian up into his arms. He pulled back the sheets before placing him gently back down and covered him with the sheets, tucking him in.
.
The Prince of Ithilien, now reduced to a quivering, softly begging mess, lay boneless against the sheets and pillows, gasping, opening his eyes even wider if possible, waiting for the touch which was to char him. He could feel the sleek feline contours of his lover against him, sliding ever upward, but he could not see him, and that stirred a strange mixture of primeval fear and excitement inside him. Faramir could only imagine what it would feel like to be filled by the godlike man who, for reasons unknown to him, seemed to desire the steward’s mousy son.

Never had he taken another inside him, as being a leader of men had most times meant being lonely. He had always been expected to assume the dominant, active role, and he had always obliged, not wanting to disappoint. He could only pray that he would not let his apprehension show and rise to Éomer’s expectations. Breathing regularly, he willed himself to relax, wanting his beautiful lover to take as much pleasure from their encounter as he was sure Éomer would give him.

Grinning he covered the fingers of one hand with cream from the bowl, and moved to the foot of the bed, crawling under the covers, kissing his way up Faramir’s legs until he found his prize

He nuzzled his face against Faramir’s arousal, inhaling deeply the musky smell that he knew he would never get enough of, before running his tongue up the length and flicking it teasingly over the slit at the top.

As Faramir groaned and shifted impatiently, he took the erection as deep into his throat as he could. At the same time, his slicked up fingers found the Gondorian’s puckered hole and they danced over and around it.

A loud gasp left Faramir’s lips and he squirmed away a bit, but remembered he had to be calm and gathered his composure, relaxing back into the sheets, opening his legs further. He noted how careful Éomer was, taking his time and in tune to his reactions, ad that made a wave of love and trust wash over him and flow in his younger lover’s direction.

Allowing his lover to thrust into his mouth as he wished, Éomer concentrated solely on stretching him carefully; to ensure that there would be minimum pain when he entered him. He wanted Faramir to be as relaxed as possible before the older man took him, knowing that he would be tight.

Vicious curses slipped uncontrollably from Faramir’s mouth, curses he would never consciously use, that he had learned from his fellow Rangers and that usually made him blush upon hearing them said by another. A small part of him which had remained rational hoped Éomer would see them as a sign of pleasure and not one of disrespect.

Hearing the string of curses from his lover’s mouth amused Éomer terribly, he had never heard him utter such obscenities before, and he was pleased with the effect he was already getting. He pushed one finger into Faramir’s entrance, the way eased by the slippery cream, and he started to move it in a circular motion, stretching the way.

“You are unbelievably tight,” he purred as he felt Faramir tense slightly, muscles clamping down around him. “I can not wait to be inside of you.”

The combination of that voice, sounding like a rumbling purr, and the teasing finger stretching him made Faramir writhe. The pain was not so bad, he had been through much worse, and the loving care Éomer was showing him made it all the more bearable. His lover’s name spilled from his lips like a litany, the word uttered in sheer love and reverence. He still could not understand why someone like Éomer, who could have anyone, had chosen him of all men.

Changing the angle of his movement and curling his finger round, Éomer brushed the bundle of nerves hidden deep inside his lover.

Feeling Faramir relax, the Rohirrim inserted another finger and returned to stretching the tight hole, occasionally causing the Gondorian to buck as he ran them over his prostate.

Éomer found it hard to remain composed; his body was screaming at him to bury himself into the man wriggling beneath him, yet one tiny voice remained, telling him to wait. In his eagerness, he added another finger a little sooner than he perhaps should, and instantly regretted it as Faramir hissed in pain, but he hoped that his lover was becoming just as impatient as he was.

Once he was sure that the preparation had been enough, he pulled away his fingers and turned his attentions to bringing Faramir to his peak before taking the final step.

Faramir had never had trouble going over the edge, as his body had kept its sensitivity as if it refused to acknowledge its owner was no longer a teenager. Sometimes all it took was a few arousing images and Faramir would peak lying relaxed on his bedroll among his Rangers and looking at the starlit sky.

But this was not release as he knew it. It felt like his whole body came alive and then imploded powerfully, almost chasing Faramir outside its flesh confines. He screamed in amazement and collapsed back onto the bed, panting, slowly coming back to focus.

While his lover was coming back down to earth, Éomer reached again for the bowl, smearing cream over his hand, which he rubbed with Faramir’s release over his erection, before repositioning himself carefully.

He pressed the tip of his arousal at Faramir’s tight entrance and looked to him for consent before continuing.

Faramir nodded, still panting, and although there was a large knot in his throat, he resisted the impulse to flinch away, instead putting all his concentration power into relaxing as much as he could.

Slowly he pushed his way in, allowing time for the Gondorian to adjust to the intrusion, before sheathing himself completely. The tight heat which surrounded him was incredible and the feeling pushed all other thoughts from his mind; his body taking over as he pulled back, before thrusting back into his lover, groaning in ecstasy.

“Gods, you are so tight my love,”

Éomer lifted Faramir’s legs, wrapping them around his waist, wanting to feel every inch of their skin touching (each other), devouring his lips in a kiss full of hunger and desire. Never had coupling ever felt so wonderful, or as perfect as it did now, with the man who was now in his arms.

He thrust in and out, slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed as his body took on a mind of its own, brushing over Faramir’s sweet spot over and over again.

As Faramir’s prostate was relentlessly stimulated, he could not remember his own name or status. All he knew was that the most wonderful man in all of Arda, the King of Rohan, was bent over him, filling him, and that it felt like dying and coming alive all at the same time. He feared for his life when he became aware that his second release was rising over him like a tide that would crush everything in its wake when it fell upon him. He distantly heard wild cries of passion, roars and moans that sounded obscene in his ears, but far away… as if he was hearing them from beyond a thick curtain. It was a long time before he recognized those sounds to be mostly his, as Éomer was most likely concentrating on holding out for his sake.

The sounds coming from Faramir were like music to Éomer’s ears, encouraging him further. He never wanted it to end, but yet he was so close. He knew that he would not be able to withstand this pleasure, and this intensity for much longer.

“Faramir,” he whispered huskily in his ear. “Come with me.”

Like a well-trained marksman, his body began to shiver at Éomer’s whispered request. He soon felt warm wetness coating his belly and the incredible pleasure wave which for only one moment, that to him seemed very long, obliterated his conscience and then brought it back only for it to be fully absorbed into Éomer’s closeness. He could swear he had died and had been resurrected in those moments. His body took its time in cooling down, little tremors wracking him even long before the hot throbbing spurts inside of him ceased.

Moments later Éomer erupted, spilling his seed inside of Faramir, biting down on the other man’s neck as he tried to stop himself screaming out with pleasure, before collapsing on top of the red-head too far gone to be able to move.

As he recovered slightly, he pulled himself out slowly and rolled onto his side, gathering up Faramir protectively in his arms. He ran a hand gently over the mark he had left on the perfect skin.

“Mine,” he whispered softly to himself.

“At last… and for good.” Faramir whispered before resting his head on his lover’s warm, heaving chest.

The two men stayed in each other’s arms for a long while, neither of them wanting to move, neither wanting to risk ruining this night.

“Are you alright my love?” asked Éomer softly, “I did not hurt you?”

“Nah Éomer, you did not,” replied Faramir cuddling up closer. “It was perfect. Just like you. Just like us.”

p=. Fini

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