Faramir held his breath and kept his body extremely still, desperately wishing he were elsewhere. He could feel his member bobbing against his stomach with each breath. Faramir thought it more than odd, that despite his situation, his erection had not abated in the least.
“If you would be so good as to untie me, King Eomer?” Faramir made his voice as commanding as possible under the circumstances. He found it surprisingly difficult to be commanding and forceful while tied naked and blindfolded to a bed. He felt the mattress shift and weight press against his legs.
“Why should I? The elves were kind enough
to leave you for me in my bed, and I find I am strongly disinclined to honor
your request.” Eomer ran his hands over Faramir’s body and delighted
in the feel of his smooth muscles and light body hair beneath his fingertips.
Red-gold hair spilled around the blindfold and over the pillow. Eomer thought
Faramir looked extremely sexy.
Inhaling deeply, Faramir forced himself to remain calm. There was no reason to panic. Eomer would not rape him. That was not the way the King of the Rohirrim functioned. Also, Eomer had seen him naked and aroused before; there was no reason to feel shame or guilt. So why did he? The reasons for his unease danced on the edge of his conscious, but he shut that portion of his mind down, refused to give the thoughts a name or an emotion on which to feed.
“The elves have obviously made a mistake,
your highness, in their presumption that you and I held some physical attraction
or unfinished business. Perhaps you did or said something that gave them that
impression. I’m quite sure, as sit here and think
about it, that you have revenge on your mind. If that be the case, then you
take your revenge and be done.” He injected a note of harshness and
anger into his voice.
“Indeed, I have, Steward. How do you like
being on the receiving end of someone else’s mechanization’s?”
Eomer had been taken aback by Faramir’s speech and he wasn’t sure
how to react. In his mind, he had envisioned a slightly different end to the
scenario.
He had not expected to be confronted by anger and defiance. What had he expected?
“I will confess, Sire, that I care not at all for it. So, unless rape is what you have in mind, release me.”
Eomer’s rage grew inside him and he wanted…He did not know what.
He wanted to grasp the long red locks in his hand and kiss Faramir until he
could not breathe. Until neither of them could breathe or think. He wanted
place his hands around the Steward’s throat and squeeze. Mostly, he
wanted Faramir to say that he enjoyed what was being done to him. He wanted
Faramir to tell him that the affection and the attraction were
a mutual obsession. Reaching out, he ripped the blindfold from Faramir’s
eyes and glared at him. His hand sought Faramir’s cock and stroked it
violently. “Rape?”
Faramir met his gaze squarely, refusing to allow his confusion and fear show. “I am bound and unwilling, highness, that is the primary definition of rape. Or are the laws of the Rohirrim different? Perhaps because I am male, I am not afforded the same protection by the laws that protect the women, like your sister, Eowyn?”
Rage flooded through Eomer’s soul and he ground his teeth against the urge to strike out. “Nay, Steward, I would not see you raped or deny you the protection of the same laws that protect ‘women’. I am no beast.”
Eomer’s contempt and inflection on the word women stung like a whip and cut far more deeply than any sword. Lifting his chin, he chose to accept the pain rather than succumb to it. “If we are done, then, highness, release me.”
A knife appeared in Eomer’s hands and he quickly cut Faramir’s bonds. “We can count ourselves even, Steward of Gondor,” he said as he left the bed.
Faramir struggled to sit up and rub his wrists at the same time. “I am grateful, Sire.”
“Get out, Faramir of Gondor.” Faramir
looked around and realized the elves had gone and no trace of them remained.
Realization of the depths of their deception nearly overwhelmed him. No small
wonder not one shred of evidence of the elves was to be found in the room.
All traces of the room’s occupant had been erased. Eomer had ensured
that Faramir would not know to whose room he had been taken. Anger warred
with humiliation and Faramir was unable to focus on either emotion for long.
Rising quickly from the bed, he just managed to keep his gait sedate as he
made his way to where his
clothes lay scattered and discarded; evidence of his shame and willingness
to subject himself to carnal lust, regardless of the consequences or his status
as Steward of Gondor. At that moment, he did not know whom he hated more,
himself, Eomer or the Peredhil
twins. He donned his clothes in silence as neither man had anything left to
say. Or perhaps that they wanted to say. Admit. Lacing his boots, Faramir
slanted one last look at Eomer. “Good day, Sire.”
Eomer did not reply as he gathered the remains of the rope and the gag from his bed. He did not trust himself to speak. Behind his eyes, he could feel tears of frustration and a longing that he did not really understand. When the door closed, he finally turned around. No trace of Faramir was to be found.
Faramir made straight for Aragorn’s hall.
He wanted to see the king and make arrangement to begin his duties as Steward.
With the death of his brother and father,
the stewardship passed to him, though he’d never wanted it. In the house
of healing, he’d come to grips with his new role and accepted it, as
he had learned to accept that the General of Gondor’s armies would never
again answer the clarion call of silver trumpets. As he’d accepted that
his father had almost burned him alive, even as he danced on his own funeral
pyre with the palantir. As the steward under the king, Faramir would be reassigned
to Osgiliath and become the governor of the ancient city according to Gondor’s
laws. It was high time to enact those laws, thought Faramir, and get the hell
out of Minas Tirith.
Faramir spotted his new liege in the hall surrounded by elves and men, counselors and friends. Among those elves were the twins and Legolas. Screwing up his courage, Faramir approached the group. He caught the subtle glance between the brothers, but chose not to acknowledge the slight tilt of their heads.
“My Lord,” Faramir made to kneel before his king.
“Faramir!” Aragorn arrested Faramir’s movement with a hand on the younger man’s shoulders. “I am pleased to see you up and about at long last.”
“I would have come sooner, my lord, had the healers allowed it. I have been ready to resume my duties for some time now.”
“The healers wanted you fully recovered, as did I, before you were forced to take over your father’s position. You have been through a lot, my friend, and I do not mean your injury, though that was truly great and nearly cost you your life. I mean also with the deaths of your brother and father. You have undergone great trials in the last few months and needed time to completely recover both mentally and physically.”
“Aye, Sire, I will admit that the rest
has given me opportunity to reflect on the changes in my life. As for the
death of my brother, I suspected that he would not return alive from Rivendell,
as did he, I believe. I will miss him with all my heart, but I know his death
was not in vain. Of my father, I can only say that his death was a blessing
for his mind was no
longer his to command.”
Aragorn studied Faramir for a long moment, taking special note of the way his eyes avoided looking at the elves or the nervousness he displayed. “Then the council seat which was left vacant for so long is now yours.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but if I understand the laws of Gondor correctly, my place is now in Osgiliath now that you have returned. I would leave for there at the first opportunity. That city suffered heavily and there is much to be done.”
Aragorn frowned slightly. “The army still occupies the city and engineers have already begun to clear the rubble and make arrangements for repairs and rebuilding.”
“Yet, the people remain leaderless. Your place is here, King Elessar, in Minas Tirith. Mine is in Osgiliath. The people will rest easier knowing their king cares for their welfare. I will rest easier with something to do that is useful. Not that I consider being on your council useless or without meaning, for that is far from the truth. But here, I can only offer you what you already have: sound counsel. You have that, my lord, in plenty. Osgiliath has no one.”
“Your council is wise, my friend. So be it, you shall make for Osgiliath as soon as I have word from the healers that the trip will not be detrimental.”
“Thank you, my king. By your leave, I would return to the house of healing and speak with the herbalist and make known your wishes?”
“You have my leave, Steward Faramir.” Aragorn watched as the redhead spun on his heal and made a hasty, though still dignified, exit from the hall.
"Estel?” Elrohir called Aragorn’s attention away from the steward. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course, my friend, we are done here anyway.” Elrohir bowed low, as did Elladan.
“Then we will see you at the evening meal.” The twins were able to intercept Faramir on the outer curtain before he reached the healer’s rooms.
“Lord Faramir?”
Faramir heard the light elven voice and ground
his teeth. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to confront the two
Rivendell elves. In fact, he never wanted to see them again. He realized he
was being unfair for much of the blame for what had happened
could and did rest squarely on his shoulders. He did not, at that moment,
particularly care. He only wanted to be alone. He did not wish to face them
or their curiosity. He did not wish to answer questions that were none of
their business. Faramir had two choices;
he could pretend that he did not hear them and keep walking. Or he could he
could turn and face them. The young Steward would never be accused of cowardice.
Besides, the elves would only catch up to him. Squaring his shoulders, he
turned and stared coolly at the identical elves, meeting their curious gazes
stonily. “Yes, my lord?”
Elladan’s sharp gaze detected a hint of defiance in the shift of shoulders and in the cold green depths of Faramir’s eyes. He recognized the signs of wounded pride and wondered what had gone wrong. “When we left you only a short time ago you were in the company of a different king.”
“So I was, but our business is concluded.” Faramir’s jaw barely moved as he spoke.
“Humans are far too quick about such matters,” observed Elrohir.
“You words are out of line, Prince of Imladris. The business between King Eomer and myself has concluded. That is all you need to know.”
Elrohir drew back a little for Faramir’s vehemence was unsettling. “You have misplaced your anger, Lord Faramir.”
“Nay, it is not. I have answered your question and you must remain satisfied with the answer I have given for little of what transpired between the King of the Riddermark and myself is the concern of elves.”
“Perhaps the steward is right, Elrohir. We exacted our payment from Lord Faramir and what transpired after we left is of no concern to either of us. Though, I do recall extracting a promise of forgiveness.”
“So you did, and so I honor that promise. All are now even. Will you excuse me?” Faramir sketched something that might be considered a bow and left the elves staring dumbly in his wake.
“I do not think this went as King Eomer planned.” Elrohir said softly.
“I fear you are correct in your assumptions, brother.” Elladan pursed his lips. “I wonder what went wrong?”
Elrohir snorted. “You have to ask? Come, Elladan, we left the steward tied to a bed with a blindfold hiding his eyes. What could have gone right?”
“Eomer could have chosen to speak the truth.”
“Obviously he did not.” Elrohir nodded. “Perhaps his suit was rejected.”
“Regardless, Lord Faramir is right. The affair is no concern of ours. The time has come to leave be with these measures and countermeasures. Let the King and the Steward work things out for themselves.”
“What makes you think they will?” Legolas asked from behind them. He’d crept up unnoticed and tried vainly to hide his smile when the twins jumped in surprise.
“You should not eavesdrop, Legolas of Mirkwood,” chided Elladan.
“Save your indignation, my friend. Remember, I, too was caught by Faramir’s net.”
“What has transpired since is not your concern, any more than it is ours,” Elladan continued.
“Think you not? I number the king of Rohan amongst my friends for I knew him when he was the third Marshal of the Mark and he showed clear judgment and loyalty even then. Truthfully, I believe he suffers even more than the steward.”
“Speak, Legolas. Tell us what you know.” Elrohir slung an arm about the older elf’s shoulders in a gesture that was purely human in origin.
“Let us say that I observed tenderness between the two men that was beyond curiosity or the need to satisfy a deeply hidden attraction. I was Faramir’s excuse.”
Elladan’s eyes opened wide. “You do not take offense at being used thusly?”
“How could I, Elladan? Such a thing is taboo for men, yet obviously such love happens. Who am I to take offense at that?”
“You have intentionally misconstrued my meaning, Legolas.” Elladan smiled wickedly.
“Even though I was the excuse, my friend, I, too, was treated to a rare night of passion. For despite Faramir’s obvious emotions, I was not denied pleasure. As for Eomer, I think that he, too, begins to understand the depth of his own emotions, though he remains unsure of Faramir’s heart.”
The three elves turned and stared in the direction that Faramir had gone and then, in unison, as if on cue, they turned back to stare behind them at the castle itself. Three sets of almond shaped eyes met and grins flashed on their handsome faces.
“We should not interfere,” warned Elladan.
“No, indeed, we should not,” agreed Legolas.
Elrohir laughed. “But we will.”
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