Faramir Fiction Archive

Let Them Eat Cake (PG-13)

Written by Jade Blood

27 April 2007 | 1136 words

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters featured here. Neither do I make any profits from this.
Summary: Faramir defends his wedding cake with great valor.

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Faramir took another sip of his eighth strawberry ale, wrinkling his nose as the little pink umbrella tickled it. He gave a cough and the tiny decoration blew from the glass to the ground. He found this utterly fascinating for a moment, then turned his attention to the three Hobbits and Elf enjoying his wedding cake.

It was a gigantic, pink monstrosity, overflowing with white and red candy roses. The tiers reached above even the Elf’s head and had a Gondorian bride and groom stranded atop it.

Éowyn had been miffed that no one had thought to make the bride a Shieldmaiden of Rohan as apposed to a Gondorian maiden and complained endlessly to anyone who would hear. Faramir had seen her drag everyone from Arwen to little Frodo to that cake and point out the travesty of it. And he couldn’t even bear the thought of her protests about the color. She despised pink. But he had insisted on it, because he thought it was a lovely color for a cake. He nodded to himself at the memory, seeing now how right he had been. It was a cake to end all cakes in his eyes, and no one could tell him otherwise.

The Elf, Legolas, plucked candy flowers from the cake as if perusing a garden. Then, he popped each one into his mouth, smiling mischievously as though he had some grand secret. Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, on the other hand, plunged their little, curly heads into the bottommost level and came out cackling at each other. Samwise Gamgee managed much more décor, scooping up handfuls and eating from his hands, eyeing Pippin and Merry disapprovingly. The quiet, sad-looking, fourth Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, watched this with an odd little smile on his face.

Faramir’s gaze was snapped away when he heard Gimli bray something about how much more successful at Uruk-hai slaying he had been than “the Elf”. In midst of this, he vaguely heard Éowyn seat herself beside him. She seemed placated now that everyone was perfectly aware of their cake’s mistakes and slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow.

“Whatever these drinks are,” Faramir said with a slight slur, “they are purely magical. I’ve never had anything so delectable. Can life get any better? I submit it cannot!”

“You’re shouting,” Éowyn said softly, giving him a peck on the cheek.

His head wobbled as he squinted at her. “Was I?”

“Yes,” she said, brushing his hair back from his eyes. “How many of those have you had?”

“Four,” he said. “Wait, no, that’s not right… It seems I’ve lost count.”

“That can’t be good,” she sighed.

“But they are good!” he insisted.

“You’ve misunderstood me,” she said, then shook her head at the lack of recognition in his face. “Nevermind.”

Faramir grinned lopsidedly. “This is the happiest day of my life, Éowyn. I’m just… I…”

He twisted his head and noticed a squirrel seated amiably on a tree limb. It scuttled to the end of it and looked down at the wedding cake. Legolas and the Hobbits seemed oblivious to this, but Faramir watched the small animal carefully. It reared back, then sped forward, apparently with the intention of landing on the cake.

Faramir leapt up in a panic, crying out, “SQUIRREL!” He dashed toward the enormous wedding cake and hurled himself into it. When it toppled, he merged into it with a burst of icing and a squashing sound that turned heads. The couple on the cake had found their salvation at last, tumbling end over end across the ground. Faramir raised up long enough to roll over and groan, letting his head fall back with a “splort”.

Pippin and Merry stood for a moment, both looking quite astonished. They crept over to the Gondorian with apprehensive looks and prodded him.

“Faramir?” Pippin asked quietly. He turned to his cousin. “I think he’s fallen asleep.”

“If so, that was fast,” Merry said, crossing his arms. “But he’s not snoring.”

Pippin bent over him again and inspected the cake covered man for a moment.

“He’s ruined the cake, that’s for sure,” Sam said, frowning.

“No, he hasn’t,” Pippin said, bending over and licking cake from Faramir’s beard. “It’s still good!”

Merry stared at Pippin and groaned. “That’s disturbing, Pip. Even for a Hobbit. No one is that hungry.”

Pippin shrugged uneasily, then pointed triumphantly as Legolas picked a piece of candy from Faramir’s hair and ate it.

“You’ve been spending far too much time with those Hobbits,” Aragorn said from a few feet away as he approached.

Legolas grinned warmly. “And Dwarves.”

Aragorn bent down and pulled Faramir up by his arm, slinging it over his shoulder to steady him. Faramir reeled and looked around tiredly.

“What’s this now?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“You let out a war cry of ‘squirrels’ like none I’ve ever heard in my life and threw yourself headfirst into your wedding cake,” Aragorn informed him.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Faramir said. “You know, I always liked you.” He patted Aragorn’s cheek and knocked his crown a bit askew.

“That’s… good to know, Faramir,” Aragorn said, leading him toward Éowyn.

She gladly took him off of Aragorn’s hands. “I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re so pretty,” Faramir said, smearing her cheek with pink frosting. “I just love you. Oh… I suddenly don’t feel so well.” Éowyn readied herself to move if he was sick, but he only belched weakly and mumbled, “that’s better.”

Éowyn smirked, then peeked over his shoulder to see Merry hurl a chunk of cake at the back of Sam’s head. Sam whirled around in time to see Merry point accusingly at Pippin. Pippin shrieked girlishly as Sam took off after him, and laughter peeled from Frodo, who tipped off his chair and rolled on the ground.

Faramir burped again and giggled at himself, bringing Éowyn’s eyes back to his comedically vapid face.

“Are you ready to get some rest?” she asked, smiling conspiratorially.

“To go to bed, you mean?” he asked a little too loudly.

“Shhh!” she ordered. She waggled her eyebrows. “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Am I ever,” he said candidly.

Éowyn barely managed to stifle her laughter and led him away, knowing full well that he would pass out as soon as he reached the bed.

“Did I succeed?” Faramir asked her suddenly.

“In what?” she asked.

“Protecting the cake?” he asked. “It’s what Boromir would have done, you know.”

Éowyn smiled compassionately and kissed him. “You showed your quality. Does that answer your question?”

Faramir nodded proudly. “It does.”

The End

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