Faramir Fiction Archive

Half-Hearted Holiday (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

29 September 2006 | 19511 words

Chapter 6

As the blindfold was removed, Éomer was surprised by the sheer size of the cave he found himself in. There were various tunnels going out of it here and there, and he found that he had no idea which one they had entered through.

There were many rangers scattered around, most were sitting in small groups, drinking and chatting merrily; some were fletching arrows while others were playing chess.

The moment he entered they stopped talking and they all turned to face him, it was then that he realised that the ranger named Damrod was addressing them.

“Tonight, there is cause for celebration; our prince has come to visit us.”

Damrod paused as a cheer from the men echoed around the cave. “And with him, comes King Éomer of Rohan, his sword has proved most useful today so I hope you make him most welcome.”

The rangers stood and bowed, before raising their goblets for a toast. At the same time one of the men presented the returning group with cups also.

“To our prince and the King of Rohan,” declared Mablung before taking a sip of ale, his words echoing around the cave as all the men did the same before returning to their seats.

“Welcome to my humble palace,” Faramir said to him with a grin, but clearly a little embarrassed with the welcome he had received, being much more used to being just ‘one of the men’. “Come let us sit. Food should be served soon.”

The next hour or so was spent eating and drinking. Faramir was kept busy talking to his rangers, all of whom wanted to wish him their congratulations on his newly acquired titles and to ask after his health, commenting how well he looked after his near fatal injury.

Although some spoke to Éomer also, he was largely forgotten next to their beloved captain, and so the Rohirrim spent most of the time studying his companion, and to his surprise, he found himself feeling jealous that Faramir’s attention had been taken from him.

Faramir’s feelings about the situation were mixed; on the one hand he was delighted to be back home at Henneth Annûn and among his rangers, but at the same time he could not help but feel uncomfortable with them fussing around him. They were treating him like a hero and he was nothing of the sort. All he had done was lead men to their deaths, and he hated himself for surviving when they did not.

In an attempt to compose himself, he got up to refill his and Éomer’s goblets with more ale, and turned sharply as he did so causing pain to shoot through his shoulder. He tried to stop himself from flinching, but failed.

Éomer witnessed the flinch and frowned. He had seen Faramir get hit during the skirmish with the orcs and knew that he had been trying to hide the injury from everyone. He had also noticed the steward’s increased discomfort at the rangers’ praising words and quickly made the decision that Faramir needed a break.

“Is there somewhere more private we can go?” he asked, standing up to meet Faramir returning with the ale.

Faramir was a little surprised by the Rohirrim’s request, but did not question it. Instead he nodded, secretly pleased to get away from the hustle and bustle for a while. “Follow me,” he said quietly.

Éomer followed the Gondorian through a network of tunnels, each of which had candles placed in alcoves along it lighting the way. Eventually they came to a stop in a smaller cave, which appeared to Éomer to be used as sleeping quarters. There was a pallet which was probably used as a bed against one wall, and a desk and small bookshelf against another.

“Did you wish to talk about anything in particular or did you simply want to get away from the main hall for a while?” asked Faramir, breaking the silence. “I know it can be awkward being a stranger among such a close group.” He had noticed the Rohirrim had been unusually quiet, only really speaking when he was addressed directly.

“You are right, it is a little awkward. I just needed to go somewhere quiet for a bit,” replied Éomer, not quite willing to admit that it had been for the steward’s sake that he had suggested leaving. “Besides, I did not dare insult you there, not with so many people willing to kill to defend your honour,” he added teasingly.

“And we can not have that now can we?” said Faramir with a laugh, seeing that Éomer was not all that serious, but at the same time feeling slightly disappointed that the other man did not seem to want to spend time alone with him as he had hoped.

“I must say this ale is very nice,” said Éomer taking a sip. “Much nicer than that stuff Aragorn has us drinking back at Minas Tirith for his celebrations.”

“You mean Gimli’s dwarvan ale?” asked Faramir with a laugh. “It is very strong, too much so for me, I try and stay away from it. The rangers brew this themselves, it is a fair bit weaker, but so drinkable it is just as dangerous.”

“Maybe I should take some back with us, let them know what they are missing,” he added, more in thought than to the other man.

Éomer could se what Faramir meant about it being dangerous, he had already drunk more than usual and the night was still young. He would have to be careful not to do anything he would regret later.

“Take off your tunic,” said the Rohirrim suddenly, completely changing the subject, knowing he needed to see to the steward’s injury before they were missed.

Faramir looked at him both startled and confused, causing the other man to smile, “I am going to take a look at your shoulder,” he went on to explain.

The Gondorian shook his head instantly. “It is really not that bad, just a little bruised. You need not trouble yourself,” he replied a little annoyed with himself. Although he was in a lot of pain he thought he had done a good job hiding the fact, he especially had not wanted to give Éomer another reason to take cheap shots at him. He could not even take down three orcs by hand without getting himself hurt in the process.

“I had heard you were stubborn, Steward, but to let yourself carry on suffering because you are too proud to let anyone look at your wounds is just plain stupid. Take off your tunic and let me take a look at your shoulder,” demanded Éomer. “And if you do not, I will go and find Mablung. I am sure he will happily take matters into his own hands.”

Faramir groaned and slipped off his tunic. The last thing he wanted was Mablung fussing over him.

“I thought that would do the trick,” grinned the Rohirrim as he attempted to find the small bottle of oil which he knew he had on him. Finding it at last, he looked up triumphantly and his eyes came to rest on the bare chest in front of him, looking quite appealing dressed in the light of the candles.

Though Faramir was slender and a little too thin, he was quite well toned. Éomer felt the sudden urge to run his hands over all the different muscles of the man’s body, savouring each one in turn.

“Are we going to get this over with or are you just going to stand there and be irritating?” snapped Faramir in impatience, forcing Éomer firmly back into reality.

He really had to stop drinking that ale.

“It will be over before you know it,” replied Éomer, pouring a little of the contents of the bottle into his hands and walking over to Faramir. “I will try not to press too hard, your shoulder looks very sore.”

The steward nodded and shut his eyes as the Rohirrim started massaging the oil into his shoulder. He noticed that Éomer in fact was being extremely gentle and it actually felt rather nice. “What is that stuff?”

“It is some oil Aragorn gave me at Helms Deep. It is very good for bruises, so they should clear up quicker, and there is also something in it which dulls the pain a little,” explained Éomer. “If you want to know what is in it, I am afraid you will have to ask him. Am I hurting you at all?”

“No, that feels nice,” responded Faramir dreamily, ‘too nice’ he added to himself as he suppressed a groan. It was a shame he had not hurt a few other places as well for he certainly would not say no to a full body massage from this man right now.

The steward was just too beautiful to resist and Éomer found himself moving himself around so that their lips were just a few inches from each other. “Do you have any other injuries which need attending to while I am here?” he asked softly.

At the question, Faramir opened his eyes and was startled to find himself staring into the most lovely pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. “I… I might have one or two,” he stuttered, never once breaking eye-contact.

“How about here?” whispered Éomer as he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Faramir’s.

Instantly the kiss deepened, both men full of feelings of passion and desire, both fighting for dominance over the other. Faramir brought his hands upwards and tangled his fingers in Éomer’s blond hair, pulling the other man closer; while Éomer ran his hands down Faramir’s back exploring all the flesh before him. The two men kissed each other frantically, neither wanting it to end, desperately wanting to explore and taste and feel everything they could.

Eventually they broke off the kiss, both flushed and out of breath. Being the first to catch his breath, Éomer moved forward to claim the other man’s lips once more only to find himself pushed away, and he caught sight of a look of panic in Faramir’s eyes.

“I am sorry,” stammered Faramir obviously distressed, grabbing his tunic and dressing quickly. “I should not have. Forgive me.”

“Faramir please,” begged the Rohirrim, grabbing the other man’s hand, desperate to know what was wrong.

Once again the steward pulled away, “We should be getting back,” he said simply before rushing out into the tunnels, not once looking back.

“Faramir!” called Éomer after him, before sinking to his knees in despair.

He did not know what had just happened or why the Gondorian was fleeing from him now, but he did know that they had both wanted it, and Faramir could not keep on running forever.

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