Faramir Fiction Archive

Narsilion: In the Age of Men (NC-17)

Written by E. Batagur

03 July 2009 | 15042 words

Part 8 – The Narsilion

“This is as it should be,” said Gandalf.

Éowyn smiled, and Gandalf escorted her from her throne. It was the last day of the revelries. In the early evening, the Hall was bright with light and smiles. The sunset was a golden glow in the west while the moon rose early in the southeastern sky to share the dusk. All were present at the celebration, except for two.

“The story retells it self in every age, Éowyn Queen,” Gandalf said. “This is the age of men; so it has chosen to reveal itself through men.

“Throughout the ages, scholars have searched for the ancient song, but its verses were not written to be uttered by the tongues of men or elves. The song is sung by love and love alone. Vasa and Rana take up again the endless dance over Middle-earth.”

In the chamber that belonged to Lord Éomer, the candlelight glowed on his blond hair that was unbound and fell about his shoulders. Éomer wore a simple linen tunic, embroidered with saffron thread. He wore dark breeches but no boots or stockings. It was the first time Faramir saw his bare feet.

They were not like Boromir’s feet or his own. Éomer’s toes were not so pronounced and long, but they were chubby and endearing. Faramir could not help but smile at them.

Éomer approached him, holding a cup in both hands. Without a word, he offered the cup to Faramir. Faramir knew this ritual of the Rohirrim, the symbolism of the offered cup was meant to seal friendship or an even deeper bond of love. Faramir took the cup that was filled with the sweet ale of Rohan. He took a deep drink. He then offered it back to Éomer, looking into his eyes.

Éomer took back the cup. “A lifetime would not be enough to know all of your love,” he said.

“I offer you my lifetime, and beyond,” Faramir replied. He touched Éomer’s face tenderly, cupping it in both hands. He brought their foreheads together once more. For a moment, they shared breath as they rested in the sweetness of peace and love. They were alone and their hearts were beating in time. This was how love was meant to be.

Éomer leaned his head in for a sweet kiss. Faramir learned in that moment that the poets of the ages were correct in their claims that when true love touched, time stood still.

Faramir wrapped his arms about his love’s waist and pulled him closer. There bodies met in their first true embrace. Made of hard muscle and soft skin, Éomer was warm and solid and a delight to hold. His free hand cupped the back of Faramir’s neck as their kiss deepened naturally.

To kiss this man was as easy as breathing. Faramir moved them closer to the lone table of the room that stood next to the horse lord’s bed. Éomer set the cup of ale down.

They both looked to the table. Next to the cup sat a small earthenware pot with a lid.

“So I may be made ready for my lover,” Éomer explained in a whisper.

Faramir took in a long, deep breath. Yes, he wanted that. He wanted Éomer, body and soul. He wanted to make himself complete inside of him. He wanted to be in the very depths of Éomer. Perhaps some part of himself would stay, and forevermore, Éomer would carry a piece of his lover wherever he went. In peace and in war, the First Marshal of the Riddermark would hold some minuscule quantity of the Prince of Ithilien in his core. In that manner, they would never be apart.

Éomer pulled himself from Faramir’s arms. He reached for the lacing of Faramir’s tunic, undoing it swiftly. His hands slid down Faramir’s chest, slipping beneath the hem of his tunic. Éomer’s hands were warm as they smoothed over the skin of his belly. Faramir trembled slightly beneath the touch.

Éomer pushed the tunic up, smoothing his hands over Faramir’s chest. Faramir gasped as he felt his hand gently finger a nipple to hardness. Éomer pushed the tunic up and further out of the way as he bent to apply his tongue to the excited flesh. His long blond hair fell forward, brushing lightly against Faramir’s belly, tickling and causing the muscles to contract involuntarily. Faramir moaned his lover’s name softly.

Éomer continued to pull Faramir free from the tunic as his tongue danced over first one nipple and then the other. His teeth gently nipped at them, and his lips closed about them in sucking kisses. Faramir allowed himself to be stripped. But he grasped Éomer’s face and pulled him to his lips once more for a more urgent kiss.

It was during this kiss that Faramir heard Éomer’s breeches drop to his ankles. The sound startled Faramir into breaking the kiss and he looked down to catch his first glimpse of Éomer’s beautiful body. Éomer took the opportunity to pull his own tunic off and throw it aside.

He was golden of skin all over as Faramir had imagined in his fantasies. His strong, rounded shoulders were touched with freckles that Faramir found delectable. He wanted to taste that flesh dearly. Éomer’s chest was deep and solid, his nipples peaked. His belly was flat and firm. A line of dark hair led down to the rise of his proud member, flushed and beautiful. Heavy bollocks hung beneath the aroused cock, framed between the hard thighs of a horseman.

Faramir only hoped that what Éomer beheld before him was at least pleasing if not as majestic as the sight Faramir was granted.

“You are so very beautiful,” Éomer whispered sincerely, his voice quavering on the words. “So long of limb and strong… Why would you want me?”

“I want you,” Faramir replied, coming to take him into his arms again. “How I want you!” he whispered before he captured Éomer’s lips once more in a fierce kiss. Their naked bodies touched for the first time and the fire threatened to consume Faramir’s senses. Éomer’s hot member touched his own and Faramir felt the sweet sparks of passion course through his body, making him want to thrust against Éomer.

Éomer pulled away, taking Faramir’s hands. He brought Faramir to his bed, inviting him to lay back. Éomer ran a tender hand from Faramir’s throat, down his chest, over his belly and to his erection.

“So beautiful,” Éomer said again. His hand stroked Faramir’s cock with slow reverence. “I cannot wait to have you inside me.”

“My love,” said Faramir. “Your words are the sweetest torture!”

Éomer took up the pot that sat on the table and opened its lid. Faramir could smell the oil that lightly scented with sweet spices. Éomer poured a small amount onto the palm of his hand.

“If you think my words are torture, then watch me, lover,” he said, looking into Faramir’s eyes with a sultry smile. “Watch me as I prepare my body for you.”

Those words alone stole Faramir’s breath, and it did not come back as he watched Éomer kneel before him on the bed. He lifted a knee, placing his foot flat on the bed to spread his thighs. Éomer dipped two fingers into the oil on his palm, taking up a good amount. He reached between his legs, past his bollocks and applied the oil, all the while still looking Faramir in the eyes.

Faramir knew the moment Éomer’s fingers sunk into his tight entrance when his nostrils flared and he gave a small gasp. Faramir watched, mesmerized as Éomer fucked himself slowly on his own digits.

“I’m almost ready for you,” he whispered. “I will ride you like a mearas!”

Éomer added more oil and more fingers and more words to his inhumane, sweet torture. Faramir found himself writhing with want, panting Éomer’s name over and over. However, every time Faramir reached for his own aching member, Éomer growled dangerously. That was his warning not to spend himself before Éomer had his way.

“Now, lover!” Éomer declared, pouring more oil to his palm. He applied it to Faramir’s straining cock. “Now,” he whispered again as he came to straddle Faramir’s hips. Taking Faramir’s solid member in his grasp, he guided it to his entrance. Then slowly, ever so heartbreakingly slowly, he sunk down on the length, taking it within himself.

Faramir’s head fell back on the bedding and he moaned desperately as he felt his cock surrounded by Éomer’s tight heat. He was undone! The pleasure of this joining threatened to steal his soul and sanity. But Éomer looked down into his eyes once more, and Faramir was braced and anchored by love.

With a small growl, Éomer began to move. Then he really was riding Faramir like a wild stallion. He tossed back his hair and gripped Faramir with his thighs as he rose and sunk on Faramir’s erection. Éomer’s nostrils flared again as he moved with abandon.

“Give me your seed!” he ground out as he pushed his hips down on Faramir.

Éomer was mastering him, as he would have mastered a wild mearas. A hand reached down to tweak a nipple if Faramir was not moving in ways he preferred. His thighs gripped with unbreakable strength. Faramir found himself quickly “broken” to his rider and responding to his every unvoiced desire.

Éomer’s hand stroked his own erection with increasing speed. “I will have you! I will have all of you forever!”

Éomer tossed back his hair once more and cried out as his cock spilled across Faramir’s belly. His muscles contracted in pulses about Faramir’s member. This and the beautiful sight Éomer in the grips of pure ecstasy prompted Faramir’s own climax. Éomer’s body milked the seed from him.

With a shudder and a sigh, Éomer fell forward against Faramir’s chest. Out of breath, Éomer lay against him.

“My sweet prince of the night sky,” Éomer breathed out.

After a while, Éomer carefully climbed off Faramir and lay down by his side. Faramir turned to pull Éomer into his embrace. They curled about each other. At last, they caught their breath.

“That went too fast,” Éomer said as a soft, sleepy complaint as his finger tips resumed a slow and tender tease of one of Faramir’s nipples.

Faramir laughed. “You would ride me to my grave and still not be sated, would you?”

“Never, my love. How could any one be sated of you?” Éomer replied with a warm chuckle.

Faramir traced a loving finger across Éomer’s lips. He looked into Éomer’s eyes and was overcome by joy and wonder.

“Come with me back to Ithilien. Live with me as my consort and lover. Together, we will live free in Henneth Annûn. We will rebuild the city of Osgiliath. We will serve the king and rule the lands of the southern Rangers.”

The troubled frown returned to Éomer’s face.

“He will come to you,” Gandalf said to Éowyn. “He will come to you with a uneasy heart. He will want to remain in his duty to you, but his heart will long to go with the man who must be his mate.”

Éowyn looked thoughtful. “He told me that he shall ever serve me not because I am his queen, but because I am his sister, and he loves me. I shall tell him as his sister and his queen that he must go with Lord Faramir. It will be his duty to serve me by being happy in Ithilien. He will best serve the Riddermark by representing us with distinction in an important province of Gondor.

“And I will tell him that his sister loves him too.”

Gandalf bowed reverently before the Queen of Rohan.

End.

On to Narsilion: The Rise of Osgiliath

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