Faramir Fiction Archive

Live to Tell the Tale (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

01 November 2006 | 5505 words

Title: Live to Tell the Tale (1/1)
Author: Kissa
Email: kissaperkele@gmail.com
Characters: Éomer/Faramir, Aragorn, Legolas
Rating: NC17 for sex and weirdness.
Genre: angst, kink, romance.
AN : This is a sequel to “Slow”. AU. Closer to the movies than to the books.

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Chapter 1

The roar of the battle was deafening, but he could not hear it. He’d locked it out, his senses heightened, his entire being focused on staying upright and alive. He had his horse to think about too, not just himself. As he shot arrow after arrow, at a speed only seen in elves, he reaped a path through the black mass of Orcs and Uruk. He saw one attack his steed at the last moment, but the sword never hit the horse, as its wielder dropped where he stood. He saw his savior sitting proudly on his horse in the middle of the clash, and shot an arrow at an Uruk who was trying to spear him from behind. He thought he’d recognized him, but his face was hidden by the large helm.

The next thing he saw was the proud man being overpowered by a large number of foul creatures, and before all went dark, he felt the numerous stabs of pain hitting him from seemingly everywhere… his ribs, his chest, his shoulder, the part of him which got caught under the collapsing stallion.

There was nothing left but his consciousness. He could not see a thing in the surrounding mist, he could not feel. All he could do was remember, and regret.

He remembered happier days, when he was only a boy, playing with his first suitor’s heart. And then he had gotten sucked into the first (and last) love of his life. Because the Rohan nobleman had kept his heart ever since they had pledged themselves to each other back then, lying in the grass of a secluded garden at Edoras…

He regretted not being able to tell his secret love that he still wanted him, that on cold nights spent outdoors with the Rangers, he of the mighty frown and golden mane had been the one thing on his mind as he snuggled up in his bedroll, searching for rest in those tormented hours. He regretted not surviving long enough to hear what Éomer had to say to his admission… but he hoped they would somehow meet in the end. He would wait and not join the ranks of the shadows moving on and away from the life they had once known.

He began to feel again. The first thing that returned was the pain. Bright, burning, overcoming pain… but it assured him he was still alive. Then there was the voice of his King calling to him in a soft, yet firm voice, commanding him to come back and to escape from the darkness which clung to him. The King was opening his arms, beckoning him to come closer and rest in his healing embrace. He wanted to, really, but there was nothing to come back to. And then, he could hear his King’s voice no longer.

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Éomer groaned at his powerlessness. All he wanted to do was turn onto his side, but he discovered he couldn’t feel his body at all, let alone command it. He would not turn into some vegetable! He would recover, and survive, and lead his men once more! His men… he had never lost one from his regiment. He would… No, there was no point. He had seen Faramir die, in the very moment after he had recognized him as the warrior whose life he had just saved. It was all in vain…

Then he heard the name Faramir being spoken in his mind by a familiar voice. His confused brain worked slower than usual, but it put a face to the voice. Aragorn. Something snapped inside of him. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but it did the trick. Suddenly he had eyes to open and he looked to his right. There, on a makeshift stretcher, lay the barely recognizable body of Faramir. He looked at Aragorn in despair, but the King was smiling reassuringly. Faramir was still alive?

“He needs you, Éomer. He has spoken you name before falling into this state. Even I cannot reach him… But you can.” Aragorn spoke, leaning in for only Éomer to hear his words. “I do not know in what way you are linked to each other, but you must try…” The King added, almost begging.

Éomer felt a strange, but pleasant feeling inside at seeing how loved Faramir was. He nodded as much as his state allowed him and hoped the Elessar would gather he was unable to move. He saw Aragorn come near him and pull his stretcher next to Faramir’s and start to cut away their shredded clothes. His eyes widened in panic and surprise. He couldn’t be naked with Faramir! Not like this, anyway…

“Peace, King Éomer… No one is attempting at your dignity… I’ll cover you both and give orders for no one to touch you until you both recover. I will personally tend to you and my Steward.” Aragorn said and worked to move the two men’s bodies so that they would be in contact on as large an area as possible.

Gradually, Éomer began to warm up and feel the contours of his body, his skin regaining its sensitivity to other things than pain as well. Like, for instance…

The time when he had come to Edoras after a long expedition with the eored and one of the maids had told him he had a visitor waiting for him in the garden. He had quickly discarded his armor, running in that direction only to see Faramir patiently waiting for him, sitting on a rock, plucking out the petals of a daisy.

“He loves me!” had been what Éomer had heard when he had finally stood right behind Faramir, who hadn’t even sensed him, so absorbed had he been in his childish exercise.

“Aye, and how he loves you!” Éomer had said, startling his Gondorian friend and picking him up in his arms, spinning him around. “By the gods, you’re even thinner than the last time!” He’d remarked, but Faramir had smiled apologetically and leant down to kiss him. And Faramir seldom had the initiative! So Éomer had just had to relish the moment, missing out on the fact that the Ranger-in-training had skillfully diverted his attention from the issue of his weight.

“Is it true, that you love me?” Blue eyes had stared at him in wonder. Éomer had pulled him closer to him, as they lay on the grass near the creek, naked and still wet from the swim.

Nodding, he had also felt the need to say it. “I love you, Faramir, and no matter what our parents might say or wherever our duties take us, I will always only have place in my heart for you!”

Éomer had barely turned eighteen that summer, and already he had to watch out for another, one whom he loved more than he loved himself, but he felt some things were better postponed a while between them.

He had then felt the heat of his love’s tears wetting his chest, because they both knew that could very well have been their last quiet moment together. And Faramir had begged him then, begged him to take the last step in binding them, but Éomer had known they were still young and he could not ask such commitment from his lover. It was exactly because he loved him that he had chosen to give him the freedom to think it over and look around him at the lovely men and women who were interested in him, and only when Faramir had made an informed choice would he, Éomer, rejoice if he still chose him. He had known even then that Faramir had a severe inferiority complex and felt the need to have a protector, someone to make choices in his stead… but that would have to change, if the Steward’s second son wanted to grow into a a real warrior, a leader – not a follower.

Over the next years, Éomer had often regretted his decision to set Faramir free. As he lay in the arms of various lovers whose faces he could not even remember, he had felt empty even when he was filled… He had never thought of mating to be like that. He had been severely disappointed, left hollow and bitter by the experiences and overall bored. Men, women, elves, no one could awaken a spark in him. Éomer had become old before time, and Éowyn had begged him repeatedly to solve his problem once and for all. It had been useless. The next move, if it ever came, belonged to the current Prince of Ithilien.

Which painfully brought Éomer back to the present.

Looking at Faramir’s face, he saw dark circles around his eyes and an unsettling pallor on his face. His lips were chapped and dry and his hair was mussed with soot and blood. Éomer had heard the people around saying the battle had been a victory, but if losing Faramir was the price of that victory, then it was unjustly called thus!

“Faramir. my love. Please come back to us. Come back to your King, who loves you and who worries about you, come back to your proud White City and to all those who adore you and depend on you! If not for me, who have been a fool to let you go, then for the others… there must be someone in this life who is dear enough to you to make you return!”

Without having realized it, Éomer had started to shed his tears in silence, making them fall hotly onto the Steward’s chilly skin.

He had to find a way to get through to his beloved who had so far remained cold to his beckoning. How could he? Why had Aragorn asked him to try? He’d seen the love in Elessar’s eyes… he had no right to override that love with his own – he had stupidly pushed Faramir away at the most delicate of times. He’d lost any right over his love’s heart. He had lost the right to hope the Steward of Gondor wasn’t tending to all of his King’s needs.

He drew back and felt a pang of disgust at his own pettiness and selfish thoughts. Of course he wanted Faramir to be happy! Even if that meant seeing him with another. And of course Faramir deserved the love of a king! But first, he needed for Faramir to be alive and recovering.

Éomer eventually fell asleep, crying softly and whispering to Faramir, telling him all the things he had never dared to tell him under normal circumstances.

When Aragorn came to check on them, he found Éomer hugging Faramir’s body tightly… and when he touched his Steward’s bare skin, he found it warm…

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Éomer awoke and felt himself floating. At first he panicked, but upon opening his eyes he realized the feeling was caused by Legolas carrying him so carefully, as if he was made of glass. He felt silks glide over his skin as the elf prince moved.

Sleep claimed him again and the surroundings became blurry and faded from his mind, only the thought of Faramir remaining. Sweet, beautiful Faramir, who had turned into this capable warrior and beautiful man. Aye, he had seen Faramir lead his Rangers into battle, and had found him magnificent, but he had been even more touched by the gleam in the men’s eyes as they swore their lives to the young Prince. But in spite his ability to command and to devise strategies, Faramir still shone with innocence, a trait so seldom seen in times of war and corruption. It was still in his eyes, the wonder at the world’s complexity and diversity, the hope and the ability to read in the hearts of others. And all that would never be his, because of his stupid idea of integrity! Éomer cursed himself and his youthful illusions, giving in to the darkness around him which brought oblivion.

When he awoke next, he noticed they had been moved to another room and bathed. He wondered who had gone through the trouble of handling them while they were unconscious and uncooperative, but when he turned his head to look at the window, he saw Aragorn and Legolas there, cuddling close in the same armchair and talking softly.

But then he felt movement and the warmth near him was suddenly half on top of him. Looking carefully to his right, he saw Faramir had half-climbed on him, one arm and one leg thrown across Éomer’s chest and thighs. The covers had slipped down and the young Gondorian’s nakedness was almost fully exposed. Groaning, Éomer reached over with the intention to pull the covers, when he saw both Legolas and Aragorn suddenly at his side.

A delicate, but bow-callused hand dropped on his and stopped his movement. He raised his eyes and stared into Legolas’ azure ones, trying to find out what he had done wrong. Legolas was smiling though, and removed the covers completely, now grinning cheekily. The elf’s hand traveled up and stroked the side of Éomer’s face while Aragorn uncapped a jar of salve and approached the bed. Legolas gently moved Faramir to lie next to Éomer and Aragorn began tending to their wounds as he had done in the days since their getting injured. Only now the Rohirrim was conscious and very embarrassed by the way the King was touching him and even more, by the way his body responded to the touches.

“Nay, Éomer, do not be embarrassed, it is quite a good sign your body has become responsive… It means you are healing.” Aragorn said, smiling and pressing an almost parental kiss on the blonde king’s brow. Then the features of the former Ranger darkened and he sighed as he took in the discouraging ill look Faramir still had.

“Other than warming up to your nearness, has he given any sign that he is coming back until now?” Aragorn asked, loving concern written all over his face. It went straight to Éomer’s heart, like a dagger.

Legolas however didn’t miss the look of dismay on the Rohirrim’s face and he took Aragorn aside, whispering into his ear while looking intently at Éomer. Aragorn nodded in understanding and smiled again briefly. He returned to his task of tending to the two men’s wounds and was soon finished. Legolas tucked the two patients in and kissed them both on sweaty foreheads, then followed his friend outside.

Éomer spent another sleepless, yet peaceful night with Faramir in his arms, feeling miserable that the lithe man was unconscious and that he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I love you, Faramir. I tried to come to terms with my failure and move on, but I found I cannot love another. I know I am no elf, to fade from the suffering of my beloved, but every time I wake up to see you lost like this, I die a little more. I do not know what else I could say to bring you back, my love, but should you not return to us, to your King and to your friends, I shall join you in the realm of shadows.” Éomer let everything out, putting all his pain and powerlessness in his labored words.

He thought he felt Faramir stir, and the silk covering them slid lower to let the moonlight bathe their naked bodies. The silvery light coming from outside made everything appear like the scenery of a dream, and Éomer gave in to his re-awakened and long-repressed urges to cuddle his secret love.

No one had known of them and what they had shared over the years. Ever since they had pledged themselves to each other back in the secluded garden at Edoras, they had been friends meeting to plan pranks on the adults, warriors training together or young noblemen discussing political matters of their realm… when in fact they couldn’t wait to be alone to just share the comforting closeness of each other, cuddling under a tree, going for a swim or chasing each other and wrestling in the tall grass. Sometimes, Éomer would steal a kiss and would feel like drowning when Faramir offered his petal lips, letting him delve into the secret honeyed cavern. Or, at other times, Éomer would lie down between Faramir’s open legs, resting his head over the heart which sped at his nearness, and Faramir would grab his flute and play for him.

Those few years were precious above all other times in Éomer’s life… Never, since then, had he allowed himself to feel such warmth and tenderness for another. His lovers had used him, taking what they wanted from him and leaving as unnoticed as they had come…

Now he had Faramir so close to him, and yet so far away. He began to cry again, something which had happened to him once before since seeing Faramir so broken. His arms wrapped themselves around Faramir’s now skinny form and came to rest in his hair, stroking him gently while cradling the auburn head carefully against his own hot chest. As his tears ran down his cheeks, he saw them fall into the coppery hair and his gaze followed them down, until he felt a shift and suddenly stared into beloved sky-blue eyes.

“FARAMIR!” Éomer nearly shouted, cupping his love’s cheeks gently and leaning down to kiss him everywhere sloppily, but heartily.

For some reason, Faramir’s voice didn’t serve him when he tried to speak. His eyes shone with unshed tears of pain, fear and another emotion Éomer was not completely sure of. Faramir blinked and the tears spilled hotly.

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