Faramir Fiction Archive

Narsilion: The Rise of Osgiliath (NC-17)

Written by E. Batagur

15 July 2009 | 10405 words

Narsilion: The Rise of Osgiliath

Author: E. Batagur
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer
Rating: Overall NC-17
A/N: Many thanks to arwensong who did a fantastic beta read for this story. This is an AU closer to Peter Jackson’s final product than Mr Tolkien’s books.

Summary: This is the continuation of the AU Narsilion: In the Age of Men. Éomer, the former First Marshal of Rohan, makes his new home in Ithilien.

Archivist’s note: See also Narsilion: The letters from Ithilien

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Part 1

They were greeted at the east bank of the Anduin by hooded men wearing brown leather doublets emblazoned with the silver tree of the king on their breasts. They also wore black cloth masks over their noses and mouths, allowing only their eyes to show. They all bowed low as Faramir dismounted.

“My Lord Prince!” A man stepped forward before the others and bowed deeply. He pulled his mask down so that his whole face showed.

“Anborn,” Faramir said as he went to the man. He gripped his arm in greeting. “It is good to see you. I was told that your injuries were dire and your recovery doubtful.”

“The news of my demise was greatly exaggerated, my lord prince.”

“My lord prince… those words run strangely from your tongue,” said Faramir with a fond smile.

“Only in your ears, sire,” the man replied.

“I have grown too accustomed to you calling me ‘Hey pollywog!’”

Both men laughed. Éomer stayed a-saddle on Firefoot and watched this exchange. According to Faramir, they were not far from Henneth Annûn, which was a couple of hours ride from where they were. The men of the southern rangers stood now as their prince talked with his lieutenant. Éomer scanned the small crowd, noting that there were more than he first sighted. The dull green and brown uniforms made them blend with their forest surroundings.

A few of them eyed him over the tops of their mask. Éomer felt critically scrutinized. His instinctive reaction was to put up a bold and fearless defiance in the face of that scrutiny. He sat up taller in Firefoot’s saddle.

“They have told us that you would be coming from Minas Tirith and that you bring with you a consort!” Anborn said brightly. He looked past Faramir and up the length of Firefoot to smile at Éomer. “Lord Éomer, son of Éomund, Earl of Osgiliath, brother to the Queen of Rohan and her former First Marshal, we are honored to welcome you to Ithilien.” Lieutenant of the Rangers Anborn then bowed before him.

The man’s smile was warm and kind and under the circumstances Éomer could not keep up the aloof poise he had adopted. He softened his expression and bowed his head politely. “I am honored to be so received.”

Faramir had mention Anborn to him before. The lieutenant had been one of the men who had taken Faramir under his wing when he had first come to train with the rangers. The man, who looked to be in his thirties, was actually in his late sixties. Faramir had also mentioned Madril, his most loyal second in command who had died while fighting bravely to defend Osgiliath. There had not been many rangers left, and the war had dwindled their number even more so.

Anborn’s men escorted them beyond the Anduin.

“From here, my lord,” he said as they went beyond the river valley, “we blindfold those who are not one of us. This, of course, will not happen to you. From this day hence, you are one of us.”

“It would be insolent and thoughtless of the rangers to deny access to Henneth Annûn to their prince’s consort,” Faramir said softly. He smiled over to Éomer as he rode by his side. They were six riders and twenty rangers on foot. The men who rode with them were of the White Guard.

It was a bright day; summer had come after a tentative spring that had started cold but later turned glorious. Éomer, the former First Marshal of Rohan, now rode to his new home in Ithilien. Faramir and he had exchanged vows before King Elessar only a few days past in the city of Minas Tirith. Now Éomer was the Earl of Osgiliath.

The earl of a city that lay in ruins. For what it was worth, he knew it was a great honor, and he didn’t voice his slight apprehension. He knew it was meant to be a challenge from Aragorn. Osgiliath deserved to be rebuilt. Faramir wanted this more than anything, to honor the memory of his beloved brother. Nevertheless, Aragorn wisely saw that Faramir’s plate was considerably too full.

“I give you this title, Earl of Osgiliath, so that you may give your prince a noble and magnificent gift,” Aragorn had said. It was now Éomer’s duty to rebuild Osgiliath. He would do it for love of Faramir. Aragorn had obviously known that.

“Look there,” Faramir said pointing ahead. They had been following a river that connected with the Anduin. Ahead, the way led into a green canyon that was lush and cool. The path grew narrow and they proceeded single file. The horses’ hooves barely made a sound on the soft carpet of moss and sandy soil. It was a pleasant place, and Éomer noticed Faramir drawing in deep breaths of air with a look of contentment on his face. Éomer took in the air. It was clean and fresh with the smells of water, soil and trees. It was indeed agreeable to the senses.

They came to a rock slope that led up to a narrow crevasse. The path was a sandy spillway for the river during the flooding season. It was dry now. It had been obscured by the steep cliff it hugged. The men on horseback dismounted here and led their animals up. One of the other horses seemed nervous about the path, but Firefoot was unfazed. The charger followed without Éomer’s hand on the lead.

“Is he a mearas?” Anborn asked looking back at Firefoot in wonder.

“Yes, his father was Lightfoot, a descendant of Felaróf.”

“He is a magnificent creature.”

Firefoot was a magnificent creature, Éomer had to agree. He looked back at his dear friend and smiled. The horse whickered and nudge him forward in what appeared to be a playful motion.

“It is true that the mearas are the lords of horses?” Anborn asked.

Éomer often found it odd what these Gondorians didn’t know. But, then again, there was much he had not known about Gondor and its people and culture. He was still learning. To learn that most of the southern rangers were Dúnedain had come as a great surprise. The fact that his mate had elven blood in his lineage had come as an even greater surprise.

“The mearas live on the steppes of the northern frontier. It is said that they surpass regular horses the way elves surpass men. Few are domesticated. Those few are the companions of the royal house of Rohan. “

Anborn turned to Firefoot, addressing him directly in the southern ranger’s Sindarin. He then turned back to Éomer. “I told him that I had never met such a stunning creature before and I hope he knows that he is very welcome here among us. He too is now one of the warriors of Henneth Annûn.”

The small path at the hidden crevasse led back to a high-ceiling cavern, well lit with torches. It went on for a few feet before letting out into an even smaller box canyon with a pool fed by a beautiful water fall.

“Welcome to Henneth Annûn,” Anborn said proudly. “The horses will stay over there.” He pointed to a sheltered place beneath a long rock shelve, close to water and some small amount of grass. Men moved about in that area carrying tack and sacks to and from the rock shelter.

Firefoot walked off in that direction without further prompting and Anborn stood astounded.

“He’s tired,” Éomer explained.

Inside the cool dry caverns of Henneth Annûn, people moved about with purpose. It was much like Helm’s Deep in some ways, and very different in other ways. These caverns seemed moister than those of Helm’s Deep. There were many passages and chambers that went in several directions. One could easily get lost in Henneth Annûn. Whereas Helm’s Deep seemed massive, with vaulted ceilings, Henneth Annûn was more closed-in. Some passages, the men had to stoop for a few paces to get through.

In the main cavern, one could look out to the curtain of water that was the waterfall over them. Faramir had told him that the name “Henneth Annûn” meant “window of the sunset” in Sindarin. Éomer saw why as he noted the golden tint of the cascading water as the sun dipped lower in the western sky. It was a cave, but it was a fair place. He could see why Faramir preferred it over the comforts of the citadel of Minas Tirith.

Their first night together as bonded prince and consort, they had spent in the luxurious suite that had been Faramir’s all his adult life. Faramir had spent very little time in those rooms, however. In the large chamber, under soft linen sheets, Faramir and he had joined their bodies once more to consummate the vows they had declared before the king.

Holding a cup, Faramir came to Éomer as he stood looking about the cave.

“Here, my love,” Faramir said. “A drink after a hot journey.”

“Ale?” Éomer asked, taking the cup.

“Wine,” he replied. “It has been chilled down in the lower caverns. “

The wine was sweet and cold. Faramir always seemed to know just what he needed.

“Supper will be soon,” Faramir said. “I will take you to our chamber to rest and refresh ourselves.”

“That would be good.”

Faramir led him back, deep within the caverns, through narrow passages until that came to an entryway that was covered by a heavy curtain. Faramir pushed the curtain aside and stepped in. Éomer followed.

The chamber was not as big as Faramir’s rooms in the citadel, but it looked comfortable. There was a bed large enough for two covered in a great fur. There were candles aplenty and a table with ink and quills at the ready. Scrolls and books sat nearby on a shelf. Faramir lit candles to give the room a comfortable light.

“The men will bring your things to our suite of chambers. This is only our sleeping chamber. You will get a chamber of your own to utilize as you see fit.”

“Where do the others sleep?” Éomer asked.

Faramir smiled. “The whole of the cliff side is riddled with caves and chambers. The others sleep comfortably in these. There is a chamber off of the main that can house fifty men comfortably enough. However, these days we use it as a gathering place; a place to hold councils and discussions.”

Faramir took the empty cup from his hands as he leaned in to kiss Éomer’s lips tenderly.

“Will you be comfortable here?” Faramir asked softly.

“I could be comfortable in Mount Doom if you were there with me.”

Faramir chuckled warmly as he touched Éomer’s cheek. “That would be a feat, dearest Vasa.”

“You underestimate your ability to distract me,” Éomer replied with an amused smile.

Faramir touched his forehead to Éomer’s and for a time, they rested, looking into each other’s eyes in complete peace and comfort.

“Tonight, my heart,” Faramir whispered, “You will take me? Will you leave your seed inside me?”

Éomer took a shuddering breath and waited for his heart to slow down just a bit. “My prince, I will love you in any way you desire. I am yours to command,” he whispered back.

Faramir kissed him again. His lips were tender on Éomer’s, but Éomer hungered for his love. He deepened the kiss with a soft moan that could have been a growl. He sucked Faramir’s tongue into his mouth to bathe it with his own.

How he loved his prince. Éomer’s hands reached for him, sinking into his silken, ginger hair. His body pressed against Faramir’s sturdy frame. Éomer breathed in the scent of his love’s desire.

“Why must we wait?” Éomer whispered as he held Faramir still, their lips brushing sensuously. “Have we but a little time now? Will we be missed if we chose to lie together at this hour?”

Faramir chuckled softly. “Insatiable! You cannot wait until after supper? Are you not tired and hungry after our journey?”

Éomer nipped at Faramir’s lower lip and gave a low growl. “I hunger for you.” He then sank to his knees before Faramir, pushing up the heavy fabric of his cambric tunic, he reached for the lacings on his breeches. The very smell of Faramir’s desire grew strong, and Éomer drank it in as his hand brushed over the thickening member still trapped behind fabric.

“Vasa!” Faramir breathed out the endearment like a prayer. In response, Éomer nuzzle the ample bulge, feeling the heat of arousal through the material that still separated them. He then applied his fingers to the task of unlacing the breeches.

Pushing down the fabric carefully, Éomer exposed Faramir’s erect cock. He ran his mouth lightly over the heated length, letting his whiskers tickle as his lips brushed tender kisses to head and foreskin. This was not the first time he had tasted his mate. The first time had been that first night that Faramir had spent in Éomer’s chamber in the Golden Hall. After gently cleaning Faramir after their joining, Éomer had let his new lover sleep for a time. Then in the very deep of the night, Éomer had woken Faramir with his lips on Faramir’s thickening member, and he had not released him though he had cried for mercy. Instead Éomer had given him sweet mercy in release. He remembered how Faramir’s thighs had trembled and how he had called his name within desperate moans.

The taste of Faramir’s arousal on his tongue fueled his desire, and Éomer could not resist. He ran his tongue lightly over the silky flesh that trembled and jumped under his touch. His hand held Faramir’s heavy bollocks, rolling them gently. Éomer opened his mouth and took in the hot erection, sucking it tenderly.

Faramir gave a breathy moan; his hips making shallow thrusts. Éomer took the thrusts easily, suckling the salty moisture that flowed lightly from the tip. It would be soon that his love would spend himself in his mouth and Éomer was ready. He wanted to taste Faramir again. He wanted to feel the rich texture and taste the warm salty flavor. He wanted to smell the muskiness of the sweat gathering about his bollocks and between his thighs. He wanted his Faramir, his sweet prince of the night sky.

“Oh my sweet Vasa!” Faramir whispered and then groaned loud and long.

The length in Éomer’s mouth began to pulse as the bollocks in his hand drew-up tight against the base of the cock. The first burst of ejaculate filled Éomer’s mouth with salty warmth, and Éomer hummed in appreciation as he swallowed.

Faramir trembled lightly and groaned again as his climax claimed him. Finally the pulses grew weak and stopped. The ejaculate ceased to come and Faramir’s bollocks seemed to relax back down into Éomer’s gentle caresses. Éomer released the semi-hard cock with a final kiss.

“Insatiable!” Faramir said on the end of a near breathless sigh.

Éomer nuzzled the softening member tenderly. “Would you have me any other way?”

“I would have you any way you allowed me to have you,” Faramir replied.

“I would have you throw me down on your bed and take me like a conqueror,” Éomer laughed.

Faramir laughed as well as he gave Éomer a hand up to his feet once more. “Someday,” Faramir said with a light chuckle. “For now, I want only to touch you and love you in joy and peace.”

“My prince,” Éomer whispered before he kissed Faramir deeply. He valued Faramir’s tender touch above all things.

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