Faramir Fiction Archive

Woodland Promises (G)

Written by Laurëlóte and Kissa

19 November 2007 | 9364 words

Title: Woodland Promises
Authors: Laurëlóte and Kissa
Beta: We betaed our own… mistakes are ours.
Pairing: Faramir / Éomer
Table/Prompt: 12_stories – Prompt 10. Nature
Rating: G
Word Count: 9,299
Summary: Faramir tends to an injured stranger.
Warnings: Minor references to torture
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Tolkien, I merely like to borrow them for my own pleasure.

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Woodland Promises

“Where is the Lord Éomer?” one of the warriors asked, his panic growing after not having been able to find his commander and friend among the wounded who were being treated. King Théoden would most likely celebrate Éomer’s convenient disappearance, in the state he was in, with the shadow clouding his sight. But not the Rohirrim warriors – they all loved Éomer, as a friend and as a leader and they would have followed him anywhere…

Exhausted, Firefoot stopped galloping. The fear which had taken over him had ebbed and now, feeling safe, the animal stopped to graze a bit, in an area he thought safe both for him and for his wounded friend, the one he had carried on his back all the way.

The place was beautiful indeed, a lush forest with creeks and generous grass beds, not scarce tufts of burned weed like the Rohan soil offered.

The smell in the air was delicious and Firefoot bent his head to graze, causing is unresponsive load to slide from the saddle and onto the ground.

Faramir had ventured away from the patrol, in search of some fresh air, as his troops were all smoking and soon it had become an impossible feat to breathe in that area… plus the smoke always gave Faramir a certain state of jolly mind alteration if he did not pay attention and inhaled it for too long. He also needed to replace a healing herb from his healer’s pouch, so he was looking around for the particular herb, when suddenly he came across a magnificent horse grazing and from time to time looking worriedly at a motionless heap lying in the grass not far away.

The horse sensed him and huffed warningly, raising its neck and looking Faramir in the eye. The Ranger recognized the colors of Rohan on the horse’s reins and saddle and from what he saw Faramir could tell the horseman was someone of great importance from the royal family.

As he tried to get closer to the bundle of clothing in the grass, the horse stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

But Faramir did get close enough to hear the battered man’s words:

“I yearn for happiness… I ask for help… I want mercy!” spoken with great difficulty, as if part of a spell or a ritual.

Worried that he might have found the noble warrior too late, Faramir forgot about manners and addressed the horse in Elvish:

“Listen, horse, your master is injured and I can heal him! Do I look or smell like an Orc to you? Please let me get to him” Faramir spoke, and although his words were bold, his stance was humble, so that the horse could see he meant no harm. He was finally allowed to pass and he quickly knelt near the fallen man.

Turning him face up, Faramir noticed the man’s clothes were torn from what appeared like a cruel whipping and besides that, he counted three deep gashes which seemed to have been caused by an axe. It was a wonder that there was still a flicker of life in that body. But if there was a chance for the man to survive, he was going to give it to him!

The young ranger quickly started to work and made a stretcher from a few branches woven together with young tree bark. The front end was tied to the horse’s saddle and the back end rested on the ground. Faramir put the wounded man on the stretcher and asked the horse to move in the direction he indicated.

It wasn’t long before they reached the foot of the steep hill leading to their outpost. Beregond spotted Faramir from a distance and rushed down to help him, seeing he had brought someone in, someone who looked severely injured.

Beregond lifted the man in his arms after they rid him of the heavy armor, starting to carry him up the hill, while Faramir saw to the horse which worriedly looked at what happened to his master.

“Do not worry brave warrior, your companion and you are with the Rangers of Ithilien now, you will both be well taken care of!” Faramir spoke to the horse as if it was another person.

The horse seemed to understand though and let Faramir take him to where the Rangers had their horses, in a hidden cave halfway up the hill.

As soon as the horse was fed and had received water and a rubdown, Faramir rushed up on their secret Ranger paths and hurried to see what the men were doing to the stranger.

Beregond had prepared all the things needed for cleaning and mending the wound.

“Lord Faramir, we have been expecting you. I prepared all you will need in your attempt to heal this man. By his clothes I would say he is a commander and his men might come looking for him… if they are any good at tracking that is.”

“I do not expect any less from the Rohirrim.” Faramir commented shortly, starting to fix a salve to apply on the wounds. “Please Beregond, do linger around for I will need your assistance. What I would like you to do is cut off the layers of clothing as I will need to see the extent of the damage.”

Beregond nodded and started to remove the clothes, careful not to rattle the injured man too much. There were a few soft groans and a mewl from the Rohirrim but other than that, he either managed to stifle any sign of pain, or he was not feeling any.

Underneath layers of blood–stained clothes and mud mixed with blood, Faramir was eventually able to see the real extent of the wounds. Indeed, the man had received three axe blows, but they were quite superficial and at angles which had deflected the blows from hitting vital parts. But the blood loss had been substantial, the pain had surely been immense, and probably it still was.

As Beregond removed the warrior’s boots and leggings, Faramir saw something that made him frown. There were numerous small but deep abrasions which had filled with dried blood on the man’s hips, on his manhood and further up until his navel.

What, and who, could have caused those lesions? Because it was quite obvious that someone had deliberately taken the time to hurt the man, quite intentionally and certainly not during a skirmish.

“Beregond, I know it is not part of your duties as a ranger, but will you please help me clean him? As in, really see to it that none of these wounds becomes an infection?” Faramir asked, determined to help the unknown man even if Beregond chose to attend to his more immediate tasks as a Ranger. But Beregond did not disappoint, as usual, and nodded.

“I thank you for your trust, Faramir. I know it was hard for you to ask, especially since I can see why you need help.”

“I have sometimes seen the Rohirrim warriors wear metal articulated gloves. It is possible that he was held and handled by a hand covered in such a glove, and that the metal edges of the joints have caused these deep cuts. It worries me though, given the sensitivity of the area, that the man might never be able to use his manhood for all the purposes it has been designed for.” Faramir spoke in a strange voice.

“Who then would wish to hurt a man like this? Such punishment surely exceeds any other in cruelty and cunning.” Beregond remarked.

“Aye, it is a most wicked way to punish a man. I suspect it was a vengeance of some sort, perhaps after a quarrel over a maiden? I also suspect it was done by someone who knew the warrior, someone this man trusted.”

“The Rohirrim have strange ways.” Beregond said and with that their conversation ended, the two Rangers working efficiently in cleaning all the small deep wounds.

Faramir had never had the opportunity to practice his skills as a healer to this extent. In all previous cases, someone more apt for the task had been around and Faramir, still considered a novice, had only been there to assist. But he had never actually made the decisions.

Now it was different. He had always thought he would doubt and not know what to go for when an emergency appeared – yet here he was, ever so gently touching the wounded man’s injuries, knowing exactly how and where to touch and how much pressure to apply.

Looking at his patient, he secretly wished they had met in more peaceful times. He had no doubt they would have become friends.

Éomer slowly came back from the distant place where his mind had taken refuge when Gríma and his henchmen had set about torturing him. Pouring vinegar over the open wounds on his back, then stripping him of the leggings he wore and humiliating him like they had… He knew what Gríma must have thought. That he would break him, if he would not be his.

Now he could feel gentle, soft hands caressing him all over, soothing, healing… With an effort he opened his eyes and looked above him to see a copper-haired man carefully applying some soft cloths over his groin and pulling a thin blanket over him.

The redhead raised his eyes to check on him and saw him awake, and Éomer could see him blushing furiously and looking away for a second, shyly smiling and looking back into his eyes.

“Thank the gods you are awake! Are you in pain? How do you feel?” The redhead spoke in a voice as soothing as his touch. “I am Faramir, and your brave horse brought you to Ithilien. You are safe now, rest.”

Éomer looked into the youthful blue eyes and knew their owner spoke the truth. Never had he seen eyes so blue like mountain ponds that he could swim in and lose himself into…

Before Faramir moved away to let him rest, he clasped the man’s forearm in a warrior’s grip.

“I am Éomer, and I thank you for your care, Faramir.”

They both felt the electricity coursing through them from where their hands and arms touched and both warriors stared at each other.

Neither man found that he wanted to look away, a moment’s eye contact had turned into what seemed like minutes, as if they were captivated in each other’s gaze unable to understand the reactions that had been provoked by a mere touch.

It was Faramir who pulled away first, but only when Éomer shifted slightly and flinched in pain as he must have aggravated one of his injuries.

“Are you uncomfortable?” asked the ranger, his eyes full of concern. “I can try and help you into a more comfortable position but I am afraid finding one which will not involve laying on one of your injuries is going to be difficult.”

“Nay, I am alright,” the blonde replied. “Or, as comfortable as I can be.”

In truth he was hurting all over, although the pain had been numbed somewhat, probably thanks to the man who cared for him now.

For some reason that he could not explain, Faramir found that he did not want to leave this man, but found that he was unable to think of a reason to stay. He would have liked to ask Éomer a few questions about what had happened to him and why, but he knew that the man needed to rest and so took his leave, promising himself that he would look in upon him frequently.

Éomer drank the tea which Faramir brought him, grateful for the heat that flooded him and for the way his pain seemed suspended for a while, just enough for him to catch some much-needed rest.

He had been used to the safety of Edoras, the big, well-lit rooms and open spaces, but he noted that lying on a bear fur in a cave by a fire was not as unsettling as he would have thought. He still felt protected and safe, even though the dark was creeping nearer. What helped a lot was the reassuring smell of Faramir’s potions, dried herbs and salves.

An hour after he had been left alone, he was still mostly awake, drifting on the edge of sleep, too afraid to let slumber take him, fearing it would bring back the recent ordeal which he wanted to forget as quickly as possible. He had to heal faster, become stronger and go back, to make sure Éowyn was safe. But then, he thought, Gríma was not after Éowyn, and if he would go back now, Gríma would surely succeed in breaking him. He did not want to become weak; but he did not know how to fight the powerful sorcery.

Returning to check on his guest, Faramir stood in the entrance of the cave watching him closely. It appeared that Éomer had managed to get little rest and that something was obviously playing on his mind.

“You should be sleeping, my friend,” he chided gently as he walked over to his side, reaching out to place a hand on the Rohirrim’s forehead checking for fever. “Something is troubling you. Would you like to talk about it? I find it helps sometimes, and nothing you say will go any further unless you would like it to.”

His words said, he helped Éomer to sit up slightly and got him some water, knowing that the young man would speak when he was ready.

After a long silence, during which Éomer offered himself the pleasure of looking at his host and studying him in detail, he finally sighed and spoke:

“I no longer know what to do to make things right… Things are never right at home. I worry for Éowyn, I worry for my uncle, the king, for his son… I see things going on that should never happen at a royal court and yet I am only a poor captain, who will listen to me? I have tried to warn my uncle of the conspirators and their schemes, and what he did was send Éowyn away and me to guard the borders.”

He was so lost in his account that he overlooked the fact that Faramir probably did not know who all those people were and probably he did not care. Breathless from so much talking after a long period of rest, he went quiet again, looking wistfully down at his lap.

Faramir listened as Éomer spoke, and though he did not know who it was he was speaking of, he could not help but notice the fondness in Éomer’s voice. So much so that he could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy as the Rohirrim spoke Éowyn’s name. He wondered if perhaps she was the young man’s wife or lover. He knew the thought should not bother him but it did.

He picked up the salve and started to check Éomer’s most serious wounds, noting happily that the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

“Who did this to you?”

Éomer kept looking down, rubbing his hands together in a self-comforting gesture.

“There were more of them… and he was watching.” He shuddered and hugged himself at the memories kicking back in. “They left because the King called for them. And I just lay there; I couldn’t even see or tell where I was anymore… I never knew it could hurt like that. Firefoot dragged me out and waited for me to mount before he left the city.”

Faramir’s hands on him stilled, the redhead wiping them on a piece of bandage and bringing them up to offer comfort, one of his hands resting on Éomer’s shoulder and pulling him towards his chest and the other stroking the silky blond hair.

“I have failed Éowyn! I have failed my uncle… and Rohan!” Éomer would have sobbed if the thought hadn’t weighed that much on him.

“And though she is strong and she can look after herself, there is no excuse for me to leave her with that worm!”

“Hush now, it is alright,” Faramir said soothingly, while cursing himself for obviously upsetting the man with his curiosity. “Rest and heal, and then we will see how we can help her. We will make sure she is alright I promise.”

Faramir did not understand why he felt the need to reassure this man and to offer to help him, but he simply felt compelled to. From tending his wounds he knew what the man had suffered, and if he could help him in anyway, he would.

“I am going to give you some tea which will help you sleep,” said Faramir softly, reluctantly moving away from the man to make it. “You need to rest in order to build up your strength.”

A few minutes later he returned to where Éomer lay and helped support the Rohirrim while he drank the bitter tasting liquid and then helped to make him comfortable.

“Do not worry, I will not be far away.”

“Faramir, please…” Éomer’s voice was a feeble whisper, and had Faramir’s hearing not been sharp, he would have missed it altogether.

The captain of Rangers turned around and smiled at his guest.

“It is very cold…” Éomer said, looking down, “and dark thoughts haunt me. I would not be alone.”

As he heard the Rohirrim speak, Faramir found his heart was bouncing inside his chest at such a sweet shy request from the beautiful warrior. He tried really hard not to pounce on his guest and cuddle him, if only for the courage of asking him so directly and sweetly. The truth was he was growing increasingly attached to his charge.

“Then close your eyes and sleep my friend,” he said softly, brushing a strand of wavy blonde hair from the Rohirrim’s face. “I will be here guarding you from those thoughts.”

Faramir turned away for a moment needing to compose himself before he lay next to this man who seemed to make him feel ways that he knew he should not, even though they had only just met.

Slowly he removed his boots and his tunic and then slipped under the blanket beside Éomer, pulling the young man close to him, offering his warmth while trying not to aggravate his wounds; he would not see this man in pain anymore.

Although being close to the younger man and sharing his warmth under the cover made Faramir drowsy, he could not neglect his task as a healer and he rested without actually falling completely asleep, thus picking up on Éomer’s small twitches and little pained sounds.

Éomer was asleep, but apparently ghosts of his recent past were tormenting him in his dreams and Faramir propped himself up on an elbow, listening carefully to the warrior’s muttering.

He found what he wanted to do, which was try and find out from the man’s dream monologue what he would never hear being spoken during waking hours, the way Éomer was biting and licking his lips making it hard for Faramir to focus on other things.

At one point though Éomer grabbed him and ground himself against Faramir, panting and saying the first intelligible words…

“Éowyn… We should not… what if he finds us?”

Faramir had no idea how to react; his body froze as the young man pressed against him. Once again he felt that stab of jealousy at hearing Éowyn’s name, though he could not help wondering on what they should not do.

From Éomer’s actions, he suspected that maybe she was not the young man’s wife at all, a lover then, one that he should not have. Perhaps she belonged to another, perhaps her husband found out and that was how the Rohirrim came to be in this state. It would explain the injuries to the man’s groin. He shuddered as he thought of it. No man should be submitted to such torture no matter what their crime.

He knew that he would help this man. No matter what, he would reunite him with his Éowyn; even if it meant getting his heart broken on the way.

“It is useless, you must leave, our uncle has fallen into shadow! He will taint you if he cannot have me!” Éomer almost bolted from the safe cradle of the furs and covers, his scream echoing in the cave and chilling the blood in Faramir’s veins.

Tears rolled down the younger man’s face and when he spoke next, his voice was low and subdued.

“Please little sister; please be out of harm’s way. I cannot protect you from this greater evil without forsaking my duty.”

When Faramir heard his charge utter the word “sister”, he thought his heart would beat out of his chest with relief.

A sister!

There was hope for him, he thought in confusion, not realizing what he actually hoped for, but nonetheless happy he did not have to compete for Éomer’s attention with an established partner.

At least from what he knew so far.

Throwing all caution to the wind, he decided to wake Éomer up and try to get him to talk. First of all, he had to rid the man of his nightmares, and what better way than helping him exorcize them by calling them by name? Subsequently, he really wanted to hear the other man’s warm, purr-like voice as the Rohirrim satisfied his curiosity…

He shook the young man gently, asking him to wake, the last thing he wanted was to startle or scare him. He was relieved then when Éomer started to stir without him having to resort to heavier touches.

“You were having a nightmare my friend,” he explained softly. “We need to rid you of these evil dreams.”

He positioned himself so that Éomer could sit up a little, resting against his own chest, wanting to be able to embrace the Rohirrim and provide comfort to him.

“I need you to tell me what you are afraid of, what haunts your dreams at night?” he prompted gently. “I know it is difficult for you, but believe me it will help, and it will also help me to work out how I can aid you.”

He wrapped his arms around Éomer and held him close, wanting to emphasize his final point, that he did want to help, and that he was not about to abandon the Rohirrim. He surprised himself however when he found himself deeply inhaling the young man’s scent and was pleased that the blond man could not see his face as he blushed.

“Gríma,” Éomer spoke so quietly that Faramir’s trained ears had to perk up, “he is after me.”

Settling against Faramir’s frame and thus showing him even more trust than he had so far, Éomer continued:

“He is first advisor to my uncle, the king. It is because of him that the king’s son is dead and our king now has fallen prey to the mind clutch of Saruman the White.”

“Oh Eru!” Faramir exclaimed, “what you tell me is worrying news even for Gondor! It means we are left to fend for ourselves against Mordor!”

Éomer nodded, but continued in his quiet tone, and Faramir could only imagine how hard it was for Éomer to watch Rohan fall under the shadow of Isengard along with her king.

“At first, I thought Gríma was after my sister Éowyn… whom I have tried to protect and struggled to remove her from Edoras, but she refuses to leave uncle… and her stubbornness is as legendary as that of the Mearas!”

Éomer paused, running a hand over his face, as if to chase some unpleasant memory.

“It was like this that I discovered… Gríma only seeks to make me weak by taking everything I love away from me so that in the end I shall kneel in front of him! And when I confronted the worm, he did not deny it; he defied me and had me thrown in jail, where he had his henchmen do all sorts of things to me! I would never have escaped if they hadn’t had some cruel idea which could only be done in the stables, and Firefoot saw what was going on. I guess I only have my horse to thank for still having my life and body in one piece…”

Throughout the telling of his story, Faramir found his grip becoming tighter and tighter around the young man, as if that he was frightened that he would be taken away from him at any moment.

“I will help you. I have few soldiers I can spare now that evil is stirring in Mordor, and it is pointless going to my father for help as he has no love of Rohan,” he said sadly, wishing he would be able to offer more than a handful of rangers. “But I will do what I can. Together we will put together a plan to get rid of this monster of which you speak. Though how we get your King away from the White Wizard I do know.”

Éomer looked down dejectedly and went quiet. It was not in his nature to speak this much, especially not to virtual strangers, but the young warrior-healer had gained his trust and gave him a warm feeling inside his chest every time Faramir busied himself with arranging his pillow or changing his bandages.

He found himself watching Faramir in silence, wondering if the Gondorian knew how handsome and endearing he was. Éomer also remembered the softness of his touch and his light hands when he had cleaned his wounds. His mind jumped from Faramir’s gentle soothing touches to imagining how those hands would touch the undoubtedly fair lady who waited for him at home, and Éomer caught his inner voice whispering : “Too bad you are a man, son of Eomund…”

Faramir found that his suspicions had been right, the next time Éomer fell asleep, barely minutes later, he slept soundly throughout the night and was plagued by no more nightmares. The ranger too managed to get some rest, but he did dream, his mind filled of images of the young man who lay in his arms.

He dreamt of Éomer strong and healthy, riding his horse across the plains of Rohan, galloping towards him, smiling happily to see him, throwing himself into his arms as soon as he was able.

The young man felt good in his arms, he seemed to fit perfectly in his embrace, it was almost as if they were made for each other.

It was with that thought in his mind that Faramir awoke the next morning. Shaking his head in an amused disbelief he slipped out from under the blanket and went to boil some water for when the young man awoke.

Éomer stirred not long afterwards and opened still sleepy, blurry eyes to gaze at the world. Greeting his host, he stretched and tried to get up, only managing the second time.

“Is there some place I can bathe here?” he asked almost fearing the answer would be no; after all, they were in a forest, not by the seaside!

“Aye, there is. The path at the front of the cave leads to a warm waterfall. Shall I come along or will you be alright?” Faramir replied, his eyes caught by the warrior’s broad shoulders and slender waist. The man was lithe and tall, and even limping he looked majestic.

“Nay, I thank you, but I feel so filthy… I shall call you, I promise, if I begin to see spots or feel like fainting.”

Faramir nodded and watched him go slowly, walking along the wall just in case.

What he thought of next was not in the least noble or fair, but nevertheless, as long as he could return unnoticed, he would be fine. Faramir worried about Éomer venturing so far away on his own, when he was not really fit for such prolonged effort, and he was torn between the need to check on his charge and the shame of being caught following Éomer, thinking his action might be otherwise interpreted.

He waited for Éomer to take the turn on the narrow path and as soon as a huge rock on the corner hid him from view, Faramir followed his guest, watching as Éomer gingerly began to remove the clothing he still had on and waded into the water, sinking completely, then throwing his wet mane over his head as he surfaced.

Now that the time had come Faramir found that he could not remove his gaze from the young man; he had not intended to watch, so much as just to make sure that he was alright, but being able to see him in all his glory was far more of a temptation than he was able to resist. He had already seen Éomer’s body when he was tending to his wounds, but he had little time to really take in the Rohirrim’s physique.

He was a well built man, broad shoulders and a lean frame. He was not overly muscular, but was quite clearly a warrior and very fit. Faramir noted the last point with some satisfaction, it meant that Éomer would not take long to heal, however it also caused him to tense slightly, he did not want to think of the young man leaving just yet. There was so much more he wanted to know, about life in Rohan, his friends and family, in fact he wanted to know everything.

His gaze fell lower, onto a tattoo around the man’s hips made up of numerous strange symbols which meant nothing to Faramir. He could not see it properly now, but he had seen it the day before. He wished that he could ask what they all meant but such a question would be inappropriate to ask a man who was his patient.

Éomer felt the presence of someone close to him, but he knew this part of the mountain was well secured by the Rangers and that their captain, the young capable warrior that was tending to him, would not allow anything to happen to him. Feeling safe, he relaxed, thinking that even if someone was watching him, they would not see anything new to them… oh well, maybe bigger, but definitely not new.

As he spread the soap-oil Faramir had given him all over his body, Éomer could not miss the fact that his wounds had almost healed and the stitches had been made with such care that he was sure they would leave no scar when they healed.

He felt a sudden wave of warmth flood him as he thought of his host and of the kind treatment he had received. How could he ever repay him and thank him? He was a Rohirrim noble, but he had nothing to give at the moment, except himself. He cringed a bit, thinking of that – he had seen the Ranger captain watch him, his soft azure gaze lingering in his eyes or on his body more than required and he wondered; though his own men sometimes took comfort from each other, as long as there were the Rohirrim women around to warm their beds, hardly anyone sought for passion or anything long term in a fellow soldier. It was not unheard of in Rohan, but not really frequent, which made Éomer think of the Rohirrim orgies; how could anyone wish for what they had in their own leggings when every boy wanted to grow up faster so they could attend the orgies?

Éomer knew they were the only people who allowed rank and birthright to fly to the wind for a few days, and even if other kingdoms saw the orgies as a barbaric practice, they were the only culture which did not have arranged marriages, because they did not need them.

His thoughts flew right back to the Ranger and his longing gazes, but suddenly Éomer was not so sure he looked tempting in that way to his host; Faramir seemed lonely and melancholic – perhaps what he sought was a friend? Besides, offering himself to Faramir might not be received kindly, having the exactly opposite effect, and Éomer did not wish to lose the Ranger’s friendship. In fact he did not wish to lose anything; he enjoyed sharing his bedroll with Faramir at night and borrowing his body warmth during the cold hours of the morning.

Faramir turned away when Éomer has almost finished, wanting to get far away from his hiding place before he was discovered. If Éomer knew that he had been watching him… well he felt his cheeks burn just from the thought of it. He knew that even in the short time he had known him, he would hate for the Rohirrim to think ill of him.

He waited in the cave for the young man to return, and when he did, greeted him with a warm smile.

“I trust you feel much better now?” he asked politely. “I have to say, I always like the feeling of being clean, especially after a long hard night on patrol. In fact, I must go out tonight, but you are more than welcome to stay here in my absence.”

“Or I can try and change with someone if you wish?” Faramir added, and then suddenly became flustered, realizing that just because Éomer had wanted his company the previous evening, it did not mean that he would want it again. “I just… well… whatever you would feel comfortable with I guess.”

Éomer saw how uncomfortable the older Ranger was and it reminded him of himself and the puppy-eyed look he used to convince the cook he really needed to fumble in the jam jars. But there was the issue of Faramir being absent for one night and the man before him did not seem very thrilled to be going away… which persuaded Éomer to smile shyly and look away while saying:

“If duty calls, then by all means you should go, but if there is a choice and part of it can be mine, I would much rather spend the evening with you again and perhaps even the night, that is if my stealing the blanket all the time has not put you off. I would much like us to talk more and find out about your heritage and land.”

When the Rohirrim spoke of sharing stories about their cultures, Faramir had to restrain himself from bouncing like a small child. He would have the opportunity to ask questions about the wild horse people of the plains and perhaps Éomer would tell him more about himself as well!

He excused himself quickly before the Rohirrim had a chance to change his mind and went to organize himself some cover for the evening. Fortunately it did not take him long to find Beregond, and as usual the ranger did not let him down, saying that it was just good to see his captain with a smile on his face, a comment that made Faramir blush furiously.

There was still slight evidence of the blush when he returned to the place where he had left the Rohirrim.

“It has been arranged. I can remain here tonight,” he said with a smile. “I was thinking, do you feel able to go for a short ride? It isn’t very far, but there is a place I would like to show you. Ithilien really is a very beautiful place.”

Faramir had said the magic word. Éomer melted on the spot, and if his condition would have allowed him, he would have taken Faramir for a wild dance around the small rock chamber.

“I would love to go for a little ride with you and see the land you and your men so fiercely defend. I think Firefoot must be worried by now, as it has been too long since we had some time together. So I will gladly join you!”

Éomer reached for his outer clothing and began dressing, but when he got to the last layer, he asked:

“Will I need my armor where we are going?”

“Nay, we will be traveling towards Minas Tirith and the passage is still fairly safe, although you should take your sword just in case.”

“I would go no where without mine in such times,” he added quietly and a sad look appeared in his eyes when he reflected on the dark times that had crept upon them. They would only be able to keep out the evil for so long, and then this land he loved dearly would fall.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he led Éomer to the stables and watched distractedly as the Rohirrim tended to his horse, talking to him softly all the time. His own horse was no where near as majestic as Firefoot, being of local breeding and not a horse of Rohan, but he adored her all the same. His horse had proved herself to be very loyal over the last few years and they seemed to have reached a level of understanding similar to that which Éomer and Firefoot showed now.

He was startled out of his reverie though, when Lisse’roch nudged him in the back, finally becoming impatient of being ignored, before going in search of the slices of apple that her master always brought him.

It was Éomer and Firefoot’s turn to stop and look at Faramir and cocoa-colored mare. The horse was currently frisking her master for the expected treat, and Faramir quickly produced it from a pocket beneath his cloak, being rewarded with a neigh that seemed to say: “It was about time!”

“Your horse seems to love you a lot, though she is quite cheeky. I can only guess you two have seen many battles together?” Éomer approached, holding Firefoot’s reins loosely, letting the horse reach for Lisse’roch and sniff her.

The two horses forgot about the men near them as they sniffed each other and after an exchange of snuffling, soft neighing, teeth-baring and ear-nibbling (from Firefoot), the animals turned to look expectantly at their riders.

Éomer laughed at seeing his horse show interest in another horse without wanting to beat it up; it seemed Firefoot had found his Faramir too, in Lisse’roch’s laid back and calm nature.

Faramir’s eyes were riveted on the Rohirrim’s face as Éomer laughed. Faramir felt a painful stab inside looking at the man near him, thinking how beautiful Éomer was, and how the situation in which they met made it very unlikely for them to have more than a few moments together.

He was shaken out of his sad thoughts by Firefoot’s inspection of him, the horse sniffing his hair and even licking his nose once.

“Aww look Faramir, my horse likes you; he even gave you a kiss! And Firefoot doesn’t like anyone!”

“Well then, I am truly a lucky man,” replied Faramir with a smile and returning the gesture by stroking the horse’s nose, earning a huff from his own horse who pulled at her reins.

“Lisse’roch! Are you jealous?” he chided softly. “You know that I only have eyes for you.”

“Come, or the day will be gone before we have left the stables.”

Soon they were off keeping to a gentle trot, and Faramir instantly relaxed. He always loved to go out riding; it made him forget everything for a while. As they passed through Ithilien, Faramir lost himself in the telling of tales to Éomer, who, to the Gondorian’s delight seemed very interested to know about this land.

“I have never felt happier anywhere else than here,” Faramir explained. “I did not have a happy childhood, although my brother did his best to make it so, but it was not until I began my training here with the rangers that I really found out who I was. I have always felt at home here, I hate it when I have to leave.”

“My first memories are of my mother taking me out riding on her mare, showing me the fields our family owns, then hopping onto another horse and leaving me there, telling me to come home on my own. She had done the same with Éowyn, my sister who is a bit older than me and who was so eager to be tested. I spent a lot of time trying to make the horse understand me, and a five year-old boy doesn’t really impress a mare. In the end I asked her nicely to return home and decided to trust her and it was then that she took off and brought us back safely at Edoras.” Éomer said, not really knowing why he felt the need to share such a precious memory with this stranger… it was as if he and Faramir had known each other for several lifetimes and now had found each other again. The feeling Éomer had when looking at Faramir was of recognition, of seeing someone he had thought lost to him, that now the gods had placed in his path once again.

“It is a rather cruel way of educating a child.” Faramir remarked, his eyes wetter than usual. “So many things could go wrong!”

“Our entire childhood was a test, and both Éowyn and I had to go through a lot to earn our rights. Rohirrim mothers do not believe in spoiling their children and giving them everything simply because they ask. Our mother was a great warrior and she loved us dearly. But… she is no more.” Éomer became silent and looked away, stroking Firefoot’s neck in search of some comfort. “No doubt you have seen the tattoo around my hips – it is the graphic story of all tests passed and victories won.”

“Is it… compulsory for every man?” Faramir asked, already thinking of the pain of receiving such an extensive mark.

“It is a part of who we are as a people and as individuals. Every man and woman has their story engraved on their skin, one symbol at a time, and we take great pride in adding symbols to our story.” Éomer explained. “It is enough for you to see me naked to know everything about me.” He flustered a bit. “And now, I suppose, you know more than you would want… I am sorry if I bored you.”

“No not at all, quite the opposite in fact,” Faramir replied shaking his head. “It seems strange to me, that one should mark themselves in such a way. We have no such thing in Gondor.”

“But then I guess I am grateful in a way,” he continued sadly, his eyes closing for a moment as if in pain. “I have done little that deserves to be remembered in such a way. I never knew my mother, she died when I was still very young, never quite recovering from my birth. And my father, well he does not think very highly of me, in his eyes I have failed every thing that he has asked of me.”

Faramir suddenly fell silent. It seemed as if both of them had spoken of things that they would normally not share with a stranger. He wondered how it was that he feel so at ease with this man, when normally he was so weary of people he did not know, always worried that he would end up being hurt yet again, but from the moment he had found Éomer, his usual barriers had crumbled, and yet he felt strangely comforted by the fact.

“Could we perhaps make a stop by that creek, so out horses can play? I see they have been talking to each other more than we have!” Éomer suggested, hoping Faramir would agree, as his own back was sore and stiff from the effort of riding so soon.

Faramir nodded, and Éomer did not allow himself to live with the illusion he could hide his pain from the trained healer, therefore he was relieved when Faramir dismounted first and offered him his arm for support.

Not wanting to seem less dignified, Éomer dismounted without the offered help, but as soon as he set foot on the ground, pain speared him and his vision blackened for a while,

When he came to, he was lying on Faramir’s cloak, with his head pillowed on Faramir’s lap. The red haired Ranger was watching him worriedly and one of his hands was mindlessly stroking Éomer’s hair.

Faramir cursed himself for having not stopped earlier, he had only intended a short ride, knowing that Éomer would not be up to much, but then he had become distracted, and they had both seemed to be enjoying themselves far too much to stop. It was sometimes claustrophobic being in a cave days on end, and Faramir had longed for the fresh air and the feel of luscious, green grass beneath his feet.

But because of his selfishness, Éomer was hurt. Fortunately he had been close enough to catch the young man as he fell, blacking out suddenly as he landed on the ground.

“How are you feeling?” asked Faramir concerned as Éomer regained consciousness. “I am sorry, we should have stopped sooner. It is my fault entirely. Some healer I have turned out to be.”

“Nay, do not blame yourself, Faramir.” Éomer said, reaching up to tuck a stray reddish strand behind a cute ear. “I am well, only too weak still for great efforts… and I must admit I sort of got carried away in our conversation. I missed the open fields and riding too much to admit to being tired.”

Faramir’s natural reaction would have been jumping six feet back at the unexpected touch, but he remembered in time not to let go of Éomer, he might hit his head on the ground. Besides, he reminded himself, Éomer had done nothing wrong, it was only his wishful imagination which had made the gesture feel like more.

Éomer sat up in his arms and looked at the horizon, where the trees were scarcer and scarcer and only golden fields remained to blend with the sky above. He was uncharacteristically quiet and Faramir could feel a shiver course through his charge. He was not a mind reader, but he could see the man he had grown so attached to was homesick.

“I wish that I could make everything right so that you could go home and know that you would be safe, my friend,” he said softly, laying a hand on Éomer’s arm and squeezing it gently. “I can not begin to imagine how you feel, or how I would feel if it was Ithilien.”

Faramir too fell silent, realizing that the blond warrior would soon have to leave, whether it was safe for him to return or not, and he knew that he would have to remain here. He also knew that he would miss Éomer terribly when that time came.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself leaning towards the Rohirrim and pressing his lips against his cheek before blushing and looking away unable to believe what he had done.

The Rohirrim’s big, warm hand came to rest on Faramir’s arm and squeezed it gently.

“Faramir, look at me… please…”

Reluctantly, the Ranger met Éomer’s gaze and saw no anger there. Éomer was smiling slightly, and he was sporting a blush similar to the one Faramir felt burning in his cheeks.

Éomer then drew their heads together, resting his forehead against the Gondorian’s and putting his arms around the other man’s neck, while he gently rubbed his nose against Faramir’s.

To Faramir, the gesture was new, and although he knew what men did with each other, he had never encountered this particular kind of closeness, but it appealed to him, as his poetic mind could easily grasp the symbolism of it – the sharing of minds through the connected foreheads and the sharing of souls through the shared breath.

He gained some courage, seeing that Éomer himself was making efforts to open up, not knowing how exactly to go about it. Faramir tilted his head a little and ever so lightly brushed Éomer’s lips with his, letting one of his hands caress the Rohirrim’s golden hair.

Despite his courage, his touch at first showed how nervous he was, his hand trembling as his fingers wound themselves in the mass of golden locks. As Éomer responded to the kiss however, his confidence grew and the kiss deepened.

The kiss they shared was as gentle as each other’s touch, there was nothing frantic about it, but to Faramir it felt as if the world could end in that very moment and he would neither know nor care as long as this kiss did not end.

When they finally drew apart, Éomer looked down shyly, almost unbelieving he had been kissed by another man and that he had responded. Moreover, something inside him had risen, like a fever spreading through his entire body, and somehow his entire visual range had narrowed down to only seeing Faramir.

“I could love you for a lifetime” he blurted out, looking away and leaning close to rest his head on the redhead’s shoulder, putting his arms around the Ranger’s slender form. This way, he could be close to Faramir without having to look into his eyes and see the mirth his words had caused.

“I would love nothing more than to be yours; unfortunately all we have is this brief moment.” Faramir said, his hands still stroking the blond mane. “And soon we must go back to assume our roles as warriors for our kingdoms. Perhaps… perhaps we shall meet again on a battlefield… by how things are going; I would say that moment is soon.”

He snapped out of his trance, cursing his foresight gift, which at times like these seemed more like a curse. There was no use in adding another worry to Éomer’s mind…

“I am sorry, Éomer. I get a bit carried away sometimes.” He excused himself, adding: “Though we must get back. It is getting late and dangerous to be out.”

They moved reluctantly, returning to their horses who were grazing near by, and all too soon they found themselves back at Henneth Annûn. They lay together under the blanket again, both men holding each other tight as if neither of them wanted to let go a moment before they had to.

The morning came far too soon and Faramir found himself desperately fighting the urge to ask Éomer to stay just one more day. There were many excuses he could think of, that the Rohirrim was not yet well enough to return, or that he would not be safe, but deep down he knew that it was pointless. No matter what he said, Éomer still had to return to his people and Faramir himself had to return to his own duties. That did not make the moment when Éomer stood before him with Firefoot’s reins in his hand, any easier.

Faramir asked Beregond and another ranger to escort Éomer to the boundaries of their land, to make sure no harm came to the Rohirrim while he was still in Ithilien. He could have ridden out with them, but he could not, would not watch Éomer fade into the horizon.

At night, as he curled up in his blanket in the cold night, he took comfort from Éomer’s lingering honey and acacia flower scent, left behind on his blanket and pillow.

As Éomer’s voice joined with the other Rohirrim’s to howl “Death!” before literally throwing themselves into their enemies with all the force of their despair, he thought briefly of his one moment of true, untainted joy. He had been hurt then, and someone had found him, healing him, loving him, protecting him… which had amounted to more than he had ever hoped to receive in his life. His last thought before being sucked into the battle went to his copper-haired Ranger captain, and he prayed that wherever he was, the gods would listen to his unspoken prayer and blind the Reaper’s sight whenever it crossed paths with Faramir.

He did not know how, but Faramir was sure he knew the exact moment that Éomer rode into battle.

He had never forgotten his blond Rohirrim and the brief, but wonderful time they had spent together. He wished that he could take care of him again now, hide him away from the dangers of the battlefield, but he knew that even if he could, Éomer would want to be fighting there beside his men, just as he would himself if their positions were reversed.

He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and he could not concentrate, he wanted to ride over Pelennor fields and fight among the men, to do anything he could to help ensure Éomer’s safety. But he had his own darkness to face; the forces of Mordor were weakening the defenses of Ithilien day by day, it would not take long before they broke through.

He took some comfort in the fact that he had seen Éomer fight many times in his dreams, but had never once seen him fall; it was a good sign, he thought. But that did not stop him praying to the Valar to spare Éomer’s life in this war.

Faramir looked over the ruins of the White City, but then turned to look at the White Tree which was blossoming again, now that the King had returned. The White Tree stood for so much, the destiny, the dreams and the hope of an entire people… except, on this day of days, when all should be merry; he found he could not smile.

He had lost so much. Now he was the only living member of the House of Stewards and practically all his friends, all the men he had fought alongside had been claimed by the war as well. And most of all, he had never learned what Éomer’s fate had been.

When he had been told that Éomer had fought at Pelennor fields, defending the White City, he had burst into tears, rising from his bed and rushing down the halls to check the record of the dead troops. Every day he had done this, until no unclaimed corpse had remained, and grief had taken over him. Perhaps Éomer had been eaten by a Nazgûl and there had been no corpse left behind to identify, or maybe he had survived and had returned to Rohan already, in which case there was no hope for them to ever meet again. Éomer would become King, and Rohan had to be rebuilt as well…

Fumbling with the hem of his expensive ceremonial cloak, Faramir looked once again over the open plains and turned to leave; after all, he was the Steward now, he had to make sure the coronation went smoothly.

A gentle spring breeze swept across the yard, carrying with it the smell of honey and acacia flowers…

He turned towards it and the sight which greeted him took his breath away. Standing there in all his glory was his Rohirrim warrior. He looked stunning in ceremonial dress that could only be fit for a king and his hair sparkled like gold in the bright sunshine.

Faramir had to blink away the tears of relief that formed in the corners of his eyes, relief that Éomer was alright, that he had survived when so many others had fallen.

It was when Éomer turned and their eyes met, that Faramir finally found his smile. Now there was much to be celebrated on this day.

Fini

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