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A rabbit in a wolf's den (PG-13) Print

Written by Laivindur

15 November 2013 | 2951 words

Title: A rabbit in a wolf's den
Author: Laivindur
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Faramir & Éomer

Eomer and his men decides to have a bit of fun in the dark and boring forest long way from civilization. And Faramir is introduced to the games.


There was tension in the little house and the fire crackled while its light light up the dark gazes from the many soldiers standing around the two at the long table: The one being Marshall of the great riddermark in control of all the horseriders, and the other far younger and the only one of his kin present. It was dark outside and a young ranger had been caught sneaking around in the night just outside their camp.

“I am not a spy. I am the messenger which you have been expecting for quite some time now. I lost the letters and papers I was supposed to deliver when your men surprised me in the dark. I must say they take conclusions rather fast. Had I not wore these metal plates, your man would have killed the only messenger able to approach this god forsaken place.”

The reddish-blonde boy said firmly to the respected Rohirrim who stared skeptically at him while resting his chin on his fingers.
He scratched his beard while straightening up. “You seem to have lost-“ Éomer looked around his men and his smirk was returned with low laughter. Faramir sighed in chagrin and rolled his eyes.
The horse lord cleaned his throat and addressed the kid in a playful serious manner while folding his hands like a judge to a criminal.
“…Lost all evidence of both who you are and your mission. How can we believe what you say? Little boy.”

Faramir knew they were toying with him, but he was in no such mood; this was one of his latest chances to gain his father’s trust. He’d heard stories as well, of older men who would get bored and use younger men as their toys, in one way or another. He saw some soldiers behind Éomer with dark amusement in their eyes. War did many things to the minds of men. As young as he was, he’d seen a lot. And there he was: a young handsome royal among at least twenty bored rohirrims in a hut far away from civilization.

“How on Arda did you get here, boy?”
Éomer suddenly asked with amazed curiosity and straightened up as he’d made his squadron laugh and joke a little on the young man’s account.
“I have learned the maps, but without the note of explanation on how to get through these lands, I never would have made it. Tracking and traveling made me enjoy the challenge.”

A muttering among the men was heard when the Captain stared at the boy who spoke as a royal. It bewildered him how his looks seemed to lure them all. Éomer had never thought the expected ranger was to ever find his way so he’d sent someone to find him, but he had found them first, which surprised him more than he liked.

“And where did you gain this knowledge?”
“In Minas Tirith. I am the messenger from Minas Tirith.”
The strong blonde rose and bashed his hand on the table. Faramir kept his straight back while the Captain stared into his eyes. His arms were still on the table as ordered. Even though he’d flinched and slid his arms 2 cm back as the man scared him, and his eyes had only averted for a pair of seconds, he looked back into the brown eyes while exhaling nervously. He spoke.

“You haven’t taken a word I’ve said so far for the truth. That makes it rather difficult for me to speak as I find little motivation to speak with a disbeliever.”
Éomer calmed down and said lower in a tone which told him he would listen this time. “Speak.”

Faramir looked at him for a time, and when he saw this man as a man of his word, he continued.
“I was reluctant to tell you who I was as I lost the evidence, and I am still a bit reluctant to tell you, but I will and hope that you see truth when told.”

With nerves twittering and breath shaking he spoke firm and secure.
“I am Faramir, youngest son of Denethor.”
Éomer squinted, as well as many of the other men, which also shifted uneasily.
“I am a ranger at the time being, and right now my job was to deliver those lost documents to you. And I must tell you my first intention when the sun gets up is to find those papers.”

Faramir swallowed and waited for humiliation and disbelief. Éomer had such discipline on his men that they kept the silence and watched their Captain think and react. He studied the boy with confusion and brows digging for an answer to this unlikely truth.
He turned to look at the other side of the room to some of his men. Then back again at the boy.
With the words caught up in his throat he finally asked with a disbelieving smile.

“How old are you?”
Faramir was relieved, but answered modestly.
“25.”

The disbelief grew in his piercing brows and he was now sitting down, amused.
“These cheeks are 25?” He said as if to a child.
Faramir let the laughter hide his sigh and he and Éomer let the soldiers slip one or two jokes before Faramir raised his voice.
“This is not relevant. None of this is until I find those papers back. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He was about to rise and walk outside in the dark rather than staying one more minute inside with these foolish yet stubborn soldiers, when two of them grabbed his shoulders. Éomer ordered him strictly to sit. He stared at the Captain in one heavy breath before he sat down with an annoyed thud.
“It is not wise of you to sleep outside in the dark forest where my men lurk. In the dark they can do almost anything without anyone ever noticing.”

Faramir looked into the serious face of Éomer before both hands on the young ranger’s shoulders surprised him by tightening. His eyes widened and he nearly whimpered by the firm grips and his cheeks flushed, but it was barely seen in the dim light.
“I think it’ll be best if you join me, little ranger.” Éomer said as he stood while grabbing his mead.

Many disappointed moans and a few disagreements were howled from the men. Éomer laughed with them, but when he saw the boy reveal distress when being pulled from his seat, not just did he raise a hand to calm his men and the men who had lifted Faramir from his seat, he also saw that the boy wasn’t as small as he’d thought. He was just slimmer and gentler. And he did not wear any huge armor. The men was not letting go of his shoulders though. Faramir looked up at the Captain with confused and frightened eyes, but still they were firm and determined if anyone meant him harm.
Éomer saw a strong man in a graceful body. He liked that and raised his chin in acceptance.

“He will come with me. If he is of royalty, then it is only by its place.”
The men let go of the ranger who shrug of their hands and walked after the marshall. They walked to the other side of the little refuge through small hallways. He closed the door after Faramir entered his room. When the ranger turned in the middle of the room, he saw Éomer lock the door.

Faramir almost blurted out his pile of questions, but was taught not to speak until spoken to and he actually didn’t want to know the answers.

He looked around in the room while Éomer undressed his armor and made ready a glass of water after putting down his mead. The Gondorian saw one bed not large enough for two, a wooden chair not suitable for sleeping, a fireplace, the table which Éomer was at, and not much else which could be used to sleep on.
He drew breath to speak, but dared not. Why did he lock the door!?
Éomer smirked and drank from his mead while leaning to the table with his hand.

“Am I prisoner?” Faramir blurted. At this Éomer’s smirk turned to a grin as he looked into his cup for more drink. “If you’d like to put it that way.” Faramir felt he was digging his own grave and decided not to say more. He turned and walked over to a window. It was utterly dark. He couldn’t even see the moon between all the trees. When he noticed Éomer had turned wary and looked at him, he backed away from the possible escape through the window while lifting his hands in surrender.

“I wasn’t gonna…”
“Until we find out who you are, little one, you do not have to worry. Just stay here where I can keep an eye on you, and safe from my men.”
“What do you mean? They seemed trained well enough to stick to your orders.”

“I cannot deny a pack of wolves a rabbit in their den.”
Faramir needed not say anything to show his opinion of this absurdity.
The insults were never ending. The ranger lowered his arms in annoyance and sat down on the chair like a muttering boy.
Éomer smiled and walked over to him to stand by his side and offered him the mead.

Faramir had his arms crossed and looked up with his innocent eyes which made the Rohirrim twitch not to jump over him. He instead grew forth a forced smile while gesturing the last sip of mead to him.
“Thank you.” Faramir muttered and drank it all in a sip.
“So the boy likes mead?”
“I’m not a boy. You know nothing of me!”
“That’s why you are here. Let’s talk.”
The captain said and sat down by the table he shoved over.
“Why? You don’t believe me anyway.”

Éomer grinned and laughed. “That’s true. I don’t.” He said calmly, but then he jumped by Faramir’s sudden move; he stood up and shouted.
“Why?” He walked to the middle of the room. “Why do you not believe my words? Am I not as beautiful and royal as a son of a steward should be? Do I not appear strong and fierce enough? Is that it? I am not leading an army of ten thousand? Well listen, Marshall: I haven’t gained any army of my own yet because I have to earn and deserve it. And having lord Denethor’s approval, one have to be-“

His chest rose and fell in calm but stressful movements.
“Like Boromir.” The Rohirrim said.

Faramir frowned at him. “Like Boromir.” He calmed and Éomer was listening and watching with compassion. He’d heard stories.
Faramir continued lower and lower in voice. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have…I am not used to being a prisoner.”
Éomer stood up and walked closer while Faramir spoke.
“As soon as the sun rises I will find those papers. Bring them to you and go home.”
Éomer nodded and bid him good night before leaving.


Faramir had searched all day and not found anything. Some soldiers had assisted him, but as the dark beckoned, they gave up and left the boy, who they had come to call man after they’d seen his capability to both lead and act.
Éomer had to convince him to come inside after he’d been searching in desperation in the dark. Some of the soldiers backed away when the angry ranger cursed and blamed the ones who had attacked him the night before.
After being held back from attacking the men with the wittiest comments about his made up story, and forced inside by Éomer, he squatted around the locked room and thought about his fate back home.

The door was opened and a plate was being brought in. After several more hours of waiting, Éomer finally entered, and he locked the door again. Faramir had been bad tempered all evening and didn’t make to hold back.
“Captain Éomer, you must believe me. I had those papers, and seriously I do not know how they can be gone. They were well cared for. I can return to Minas Tirith to get new. Please let me go! As sooner I go the better.” ‘The sooner I can please father.’
Éomer couldn’t resist: “How about you stay.” ‘And please me.’
“Captain Éomer!” Faramir barked warningly.

The taller blonde laughed and tapped his shoulder. “My fair prisoner, let me enjoy the time I have you around. There are not many like you, Faramir.”
“You do not know what is at stake. I can’t stay here. I must go home and fulfill my duty. You know this better than anyone else.”
Curiosity filling the Marshall, he narrowed his lips and asked. “What is at stake?”

“I told you earlier…in my outburst…and for that I apologize.”
Éomer nodded in understanding, though not quite as he twisted around and gestured his prisoner to follow him out. Faramir had to gather all his patience when ordered to peel potatoes.
“What? So now I’m a slave?”
“Ooh, Yes. I like that even better!”

“This joke is over.” Faramir plainly said before turning on his heel on his way out. Two bigger men blocked the door and Faramir looked lost in the middle of the living room. He closed his eyes for a moment to hold back his anger, then turned to Éomer again.
“I will only stay if you write a damn well good excuse to the lord steward for keeping me here.”

“Now why would I do that, little man? For all I know you could be a little farmer’s boy who is out to trick us.”
Éomer’s understanding from before was completely gone and he used the ranger for his men’s amusement. They giggled while they ate bread as a starter for the upcoming meal.
“Do I look that helpless and meaningless to you? Why don’t you crush this boy in a battle then?”

A small smile from the third Marshall evoked. “As in sword? We have only deadly swords, but we can use heavy sticks. What do you say? I do not want to harm such a small stable boy.”
Not all the men made to hold back their laughter at that, and when Faramir didn’t seem to reject, they answered for him. They cheered and tables were moved to clear the fighting area.

They were surprised how well Faramir was handling the fight with their captain. The ranger was younger, slimmer and faster. Éomer was stronger and more aggressive, so Faramir was ducking or blocking most of the time. They had a great time without things being too serious, but when Faramir hit Éomer quite hard on his thigh and shoulder, the stakes were higher. The Captain made to hit Faramir quite hard so he flinched.

He was then hit on the right thigh and fell to the floor. Éomer grinned in satisfying revenge, but worried for the unintended hard strike to the neck earlier.
They had quite a good laugh and hoisted the battered man to his legs where he gritted his teeth in pain. Éomer came to him. “Did I hurt you?”
“Nay, I’m fine. Damn you for winning, I really- ungh- thought I’d fight my way out of this dump.” He made to say with a creak of smile while his head spun and his muscles by the neck and shoulders screamed.

He noticed he was leaning on the one soldier and the intended backing away became a scream and a thud to the floor.
Éomer didn’t know if to laugh or worry. He hoisted him up and made way through the room with mocking and laughing men. Faramir protested all the way until he was placed on the bed in the room from before.

“I’m fine. I can handle it, it just needs to-you don’t have to-”
Éomer looked up from where he was preparing a bottle of water.
Faramir didn’t want any fuss and was humiliated far enough. “I’ll let the swell go down and then I’ll be fine and off- away.”
Éomer snorted and stood up with a cloth and came towards the bed Faramir sat on.

“Put this on your shoulder.” He said and walked out the door.
Faramir accepted the cloth and looked pleadingly at the Captain as he left.
He made to open his vest and tunic to free his naked shoulder and swung the cloth over it. He barely noticed the nice scent and put his elbows down to rest his troubled head on his hands, but when the elbow hit the pained spot on the thigh he yelped and straightened up. He tossed the cloth in the bowl and cursed.

He placed the elbows on the edge of his knees and rubbed his forehead. When Éomer came in again, he muttered from underneath his tired hands.

“Will you please just send a letter to The steward, lord Denethor, that his youngest son is to be expected home later as of injury or something.”
He jumped up from his rest. “No-no, not something. As of injury and…”

Éomer giggled and sat by him. “Don’t worry. I will have my lieutenant send a letter to Gondor about a missing ranger. Don’t worry. We have only been toying with you. Please forgive us.”
This was so unfamiliar to the gondorian, but he somehow trusted the man’s word.

Éomer grasped the cloth and pulled the shirt open wider so his neck and shoulder could be rubbed. Faramir protested with yelps and wanted to back away, but the Marshall was gentle and walked to dip the cloth in the scented water once more.

“How’s your thigh?”

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