His Light Beneath

Summary: Faramir is a kind and good-hearted man who has learned to hide his true worth for so long that he can no longer see it in himself—despite the support from his devoted brother Boromir, loving cousin Aragorn, his uncle King Arathorn II and his many friends and comrades. This is solely due to his uncaring father Denethor whose constant, life-long derision has taken its toll. Can the care of a secret love show him the truth or will misunderstandings interfere, causing more heartache?

Author's Note: Title is taken from the Danish proverb "Sæt ikke dit lys under en skæppe." or "Do not hide your light (or talents) under a bushel" which is an allusion to a passage from Christ’s Sermon on the Mount, cautioning against stifling ones talents or hiding ones good qualities. This story/short fic is set in a similar ‘World’ as my WIP ‘Another’s Guilt’ which is an AU/Mpreg story, so could be an interlude or side-story to it; but, it is not necessary to read that one.

The AU world of this fic is as follows: The One Ring and Sauron were destroyed during the Last Alliance and the High King Arathorn II is the leader of the United Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor of which Rohan is a part. Aragorn is his sole heir and Finduilas (Faramir/Boromir’s mother) was his sister. The blood of Númenor is as strong as it ever was from the time of Elros (life-span around 500) which will have a strong bearing on one element in this story that will be explained within. Character’s ages are as follows: Faramir has just turned 20, Éomer and Boromir are 26, Aragorn is 21, Théodred is 24, Éowyn is 19 and Legolas is the mortal equivalent of 17 years (though he is 701 years).

Thoughts and stressed words are italicized

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Chapter One

Faramir smiled fondly at his cousin Prince Aragorn as he reached over and pulled his laughing spouse, the beautiful Elven Prince Legolas Thranduilion, from his horse onto the man’s own horse, nuzzling his neck beneath silken, white-gold tresses. They all had been traveling many weeks from Gondor and had just come within sight of Meduseld and the Golden Hall of King Théoden; this allowed the newly wedded couple (and the entire party) to relax their guard as no Orc parties would be so close to the capitol.

Faramir loved and admired Aragorn, but a part of him could not help but feel envious of his happiness (not that he would begrudge the couple their joy). But the Steward’s youngest longed for a love of his own—his one true love.

Perhaps, I am just tired, Faramir thought. He was also hungry. Just as he thought that, another voiced the sentiment.

“Why don’t we tax the horses and make for the Hall at full gallop—I am famished!” Boromir exclaimed with enthusiasm.

“You are only famished, dear Cousin, because you have not been nibbling on sweet Elven flesh as I have. Of course, there are tastier parts that I would enjoy feasting upon, so let us do as you suggest!”

With that, Aragorn urged his fine Rohirric steed into full gallop, out-distancing his companions (the Elven mare close behind) until both Faramir and Boromir gave a loud hoot and made mad dashes to catch up. Their personal guards laughed indulgently at their young charges and immediately followed suit.

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Théodred and Éomer were sitting in a corner of the huge kitchen of the Golden Hall; both handsome men having charmed the cook Fréawyn into giving them a small feast. She’d threatened and shooed, but had given in as she always did, since each had been small children.

“So, tell me Théo; what will you do first when Boromir gets here—pretend to ignore him or try and suck out his tonsils?” Éomer said deadpan as if discussing the weather as he eyed and then popped a morsel of batter-fried fowl into his mouth.

With equal nonchalance, Théodred said, “I’m not sure which. What about you; will you play the noble big brother and step aside while espousing Éowyn’s good qualities or walk around mooning over Faramir with barely concealed lust?”

Éomer blushed a deep red as he looked at his cousin, wishing he’d never started their little bantering. But, before Éomer could come up with something to say to change the subject, a young guard came bursting into the kitchen excitedly and out of breath.

“My...my Lords...” He leaned against the table where the two sat and tried once more. “The...the party from Gon...Gondor are...approaching!”

As the last was finding its way out of him, the two Royals had already jumped to their feet and were heading out to go greet the subjects of their discussion.

As they reached the outside, they paused on the large portico, looking out beyond the gates at the large dust cloud moving fast across the plains.

“Looks like Boromir will be missing his tonsils...” Éomer paused only briefly then continued, “Or you’ll be missing yours.”

They both laughed loudly and ran down the stairs, jumping astride the horses that they’d ordered to be made ready when the other members of the ‘Princes Band’ (a name that King Théoden had dubbed Théodred, Éomer, Boromir, Faramir and Aragorn—and now Legolas) were near. The citizenry of Meduseld gave a wide berth as the two barreled down the road and out the gates to greet their friends.

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Faramir wrinkled his nose and swatted at some unseen insect that was near to face. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to awaken just yet. Then, he swatted again at the bothersome menace that was now crawling about his ear; as he swatted up and over his head, he hit something much bigger than a small bug. Without opening his eyes, he reached his hand in the direction of the object he’d hit and felt warm, clothed flesh.

His eyes cracked open, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through a nearby window, reflecting off pale-gold hair like a halo. Faramir focused and found himself staring into Legolas’ amused cerulean blue eyes.

“Good morning, sleepy one,” Said the elf in his husky, sweet voice.

“Not so good, Prince,” The red-haired man said, his violet eyes closing against the sight of the annoyingly happy Elda. Wait, if the elf is before me, then who have I been grasping behind all this time...? Aragorn!

To confirm this, he felt his ear being tickled again. “Leave me be, Aragorn! I am not ready to get up.” Faramir groaned as he was ignored, the maddening tickling continuing at his ear and then his nose again. He smelled honey, which meant that Legolas was—had been—using his hair to torment his face.

Elbereth, save me from Elves! The younger man included his cousin, for the older ‘man’ was actually a Peredhel (Half-Elven) and also immortal. Didn’t they care that he was still recovering from last night’s revelry and free-flowing ale? What did they care—they did not feel the effects of over-imbibing, having the natural ability to recover faster than he.

Last night’s feast of welcome had been most fun and carefree and lasted well into the wee hours—which is why his relatives should be more sensitive to his plight. “Go and rouse Boromir and Éomer and Théodred—they are older and can hold their ale much better than I, being much older and more seasoned to it. After they are all dressed and awake, come back for me.”

“It would seem that your time has come, Little Brother, for these two Children of Evil have already struck.” At Boromir’s declaration (laced liberally with irony), Faramir opened his eyes to take in the sight of his brother, his shoulder holding up the handsome, but sleepy, head of Théodred, Second Marshal of the Mark, and Éomer who was standing next to him, yawning loudly without shame.

“Good morning, sleepy one,” Aragorn said, exactly repeating what Legolas had said to him. “Get up and get dressed—we’ve things to do and to see!”

Faramir attempted to pull the covers over his head, but was thwarted by the two sitting on his bed (how he got in bed, he had no idea—his last memory being the underside of the table situated next the large barrels of Dwarven ale). As the two pulled away the covers, Boromir came over to help Faramir’s tormentors, saying that if he had to be up, so did Faramir.

In less than an hour, the youngest Steward-prince found himself dressed and riding astride his chestnut mare heading to Eru-knew-where across the plain in the opposite direction from whence they had come the day before.

Everyone except the blissfully happy couple (and the guards) was in a fowl mood—Faramir included. He glanced up at the late morning sky and swore under his breath, not at all pleased to be there. The day itself was beautiful and the weather was pleasant; but he had issue with the sun and its insistence on shinning infuriatingly bright in the cloudless sky.

His brother and the Rohirric cousins were equally displeased, varying levels of grumbling coming from each.

“Tell me, A’maelamin (my beloved); have you ever heard such whining in all your years?” Aragorn asked the blond elf riding before him upon the man’s horse.

Grinning mischievously, Legolas answered him. “Nay, My Heart—never! I mean, not even I, who as an elfling, was lost in the forest for hours groused so—it is most scandalous!” This was followed by the two speakers unsuccessfully trying to hide their chuckles.

“Théodred?”

“Yes, Boromir?”

“Do you suppose beheading to be overly painful?” The Rohirric Prince looked at him with a look of surprise, but smirked when he noticed mischief in the Captain-general’s green eyes.

“I have heard that it is the most compassionate way to go; I suppose it would depend on the wielder of the sword or axe. Why do you ask, Dear Friend?”

“Well, it is the preferred mode of execution for Gondoran nobles and as a member of the Royal Family, I will more than likely meet my end this way. I mean, it is no small thing to assassinate the Crowned Prince!”

Théodred, Éomer and Faramir were having a hard time keeping their mirth under control. “Ah, I see—your are correct in that.”

“And, what of Aragorn’s Prince-bride, Boromir—will you be dispatching him as well?” Éomer hooted loudly at Faramir’s statement, especially at the ‘Prince-bride’ quip; frightening some nearby fowl into taking flight.

“I suppose; after all, they can only execute me once.” Boromir conceded logically.

Then Éomer joined in on their little game, saying, “I don’t know, My Lord; Even though Legolas is a citizen of Minas Tirith now, he is originally from Greenwood the Great and his father the King may not be too pleased at having his little ion done-away-with.”

“Legolas?”

“Yes, Théodred?”

“What manner of punishment is meted out for murder in Greenwood?” He asked conversationally.

“It would depend upon Adar’s mood; it could be anything from stoning to tossing the offender into a fiery pit. In this situation, however, he would insist on a most unpleasant end.” Legolas said just as conversional.

“Such as, Your Highness?”

With barely concealed laughter, the Sindar said, “Taking Boromir to the ruins of Dol Guldur where he keeps Olog-hai cave trolls as pets; he usually feed them Orc and Goblins, but I think that they would enjoy the chance to dine on Adan-flesh.”

When this statement was met with silence, the elf glanced back over Aragorn’s shoulder to witness four identical looks of shock, they not knowing if Legolas was serious or not. But they erupted into riotous laughter split seconds after the Sindarin and his spouse did.

“Perhaps...” Chuckle, “Perhaps I’d better leave you be, Legolas; besides, you may be carrying the next Heir to the Throne since there will be a vacancy soon! Tell me, Your Lateness—does the beauteous Prince Little Leaf have a loaf on the hearth?” Boromir inquired irreverently.

“Not as of yestereve; this morn may be another matter as I was most attentive in my husbandly duties last night in the wee hours.” The dark-haired Gondoran bragged.

“Most attentive, indeed,” Legolas concurred.

“Well, that settles it—it will be just you, Aragorn and our faithful guards; for they will no doubt try and save you. My apologies, Good Men of Rohan and Gondor,” Boromir said ‘regretfully.’

The ‘Good Men’ joined in the mirth flowing about.

Then Faramir asked Aragorn, “Where are we going, Cousin? You never did say as you were dragging me from my comfortable bed.”

“Why don’t you ask Théodred—it was his idea?”

“Mine? How is it mine, Aragorn?”

“Did you or did you not promise my Sweet Love you’d take him to see the White Falls last night?”

“I don’t recall that.” He said, looking about to his companions for confirmation. “Did I?”

“It was between trying your best to see the bottom of the ale cask and flirting with my husband. Isn’t that right, Pen velui (lovely one)?”

“He was most attentive, too.” Said Legolas.

“So to answer your question, Cousin Faramir, we are off to the White Falls to frolic and swim and eat and love beneath the beautiful sky!” Aragorn informed just before nibbling on Legolas’ pointed right ear, making him moan and sigh.

Shaking his head, Faramir told his brother, “When we get to the Falls, let us drown them—we can say it was an accident. That way, we can save you—who will provide Gondor with its Heir—and we’d be free of these annoyingly happy immortals!”

“Hear—hear!” Éomer cheered. They continued their bantering for some time as they moved closer to their destination. Then Boromir, who had been riding next to Théodred, held back to ride next to his little brother, who had been next to Éomer until the Gondoran ever so gradually lagged behind.

“What is wrong, Little One?” Boromir asked, nudging Faramir playfully with his balled hand.

“Nothing.” The good humor of a few moments prior was gone.

“It is indeed something, Love—for you are moping.”

“I do not mope,” He contradicted then blushed at Boromir’s knowing look. He was silent, but then said, “They are a wonder to behold.”

The Steward’s eldest followed his gaze to Aragorn and Legolas. “Aye, that they are. Is it they who bring you such sadness?”

“I love them both, but I can not help wishing that I, too, were so blessed with a deep and passionate love.” His voice was wistful.

“So, why aren’t you, Brother Mine?”

“Because I am no wizard who can cast a spell to capture a heart to me!” Faramir said forcefully through clenched teeth, struggling to keep his voice down.

“Oh, I don’t know about that; I would say that you managed to do just that with our Third Marshal there with nary a Maia’s trick.”

“You do not know of what you speak, Boromir; Éomer does not want me—no one does.” Faramir’s voice was defeated.

“How can you say that,” His brother said incredulously. “He has barely left your side since our arrival. Surely you must know how he feels—a blind man could see it.”

“A blind man and everyone else would be—have been—deceived. He does nothing but talk of his sister Éowyn; how much she cares for me. Just now, he spoke of how pleased she seemed in my company last eve as we danced. If Éomer wants me, it is as a brother-in-law—not a lover. And why would he settle for me, when he can have anyone he desires?”

Boromir loved his father, but his constant disapproval and criticism of Faramir made Boromir angry; and over the years his mistreatment has caused the younger Steward-prince to feel unworthy and undeserving of love. No matter how many times he or his other family members tell him differently, Faramir accepts the Steward’s opinion of him.

There was nothing that Boromir could say to convince him of Éomer’s attraction (the man would have to do that), but he could try and get his moody sibling to smile. “I will tell you this, Dear One; if he is too blind to see your charms—both without and within—then he does not deserve you as an in-law or as a lover. You are so beautiful, it breaks my heart!” Reaching over to Faramir, Boromir whispered, “Now give me one of your dazzling smiles before I tickle you mercilessly.”

Faramir smiled brightly at that; it was a trick that his older sibling had used often since he was a little boy—Boromir taking on the role of mirth-maker after their mother Finduilas died.

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Éomer had been surreptitiously looking back towards the two brothers as they talked. He couldn’t hear their words, but he could read the play of emotions on Faramir lovely face (he could only think of that word to fit), catching his breath when the younger Gondoran Noble beamed at something Boromir said.

“How long are you to keep silent?” Théodred asked him. He would have spoken to Faramir himself, but he made a promise to Éomer that he would not—Boromir making a similar one to his brother.

“As Long as necessary for him to declare himself to my sister or Éowyn lose interest,” he stated flatly, looking forwards again. They could now hear the White Falls and the entire group drew closer to enter the narrow glen.

Théodred knew better to try and talk to his cousin when he was like this, so vowed to speak with him later when they’d settled and were enjoying their outing.

The guards halted the group at the mouth of the glen; four dividing off to climb the sloping hill that led to the top overlooking the waterfall. Once they were positioned, one gave a shrill whistle and four more guards and rangers entered to scout out the area surrounding the pool for Orc, interlopers or dangerous animals.

After a time, the all-clear was signaled and the Royal charges were allowed inside and their protectors returned to the mouth of the glen to stand guard while the others remained in their positions atop the rock face just above the horizontal crevice where the water emerged; it shot out so forcefully that its jets appeared white as cow’s milk—thereby giving it its name.

Faramir was the last to dismount and he positioned his mare next to the others, all riders relieving the animals of their saddles and other burdens before feeding and allowing them to drink from the beautiful blue pool at the bottom of the White Falls. Once the horses were taken care of, the males moved over to gaze upon the beauty of the falling water.

Éomer and Théodred were no strangers to this place, but they were just as impressed by its loveliness. Faramir, Aragorn and Boromir had been to Rohan many times, but had never before seen the Falls, so it was as new to them as it was to Legolas who exclaimed with delight at what he saw.

“Ai, My Lords—what a truly beautiful place! I have seen waterfalls before, but never one where the water spring from the very rock itself; how is this possible?” Legolas turned to Théodred, a smile beaming from his exquisite face, stunning the man so, that it was a moment before he (or any) could speak.

Visibly shaking himself, he answered, “We are not quite sure; as far as any have been able to figure, it comes from an offshoot of Entwash or the River Anduin itself that, managing to work its way under ground and exit as you see here. We simply enjoy its splendor that has today only been enhanced by the splendor that is you, Highness.” He was still captivated by the elf, so was quite surprised when Boromir grabbed him from behind, his forearm around the younger man’s neck.

“I can not trust you for one moment! First last night and now here—I will have to punish you, my faithless lover,” He growled mock-menacingly, making the Second Marshal shutter in anticipation.

“Aye—I have been most disloyal and deserve the worst of punishments.” He shivered as Boromir’s tongue swiped at his ear, the man’s warm breath ghosting the area, arousing Théodred and making him quite hard.

“The worst or the best—they are one in the same!” Boromir turned the younger man into his arms and devoured his mouth making him near-swoon under the onslaught. Before long, the two were tearing each other’s clothes off, barely breaking the kiss.

Aragorn and Legolas had begun kissing moments after the other two had, leaving the final pair to stare at their amorous companions.

Éomer looked longingly at Faramir, but the young redhead did not notice as he was looking at his brother and cousins (the elves had removed their clothes and had joined the mortals in the pool) as they made love to their partners. As they kissed, frolicked and played, Faramir’s sadness from before returned.

The Third Marshal of the Riddermark wanted desperately to hold him, but he thought of Éowyn who was in love with the young Gondoran. If he could not be happy, at least he could further his sister’s cause.

“Éowyn desperately wanted to come; she asked to, but I told her no. She is not ready to witness Boromir and Théodred together thusly nor our Elven lovers, for that matter.”

When Éomer began talking, Faramir glanced away, so Éomer did not see the frustrated look that crossed the Steward-prince’s face. Plastering on a pleasant enough smile, he turned back. “No one is ever quite ready to witness such lustiness.”

“Perhaps you and I could take her for a ride and we could bring along some food and a blanket—though I know she would prefer just your company.” Éomer’s smile was forced as spoke of these things, not really wanting to share Faramir with sister.

“Éomer, I...” The Steward’s youngest paused. He thought of what Boromir had said about Éomer’s feelings for him and decided to broach the subject—perhaps it was true? “Éomer; there is something that I need to discuss with you—about Éowyn.”

“So, you do care for her, then? She will be pleased to hear this...” He was set to extol her virtues to Faramir once again, but he was interrupted.

“No!” He burst out; then calmer, he tried again. “I mean, yes—I do care for her, but not in that manner. Do not get me wrong; she is quite lovely and sweet, but I do not think of her that way.”

“In what way do you think of her? I mean, the way that you have been so attentive and considerate, I thought that you loved her as she loves you.” Éomer was conflicted; he was sad and disappointed for Éowyn, but hopeful for himself, but Faramir’s next words changed all that.

“I care for Éowyn, but as a friend or a sister which is as it should be; anything more would not be fair to her as it would not—could not—lead to marriage.”

“And why is that?”

“Because a marriage between a Dúnadan male and non-Dúnadan mortal woman is forbidden. This is especially true for the nobility and the Royal family as we stand to lose the most by giving up our titles and any claim to the Throne.” Faramir watched as the man he cared for became incensed.

“You are telling me that your people think yourselves too good for us—that you are too good for Éowyn?”

“No, Éomer—that is not it. The gift of long life granted by the Valar is sacred to the descendants of Númenor and they vowed long ago to preserve that Gift. Any union where there will be offspring must be between two mortals that are Dúnedain or the Gift will be diminished by each generation that indulges until the blood of Númenor is spent.”

“I see; so, does Boromir know that he is cavorting with a lesser mortal?” Éomer inquired sarcastically. “Théodred is in love with him, you know?”

“It is not the same with those two.” Faramir did not mean to upset Éomer, so he tried to explain and allay his concerns so that he could tell the man of his feelings. “There can be no children between Boromir and Théodred; besides, they are the firstborn males of their families and Théodred is the Heir. Both are expected to marry and produce to carry on the line.”

“In other words, it is alright for them to carry-on so long as there is no chance that Théodred’s Rohirric blood will taint the precious blood of Númenor?” This last was spat out so venomously, that Faramir recoiled from its sting. “You have led on my sister all these years knowing how she felt about you! I would have thought better of you Prince!

“I have ever been considerate of your sister—never once have I behaved in a manner that was misleading. I have treated her with courtesy and respect just as Boromir and Aragorn and Legolas have. If anyone has been leading her on, it has been you, My Lord—not I.” Faramir was near tears with the unfairness of it. This more than anything told him that Éomer did not and never have loved him.

“Whatever you tell yourself to sleep. I no longer consider you my friend and would ask you to keep away from Éowyn!” With that, he walked away from Faramir who turned aside to hide the tears that pooled in his eyes.

When he turned back, he saw Éomer remove the last of his clothes and plunge into the water. He could just make out Aragorn and Legolas directly beneath the waterfall before they ducked behind its curtain; and he saw Boromir pinning the Rohirric Prince to the side of the pool as he suckled on a pert nipple. Faramir spun away from the sight, seriously considering jumping on his horse and fleeing. He instead chose to take the blankets and towels and spread them out for when the swimmers emerged. After placing the packs with their repast on the ground nearby, he sat upon a blanket the furthest away and nursed his breaking heart.

The five eventually emerged from the drink, the lovers with sated grins upon their faces. Only Éomer was unhappy, his hostility towards Faramir palpable. Boromir and Théodred noticed how quiet the two were, but each was thwarted in their attempts to discover what happened between them. Aragorn and Legolas didn’t notice as they had eyes only for each other.

As the day wore on, Faramir and Éomer put on brave fronts and joined as best they could with the others; alternating between swimming, sunning themselves and eating. Eventually, they packed up and headed back to Meduseld so that they could join King Théoden for dinner.

The ride back was much quieter as all were tired from their play; but whereas most were in high spirits, Faramir and Éomer were not, the younger still hurting from his love’s accusations. He did not know how he would endure the coming weeks in Rohan, but Faramir was quite good at hiding his pain—being well-trained at Denethor’s knee.

TB Concluded

A/N: The White Falls mentioned is completely made up.

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Chapter Two

Faramir was the last to arrive in the King’s private Dining Hall—a telltale sign that he was upset. At home, this was often the case when the young Steward-Prince had endured his father’s ire in some form or other; then, his tardiness would lead to more criticism. At least, I will be spared that for tonight, He thought to himself.

As he approached the Princes Band plus Éowyn, he smiled, though it did not reach his lovely, sad eyes. “Forgive my lateness; have I missed much?”

“Théodred was curious about your reference to Legolas as ‘Prince-bride,’ and Legolas was just about to explain its origins.” Boromir informed, scanning his brother’s face for his earlier despondence.

This made Faramir smile genuinely, as this was one of this favorite tales. Legolas had been in Minas Tirith for several months, but the people were still in awe of him—being an elf, but also because of his exceptional beauty. When Aragorn and he announced their engagement, the people were pleased; but later, when they discovered that the Elven Prince could bear children, they were jubilant—fawning all over themselves to please him. This was especially true of the nobility and wealthy merchants—which led to the incident that spawned the moniker that Legolas himself inadvertently penned.

Gifts to the newly engaged couple came daily (sometimes hourly) to the Citadel and one prominent tailor took it upon himself to design Legolas’ wedding raiment and trousseau. He had begged a private audience with the Prince to present his wedding gift; the crown jewel being a long-sleeved, floor length white tunic of gossamer lace and covered with seedling peals.

“You should have seen this monstrosity! It had a long train-like attachment at the waist that trailed at least six-feet. And he had the nerve to stand there beaming while telling me that his ‘lovely daughter’ had a dress made from a similar material and she was radiant at her wedding; and I, who is even more beautiful than even she, would look ‘simply divine!’ I was livid and I told him that I was no maiden and that I wanted him to leave my sight at once!” Legolas shuddered to remember.

“That is where Faramir and I came into it. We had arrived at ‘Las’s suite of rooms so that we all could go join Boromir at the stables. His guard was inside and my Beloved’s sweet voice was spouting very vile expletives at the hapless tailor, who’s Sindarin was thankfully quite rusty as he kept saying...”

“Slowly, Your Highness, I do not understand!” Faramir took up from Aragorn. “If looks could slay, that poor man would have been dead where he stood. And Legolas’ guard was trying to usher the man out, but the tailor was continually trying to calm Legolas, assuring him that he could change the color if that would please him.

“He said—and this nearly caused his death—‘My daughter wore white, so you probably don’t wish to appear in a similar garment as hers.’ Then Aragorn...” He chuckled. “Aragorn had to grab Legolas, for he’d pulled his guard’s sword from his scabbard and was inches from removing the man from his head—which would have only been an improvement!”

“By this time, Elurín had pushed the merchant from the sitting room and into the hall; I could hear the elf trying to reassure him that the Prince was preparing to attend sword lessons and that if his Lord decided to except his kind offer, he would be in contact. The elf obviously missed his calling as a diplomat!” The peredhel kissed his spouse’s temple as he’d finished.

“Aragorn truly saved that man’s life!” Legolas said.

“We then asked Legolas what could have upset him so; that’s when he picked up the ‘garment’ and shoved it in my arms. When I held it up and away from me, Faramir and I were both shocked, but my Cousin here didn’t help matter by laughing and declaring it ‘very pretty.’ Then ‘Las sputtered, ‘Pretty! You think that monstrosity is pretty?’”

Then Faramir and Aragorn finished by quoting Legolas together, “‘I don’t wear pretty!’” They all laughed at that.

Then Legolas ended the tale. “I told them that I didn’t appreciate being treated as if I weren’t male; just because I’m capable of bearing children, didn’t mean that I was some Prince-bride; and that’s when these two started referring to me as Aragorn’s Prince-bride.”

“Of course, when Boromir learned of this, he started referring to me as the Prince-groom so that everyone could tell who was which. We were careful to only tease about these amongst family and since we consider you here as kin, you now know.” Aragorn and Legolas kissed briefly.

“That is a very amusing story, Your Highnesses.” Éowyn said. She then glanced over to Faramir, smiling as she did so, which caused Éomer to glare at the younger man when he returned it out of courtesy.

Faramir’s brief joviality fled at the Third Marshal’s fierce look and he stared down at the stone floor. Boromir noticed this, but the dinner gong sounded, preventing him from commenting. He vowed to get to the bottom of the matter after supper.

As an honored guest and the Crowned Prince, Aragorn sat to the King Théoden’s right, with Legolas next to him; Boromir, who would have sat to his left, chose to sit at Théodred’s right, leaving the King’s left for Faramir. Éowyn was placed next to Faramir simply because she wanted it, which left Éomer sitting to Théodred’s left—this put him across from Éowyn and gave him sidelong view to Faramir.

The conversation was lively during dinner and Éowyn asked permission to relay the story of Legolas’ wedding ‘dress’ to her uncle who had not been present earlier; as she talked, her brother would smile fondly at her, while occasionally throwing hostile glares at Faramir whenever she would ask him to clarify something.

It became increasingly uncomfortable for the young Gondoran and he began speaking in stilted sentences and monosyllabic answers. At one moment, his voice caught, which alerted Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas that something was the matter with him—having become used to this whenever Denethor was dining with the Steward-prince.

The conversation slowed due to the trio’s concern for their relative. Éowyn noticed, but didn’t understand what was wrong, so she asked about everyone’s excursion, “Prince Legolas; how did you like the Falls?”

“Please, Éowyn—Just ‘Legolas’ or I’ll start calling you ‘Princess.’” He joked since he knew that she didn’t like being called that.

She held up her hands in surrender, “No, please!”

“To answer your inquiry—It was magnificent; a wonder even.”

“And you, Faramir—How did you find it?”

“Quite beautiful, My Lady...sorry...Éowyn.” He corrected.

“I am so glad. I would have loved to see your reaction to your first glimpse, but my brother thinks me too fragile.” She looked pointedly at Éomer.

“He is merely concerned for you and your welfare.” Faramir said.

“And I will continue to be so until my dying day—vowing to protect you from all who would harm you.” Faramir did not miss the jibe at him, but kept his eyes downcast.

Éowyn became uncomfortable at the exchange. Boromir looked at Éomer with growing anger; Aragorn and Legolas were fast following. Even King Théoden was becoming annoyed at his nephew’s behavior.

Théodred whispered into his ear, “What is this? Why are you purposely being rude to Faramir?”

“Why don’t you ask him—or Boromir? It seems we are not good enough for them!” Éomer hissed back.

Glancing at her sibling and then back to Faramir, she sought to make the conversation lighter. “Perhaps we could do something together. There are several new foals and some of the older ones will be brought out to the paddocks; I could show them to you. Wouldn’t you like to do that, Faramir?”

The idea of seeing these newborns appealed to Faramir’s gentle soul, but before he could answer, Éomer next declaration stopped whatever he would have said.

“Do not place your hopes on such an outing or anything else with Lord Faramir; for it will come to naught. I have learned to never make that mistake again.” Éomer looked directly into Faramir’s devastated eyes—now a deep violet with unshed tears.

The younger Steward-prince fought against blinking, not wanting his tears to fall before everyone. They would always cause Denethor to berate him for his weakness.

“What are you about, Éomer?” Boromir hissed at him. Then Faramir stood and addressed King Théoden.

“Sire; would you excuse me for the remainder of this lovely meal? It would seem that I am unwell; I believe that today’s outing and last eve’s overindulgence have taken their toll. I do apologize for the interruption.” He spoke quickly, his words running together in some cases.

“Of course, Faramir.” The King was not blind and he threw a hard look at Éomer.

“Thank you, My Lord.” He gave a quick bow, careful to keep his face up and turned to go—his urge to run making his steps hurried. He prayed to Eru that he would make it before anyone noticed the teardrops that were imminent.

He lost the battle as he stepped into the corridor outside the Dining Hall and his hot tears met with the cold stone floors, a testament to his breaking heart. As he got closer to the wing set aside for him and his family, his steps slowed, so overwhelmed by his emotions. Somehow, he found himself crumpling to the floor and he leaned back against the wall; bringing his knees up to his chest, his head fell forward as he cried silently—another skill he developed over the years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boromir left the Hall a few moments behind Faramir, but it seemed like forever and he couldn’t get to his brother fast enough for his tastes. When he caught up to the younger man, his heart skipped at the familiar sight; though lately, Faramir had gotten better at hiding himself away. This new hurt from another that he loved obviously had caught the young dúnadan off his guard.

The Ranger that stood guard at Faramir’s door had tentatively approached him, standing protectively over him, but not knowing what to do to comfort. The look of relief he threw Boromir’s way when he kneeled next to his little brother spoke volumes. The young Gondoran moved away to the wing entrance to keep intruders away while the older Steward-prince looked after the younger.

“It is alright, Love; your Bro’mir is here.” When Faramir was just past a year, he couldn’t say ‘Boromir,’ it being too many syllables; but he managed Bro’mir.

Faramir lifted his head and all his pain was reflected there and his next words (spoken with anguish and a touch of humor) really broke his big brother’s heart. “I told you he didn’t want me.”

Boromir pulled him close to his chest, tucking his curly, red head underneath Boromir’s chin as he rocked him gently. He kept repeating ‘I love you, Little One’ over and over as sobs (no longer silent) wracked Faramir’s smaller frame; the whole time he silently vowed to make Éomer pay for harming his sweet boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

King Théoden asked Aragorn and Legolas if they wanted to leave as well, saying that he would understand under the circumstances—looking coolly at Éomer.

“I thank you, Your Majesty; but in times like these, we have learned it’s best to give the brothers some time alone first. Boromir is what he needs most right now.” Aragorn informed.

“Very well; but I won’t hold you to conversation or desert. Éomer, I would speak to you after supper.” The rest of the meal was finished in silence. When the last dishes were removed, Aragorn and Legolas left to check on their cousin.

And true to his word, King Théoden pulled Éomer aside afterwards. “I want to know what that matter with Faramir was about.”

“I am sorry, My Lord; but it is a matter between Faramir and me.”

“Then perhaps, next time you will keep it away from the supper table! I will not have my guests—My Royal guests—upset; especially from a representative of Rohan.”

As the First Marshal left his nephew, the Second whispered into his ear. “Father may have accepted that, but I will not! How could you speak so cruelly and disrespectfully to our friend? I thought that you loved him?”

“I loved the person that I thought he was—not that hypocrite! I thought him so good and noble, but I was wrong, for he is neither.” Éomer was so disillusioned by who he thought that Faramir was.

“I can not believe this; Faramir are none of those things.”

“No? Well, he is not the only one; Boromir and the entire Dúnedain race of Gondor are just as false as he.” At Théodred’s incredulous stare, he continued.

“Did you know that we are not good enough for our dear friends? Yes, that is right. Éowyn and every other non-dúnadan mortal woman are not fit to marry one of them for they would taint their precious Númenórean blood with their inferior offspring!”

“How can that be true? Legolas is not Dúnadan...”

“Nor is he mortal! That is the rub, Dear Cousin; elves are permitted apparently because they add to their lifespan, while we diminish it. Maybe you should think on that the next time Boromir’s cock is inside you!” Théodred looked about as Éomer’s voice carried.

“Mind your words! Do not take your anger out on me. If what you say is true, I fail to see how it affects you or me.”

“How can it not? Are we not the same as my sister?”

“No—we are not, for she is female and besides, Faramir does not love her; he loves you. Even if he did love Éowyn, I doubt that Faramir would allow that to stop him from marrying her.”

“That is not what he told me in the glen.” He rubbed his temple, saying,” I weary of talking about this. I would ask a favor of you, Théodred; look after Éowyn while I am away.”

“Where are you going?” Théodred asked.

“I’m going to join my men in the Eastmark; and as far as I’m concern, the Princes Band is no more.” With that, he walked off.

Théodred left a few moments later. As he past one of the large columns beside door just outside the Dining Hall, he didn’t see Éowyn standing just out of sight. Her cousin had seen her leave the room just before King Théoden spoke with Éomer; but she became worried about her brother and wanted to know why he’d been so rude to Faramir. She entered just in time to hear Théodred say that the Gondoran loved Éomer and not her and now she stood with tears streaming from her eyes as the fantasy ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boromir stood near the window, staring down upon his little brother as he silently cried on Legolas’ shoulder. Aragorn and his Elven spouse had arrived an hour ago just after Boromir carried Faramir into the young man’s room. Legolas had taken one look at the distraught mortal and crawled onto the bed and pulled him close and was now leaning against the headboard, humming Elvish lullabies to him.

Aragorn was next to the Sindar, holding Faramir’s hand. He’d seen his cousin hurting before, his uncle very good at crushing his spirit; but this was different. Faramir was in love and the man he loves had rejected him—Aragorn could not imagine what that pain was like. He looked away from the 20-year-old’s devastated violet depths to Boromir’s ferocious green ones.

“I will return.” Boromir said, his voice was a near growl.

Faramir said fearfully, “You are leaving me?”

The blond mortal smiled reassuringly, “Never, Pet; you are my Sweet Boy. I will always be there for you—never doubt that. I just have to go...settle a few things before we depart this place.” He tenderly kissed Faramir’s tremulous lips and left the room.

Boromir’s guard intended to follow him, but his Lord’s ‘no’ stopped him and he watched as the murderous Steward-prince stalked down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Éowyn knocked on her brother’s door three times; when there was no answer, she called out his name and then, “Please—may I come in?”

“It is open,” Came the flat response. He didn’t look up from his packing.

“You can not leave like this,” She stated without preamble.

“Did Théodred tell you that I was going?”

“No; you did.” At that he turned to face her, his brow lifting in surprise. “I overheard you and him talking—I heard everything. Well, nearly everything...Important that is.”

“I never meant for you to hear any of it; but, now you know how misplaced your affections are, for he does not deserve you.” He went back to his packing, putting likenesses of Éowyn and their mother inside.

“You should not think badly of him—of Faramir.”

He looked in disbelief at her. “How can you defend him after the way he has treated you?”

“He has always been gentlemanly towards me and kind—as he’s been to you.”

“You love him and he has misled you!” He said.

“No, Éomer; he has not. Never once has he said that he loves me or indicated that we had a future. That was my doing and...And I prevailed upon you to play the matchmaker for us. It...It was a fantasy, only. A little girl’s fantasy.” She came over and cupped his face. “I am so sorry; had I known of your feelings for him and his for you...” She left the rest unsaid.

“It matters little now; we are not good enough for him or his precious blood.” He was still bitter.

“That is not true,” She said softly.

“It is true—you do not know...” He started.

“I do know and have known since I was a young girl.”

“How? Whe...”

“From Grandmother Morwen. When she was a girl of twelve, she became infatuated with a young dúnadan ranger when his company came through Lossarnach, proposing to him on the spot. He told her that even if she were not 12-years-old and he 120, they would not be permitted to marry because of the Valar’s Gift.

“She didn’t understand it then, but later found it out and she understood. She said just as the House of Eorl is proud of its heritage, so is Númenor—and rightly so. And so do I, even though a “little girl” can dream; I guess that I am too much like Grandmother.”

“I wish that I had known; I would not have wasted your time or mine.” He said.

“I did not want you talking me out of my dream; but I hurt you and Faramir without meaning to.”

“He will get over this...and so will I.” He turned back to his task.

“But, he loves you as Boromir loves Théodred.” She smirked at his shocked stare. “Do not look so surprised. I may not have known about you and Faramir, but those two have fooled no one!”

“I can not be with him—their laws...”

“Do not pertain to you. You can not bear half-Dúnedain children; that is the only reason for the law. Éomer; don’t you realize how good and noble he is? I have no doubts that if he loved me, knowing that I felt the same, he would give up everything to make me his wife—regardless of what he said in the glen.” She moved over to stand before him, looking up into his hazel eyes. “Do you not know that he is the kind of man who would die for those he loves? What are positions and titles compared to that?”

He looked deeply into her eyes and saw the truth of her words. In his heart, he knew that Faramir was not the kind who would play a person false; his love for Éowyn and his vow to always protect her, had blinded him to that truth. And there was another truth—his guilt for loving the man she wanted and the knowledge that Faramir returned that love kept him from declaring himself.

“What have I done? I have been such a fool!”

“Then go fix it! Go beg his forgiveness!” She laughed as he spun her around and kissed her cheek. Her bruised heart sang at the joyous (and relieved) look on his handsome face; she had missed seeing it for so long.

He sat her down and moved to the door; as he opened it, the last thing he saw was a pair of furious green eyes and a balled-up fist as it connected with face—then nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His name sounded as if it was coming from far off; then there was pain on the left side of his face.

“Éomer—No, don’t move; lie still.” Something cool on his forehead and left cheek, then, “I do not think that it is broken, Théodred, but it will look quite nasty for sometime.”

Éowyn, the Rohirric Captain recognized.

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them back as the harsh glare from candles and sconces caused pain to shoot to his aching head. “Can someone douse a few of these blasted tapers?”

“All done—how’s that?” Théodred.

He peaked and found it much better. “What happened?”

“Boromir happened.” Théodred said dryly.

“Where is he now?” Éomer asked, thinking that he got off lightly.

“Probably outside the door; I asked him out just before Théodred arrived.”

“I have to see Faramir.” He tried to get up, but soon fell back again. “Boromir hits like a cave troll; but I deserve no less. Will you ask him in, Cousin?”

“That is not wise...”

“Please? I must know how Faramir fares—please?”

Théodred nodded and opened the door, noting that, though his lover was no longer fuming, his anger had not diminished. Stepping into the corridor, he asked, “Am I your enemy, as well?”

“That would depend on your stand in this matter,” Boromir’s voice was coolly neutral.

The Rohirric Prince stepped up to him and caressed his handsome face. “I love you and will until I draw my last breath upon this Earth. I have never lost faith in you nor in Faramir.”

Boromir had been unconsciously holding his breath throughout, and its release following Théodred’s statements expelled much of his anger—leaving only the hurt he felt for his ‘Little One.’

Théodred enfolded his arms around the larger man, laying his dark-blond head upon Boromir’s broad shoulders. “Éomer would like to speak with you about Faramir; will you see him?”

“I will see him, but briefly.” He kissed Théodred deeply, hands entangled in his long tresses, before moving towards the door.

“Be mindful of Éowyn; she understands your pain, but worries for Éomer.”

“I will be considerate of her—worry not, My Love.” As he entered the room, Éowyn was holding a cup to her brother’s lips.

Her fearful look brought a reassuring smile to his face. “Do not fear, Dear Éowyn; I am here to talk only.”

“Will you give us a moment, Sister?”

“I will not leave you...”

“Please? Boromir has given his word to talk only. I shall be fine.”

She left reluctantly to join Prince Théodred in the hall.

“How...How is Faramir?”

“How is he? Why, he is quite devastated and how are, My Lord?” Boromir inquired sarcastically.

“I would like to see him—to beg his forgiveness for my harsh words.”

“‘Harsh words?’ You have a gift of understatement, Sir. Faramir is quite strong and harsh words can upset him or cause him insult; but cruel and fallacious allegations from someone he loves wound him to his soul. You do not know my father’s true nature for he keeps this hidden for the most part from Honored guests and Dignitaries, not wanting to jeopardize Gondor’s interests. But when he is in...familiar company, he cares not who witnesses his displeasure and Faramir is usually the one who feels it most.

“Do you know that he blames my brother for our mother’s death? She was weakened giving birth to him and when she died, any love Denethor bore for Faramir died with her. I became both Mother and Father to him, though Uncle Arathorn and Grandfather Arador cared for him, too. But grandfather was ill physically from old injuries and at heart for my mother’s death and Arathorn had Aragorn.

“Can you imagine a 10-year-old being the primary source of nurturing for his 4-year-old sibling? Well, I was; but I did not mind for Faramir was a joy—My Sweet Boy. And he is still my sweet and gentle Faramir who bares ill for no one; a kind-hearted soul who loves freely and asks for nothing in return—feeling that he deserves nothing.” Tears were falling freely down Boromir’s face, but he did not wipe them away.

“I tried to shield him from life’s harms, but I could not—not from Denethor or vile creatures such as Orcs that roam this world. But, I can keep him from further harm from you!” He laughed a mirthless laugh. “I encouraged him to tell you how he feels—that he’s in love with you; but he said that you could never want him because ‘no one does.’ He truly believes that now.”

Boromir turned to go, but threw over his shoulder, “You will stay away from Faramir and you are no longer welcome in Minas Tirith. As soon as he is able to ride, I will be taking my brother from this place—never to return as long as you are here.”

The door slammed, punctuating Boromir’s words—words eerily similar to the ones Éomer spoke to Faramir at the White Falls. Hot tears burned his eyes and his cheeks; but his foolish pride cost him Faramir and that burned his soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boromir, Legolas and Aragorn rarely left Faramir’s side the next day and the next. King Théoden, Théodred and Éowyn all came to call on him, but Boromir was adamant that Éomer stay away. They nearly came to blows when the man camped outside the door, but Aragorn convinced Éomer that it would be better if did as Boromir asked. He complied when he realized that he wasn’t helping Faramir, but causing him further distress.

On the third day, the Gondoran Party made to depart Meduseld. Boromir had a private farewell with Théodred and then bade King Théoden and Éowyn farewell along with his cousins and Faramir. When Éomer came near as they stood at the top of the portico, Boromir and Legolas flanked the young Steward-prince, but the pain and fear in Faramir’s eyes were enough to make Éomer keep his distance.

Aragorn made the three before them welcome in the White City any time, then the Gondorans all mounted their horses and disappeared through the gates. Éomer watched continually, even when he was no longer able to see the small figures. Eventually, he went inside never noticing that dusk had fallen. He forwent dinner that evening, preferring to stand, staring about the room that held Faramir.

He picked up one of the pillows from the bed and inhaled the young man’s scent, crying. This is where Éowyn found him the next morning, sitting on the floor at the foot of Faramir’s bed. “I have lost him forever. How will I live now?” He looked up into her soulful blue eyes hoping for answers; what he saw surprised him. Anger.

“I never thought that I would be ashamed of you, Éomer.” She had her arms folded, reminding him of Grandmother Morwen when he’d done something to displease her.

“You should be ashamed of me for what I did to Faramir.”

“That is not why I’m ashamed.” When he looked askance to her, confusion written upon his face, she explained. “I understand why you behaved the way you did towards Faramir—misguided though it was. But this wallowing, I do not. You know the truth now and yet you allowed the one you love to leave here without one word of apology.”

“But, Boromir...”

“To the ruins of Mordor with Boromir! Boromir is behaving much as you did—protecting his sibling. Although he is justified, this is not his life’s happiness. It is yours and Faramir’s.”

“He does not want me.” Came his dejected response.

“That’s what he thought about you and you are both wrong! Do not let more misunderstandings and cruel words keep you two apart. Well, don’t just sit upon the cold floor like a forgotten pair of old boots—go!”

“But, what if he tells me to leave him be?”

“Then you will know. But, the real question is what if doesn’t? Do you think that he would have been hurting for three days by your words if he did not love you?” She kneeled next to him, looking far wiser than her 19 years. “He deserves to hear you say that you love him. And when you apologize, make it about him and not you.”

He grabbed her in a bear-like hug, nearly cutting off her air supply before jumping to his feet. A brief stop at his room to retrieve his packed bag and he was off to the stables to saddle his horse. He barely remembered tearing through the gates and the ride across the plains; all he could see was Faramir’s face the morning before as he stood between Legolas and Boromir.

“You just wait, Beloved; I will make this up to you and show you my heart.” His stallion answered his signal for more speed and the two made for the direction of Gondor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faramir smiled indulgently as Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas tried to cajole him into eating, his appetite non-existent—the very thought making him queasy.

“You’ve eaten barely enough to keep a bird living!” Legolas said, trying to spoon-feed him stew made of root vegetables and dried mushrooms.

Any other time, the smell would have been appealing, but now, nothing appealed to him. “I am not hungry, Meldomelin (dear friend).”

“Well, at least eat some fruit or one of these pastries Fréawyn made especially for you,” The elf tried.

“I could always give you one of my herb teas, Cousin Mine; and not the sweet one you fancy, but the other I gave you last year when you lay abed with a chest cold!” Aragorn threatened, only half jokingly.

Boromir chuckled at the horrified look on his brother’s face. “Sounds delightful, Little Brother.”

The Gondoran took the pastry, nibbling it to appease his overprotective relations, not wanting to tempt Aragorn into fixing that fowl-tasting tea for him. As he ate, Boromir and Aragorn walked away to discuss tomorrow’s travel, and Legolas moved behind Faramir and wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulder as he eat his food.

He started to sing, laying his blond head right next to Faramir’s auburn-locked one. “You spoil me, Lovely ‘Las; but I would not have you, Aragorn or Boromir worry so.”

“You are worth it, Lovely Fara’—for we adore you, so.”

Faramir’s face became mischievous as he, said, “You will make as good a mother as any Prince-bride ever did.”

“Such impudence! You do not deserve vile teas, you need one of Boromir’s great punishments—merciless tickling! Come here, Boromir, Aragorn; this child must be tickled!”

They both heard and ran quickly to carry out his ‘punishment.’ “Take his neck just at the collarbone; the waist is yours, Boromir and the feet are mine!” Aragorn laughed as he reached to remove his boots.

Faramir giggled like a little boy as his tormentors descended. “Maglor, my friend—help!” Faramir’s personal guard laughed.

“Yes, My Lord; I shall help—I find just behind the knees to be most vulnerable.” The gray-eyed Ranger informed.

“Thank you, Maglor,” Aragorn told him, abandoning the booted foot he’d held.

“Scoundrel!” Faramir laughed

Legolas froze, turning his head aside. Aragorn, ever attuned to his spouse’s moods, inquired, “What is it, Mela?”

“I hear thundering hoof beats; someone approaches.” Helping Faramir to sit up from his position across the elf-Prince’s lap, Legolas moved to the edge of the hill where they camped and peered into the valley. “From the design of his garments and horse’s raiment, this rider is from Rohan.”

“Éomer.” Faramir whispered, both fearing and hoping.

“Can you see who it is, Legolas? Though, I feel I know already,” Boromir said angrily. “Why does he not leave my brother be? I warned him,” This last through clinched teeth.

Faramir went back to sit where he and Legolas had been—sitting heavily against the ground. He didn’t know what to think or to feel and he cursed his traitorous heart that longed to look upon that beloved face of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Legolas came back to sit with him, cradling as before and after a while, the passage of time meant little to Faramir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Éomer saw the guards and he recognized Boromir’s and Aragorn’s physiques from afar. As he mounted the hill encampment, the hostility, not only from his former friends, but from the Dúnedain Rangers that were escorting them chilled him to his bones; but he refused to let it (or them) keep him from seeing Faramir.

As he dismounted, Boromir confronted the Rohirric Prince. “You will mount your horse and go back from whence you came!”

“I will; but after I have spoken with Faramir.”

“No. Now—or you will feel more than my fist! I warned you to keep away and I meant it.”

“I know you did; and were I in your place, it would be the same. But, this concerns Faramir and me. I will speak my peice and if he wishes me gone, then I will go—not before.” Éomer said respectfully, but firmly.

The green-eyed Gondoran made to eject him, but Faramir’s hand on his forearm stopped him. “I will hear what he has to say.”

“No, Little One...”

“It is alright, Love—I will hear him out.” Faramir said gently.

“I will not leave you.” His brother said, looking deeply into Faramir’s eyes.

“I know—you never have. I will be fine,” He smiled bravely. “Just give us a few moments?”

Boromir nodded then looked pointedly at Éomer. “I will be just over there—watching.” He left to join his cousins and Maglor and the other Rangers not standing guard—Faramir was well-protected.

Now that he was there before Faramir, words failed him; so he drank in the sight of the beautiful young man instead.

Faramir’s violet-blue eyes dropped to the ground under the scrutiny—not used to this from Éomer.

“I was—am—a fool. You did not deserve my cruelty and I am sorry for hurting you so; and I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I will ask it only to show you how repentant I am.” He stepped a bit closer to Faramir and saw him flinch briefly in response.

“If...If that is all that you require, then I will accept your apology. Perhaps...we can be friends again—someday.” Faramir made to turn away, but Éomer spoke, and he faced the man once more.

“That is not all, Faramir. I...I wish to tell you something...something that I should have long ago. I thought that as a good brother, I should step aside when I saw Éowyn’s love for you; but, I failed to ask if she was what you wanted. But that is not what’s important. What is important is that I...have loved you from the very moment I first set eyes upon you. I my heart rejoiced at your first smile and my soul melted the first time I heard your laughter. You are as the sun and the moon to me; your are my breath and my heart’s beat and I will go to my grave loving you.” He took a deep breath, “That is what I wanted to tell you. I will leave now; thank you for hearing me out, Sweet Faramir. Farewell.” He mounted his horse and left the camp, making his way down the hill.

Faramir was stunned—too stunned to move at first. He looked to his brother and cousins. Boromir’s gaze was conflicted, but after a time, he smiled, then nodded at Faramir. Faramir turned and ran after Éomer, stopping briefly on the edge of the hilltop before running down the slope, never considering taking his horse.

Éomer moved slowly across the grassy plains, tears streaming down his handsome face, blinding him. His sobs and the horse’s clip-clop were all that he heard—at first. He felt that his mind was playing tricks on him when he first heard his name being called; but then the desperate, sad tone made him stop. Faramir?

He turned to see the young man running after him. Now I am seeing things, he thought. As the figure drew closer, he cried out in joy as he jumped from his steed, running the rest of the way to Faramir.

As they closed the gap, it was like a dream to both; especially when Éomer grabbed the smaller framed man and scooped him up, spinning him much the same as he’d done with Éowyn before he met with Boromir’s fist.

Faramir’s head felt light and giddy; some from his adrenalin rush as he ran, but mostly from having Éomer’s strong arms around him. They held to each other for a long time, but then the blond man sat Faramir on the ground and stepped back just enough to look into the young Gondoran’s eyes, assuring himself that the man was actually there before him, in his arms.

“Are you real? Are you truly here?” Éomer asked in awe.

“I am. What...What you said back there—you truly love me?” He was still unsure.

“I truly do love you more than words can reveal and actions can show—but I’d like to use both to convince you.” He took Faramir’s lovely face between his hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks and brought their lips together for the first time. It was a tentative exploring with closed mouths, but then the older man’s tongue grazed along Faramir’s bottom lip, tasting.

Faramir moaned against Éomer’s mouth, parting his lips which gave the Rohirric Marshal the encouragement to deepen the kiss, their tongues meeting in a sweet hello. Faramir’s knees became weak, never having been kissed like this before; but Éomer’s strong arms held him up. They soon had to break the kiss for want of air, but the blond kissed his cheeks, eyes, ears and every part he could reach, not willing to cease adoring this beautiful man in his arms.

“Come back to Meduseld with me—let me show you how much I love you. I wish to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much!”

“I...I don’t know. What of Éowyn—I do not wish to cause her pain.” Faramir said uncertainly.

“Worry not for Éowyn; she knows how we feel about each other. She is the one who made me see how foolish I had been and she will be happy to know that you love me still.” Éomer kissed him again making that giddy feeling come back.

When he could talk again, Faramir said dazedly, “We must inform my kin—Boromir may object.”

“Then you should ask him, for here they come.” Éomer indicated, causing Faramir to look over his shoulder. From the looks of it, they had broken camp, pack horses carrying their belongings.

As they came to a stop near the new lovers, Boromir stated, “I am guessing we make for the Golden Hall.” When he saw the tentative look on Faramir’s face, he smiled, saying, “It is alright, Dear One; I am looking forwards to seeing Théodred again.”

Faramir’s happy smile made Boromir’s breath catch and he watched as Éomer helped Faramir atop his horse, climbing up behind him then turning his steed towards home.

Aragorn asked Boromir, “Are you alright, Cousin?”

“I will be; but if he so much as harm a hair on my Sweet Boy’s head, I know of some Olog-hai trolls that will be most happy to feast upon his bones!” He was only half joking, planning a painful end to Éomer if he stepped out of line again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faramir was nervous. He and Éomer had been spending hours upon hours together talking, riding and dancing even. They loved each other deeply and two nights ago before his family and friends, Éomer declared his love for Faramir and then he dropped to one knee and proposed marriage to him before all.

And Faramir said yes.

Now, Faramir stood in his bedchamber staring at himself in a mirror. He had asked Éomer to come to his room; that there was something that he wished to ask of him. Éomer seemed concerned, but replied, “Of course, My Love.”

He ran a comb through his auburn waves and checked his robe. It was his favorite dressing gown, the same color as his eyes; it had been a birthday gift from Boromir. But he forwent the matching nightshirt and was totally naked beneath.

“What will he think of you?” Faramir nearly sent for Maglor, sending him to go tell Éomer that he would see him in the morning. But then, thought better of it.

Éomer loves you and he desires you.

Faramir squared his shoulders and walked over to the table where he had an open bottle of wine and two goblets, lighting a candle there. Next, he approached the bed; as he fluffed the pillows, he jumped at the knock at his door. Peering quickly into the mirror once more, he opened the door to see an equally nervous Éomer standing there.

“Welcome, My Love; please come in.” The taller man entered and Faramir whispered something to his guard who smiled knowingly as he moved to the hall’s end, making Faramir blush.

“Would...Would you care for some wine?” The Gondoran offered.

“Of course.” Éomer’s nervousness was abating as he took in the Faramir’s clothing and the many candles about the room as well as the turned-down bed. As he sipped his wine, asked mock seriously, “Are you planning to seduce me, Faramir?”

The younger man’s eyes flew to Éomer’s hazel ones fearfully, thinking that he’d made a mistake—not recognizing his betrothed’s teasing. “I am sorry...I thought...I thought...” His voice trailed away in shame, fearing he’d insulted Éomer.

Éomer was contrite and pulled Faramir into his arms. “No, Love—I am sorry; I should not be teasing you. I am so flattered and pleased. I have wanted to be with you, but did not have the courage to ask, thinking that you’d prefer to wait until we marry.”

“You want me?”

“Why do sound so surprised? You are so beautiful and desirous and you make me want to do both good and wicked things with you.” He kissed him to show him just how much he desired Faramir.

“Make love to me, Éomer; I want to feel you inside of me.” Faramir said breathlessly.

“There is no place that I’d rather be, but are you sure?” He was touching Faramir’s face as if it were a delicate butterfly.

“I am very sure.” Faramir pulled Éomer’s head close and kissed the man deeply, gently exploring his mouth. As the kiss deepened, Éomer’s hands roamed about Faramir’s slender frame, his eyes opening briefly as he realized that only Faramir’s robe stood as barrier to his questing hands.

“Oh, Love—I want you so!” Éomer growled as he felt his loves arousal beneath the thin gown. “I am wearing too many clothes—and so are you!” Éomer said playfully and he began to remove his clothes.

When he stood in just his pants, he embraced Faramir, holding him close and kissing his temple. My Love, have you ever...ever done...this before?”

“I have kissed briefly; nothing as deeply as you kiss me. There have been some boyhood explorations, but I have not...given myself nor taken another.” Faramir blushed as he finished speaking.

“Worry not, Lovely One; I will be most gentle with you. But—I will not lie; there will be some pain at first.”

“I trust you,” Faramir said as he laid his head on Éomer’s shoulder. Éomer pulled back to stare deeply into his love’s violet-blue eyes and saw the trust there, feeling like the most blessed man in Middle-earth.

He took Faramir by the hand and led him to the bed, and he watched as the younger man began un-tying his robe. Then Éomer helped him un-do the toggles that held the garment closed, marveling at the beauty of Faramir’s nearly hairless form.

The garment pooled at Faramir’s bare feet as it fell from his shoulders. Éomer whispered, “So very, very lovely.” Faramir smiled while stepping backwards, first sitting on the bed, then he next laid down, holding out his hand for Éomer to join him.

Never wanting to refuse Faramir anything, Éomer lay next to him, reverently touching his skin, before devouring the Gondoran’s mouth in a soul-stirring kiss. He broke the kiss and buried his face at Faramir’s neck, nibbling him there before moving onto his chest; he nipped and licked the smooth skin, following his questing lips with his fingers—Faramir’s taut flesh warm and trembling. “Mmmm...sooo good,” Éomer groaned.

Faramir arched his back as his lover took an erect nipple into his mouth, nipping pleasurably on the dark-pink nub. As Éomer traveled from one peak to the other, Faramir’s hands ran through the man’s long blond hair, pulling his mouth closer to his toned chest.

Éomer suckled hard, ravishing the pebbled nub in his hot mouth, his fingers caressing as he pulled Faramir more firmly beneath him. His clothed member rubbed enticingly against Faramir naked shaft making the younger man groan from the friction there as he continued to be ravished by Éomer’s tongue and teeth at his heaving chest.

Éomer finally released the peak, giving it one last swipe of his tongue, before he moved up to capture Faramir’s sweet lips, parted and gasping. His tongue plunged deeply, forcing its way down his throat; the organ inside meeting his more experienced one in a loving duel. Faramir’s hands cupped Éomer’s face, pushing him slightly away, breathing hard. He looked deeply into Éomer’s hazel depths and, whispered, “Make me yours, Éomer—I need you desperately.”

The Rohirric Prince nodded and kissed him briefly before moving away from his new lover to remove his last piece of clothing. Faramir gazed in awe at Éomer’s handsome frame and impressive cock, hard and dripping, making Faramir tremble with desire and a little fear. Kissing him briefly on his lips, Éomer moved to nuzzle Faramir on his soft throat, then the side of his neck beneath the fall of soft hair where the shoulder and neck met. His hands also moved on, caressing smooth, firm sides, down to finely muscled hips and thighs, pushing the limbs apart as he put himself between them, causing the body under him to tremble anew.

Éomer’s strong hands hooked under Faramir’s knees, pushing them back, exposing the flesh of his inner thighs and vulnerable nether region; his bearded face rubbed against the soft skin, cheeks and chin lightly abrading before lips and tongue tasted Faramir’s virgin flesh. Faramir’s lovely scent assaulted his senses as his mouth nuzzled the organs nestled between his thighs, the swollen shaft and sacs enticing him to feast. Éomer was no stranger to love between males, so he had no trouble taking Faramir’s column, firm and leaking into his mouth.

The exquisite pleasure caused Faramir’s body to arch again, this time forcing the tumescence deeper as the warm cavern suckled roughly, drinking the fluid seeping from the inexperienced body, the rough tongue molding itself to the hard flesh as Faramir reached his peak.

Éomer was impossibly hard as he swallowed the last of the Faramir’s sweet essences and he desperately needed to find his release, too. Releasing the spent organ, he took the legs still held firmly in his grasp and forced them further apart, then stated, “I will need some oil to ease the way.”

Blushing, Faramir admitted, “I...I put some there on the table beside the bed—under the cloth.”

“You thought of everything,” Then teasing, “You must have known how easy I’d be?” He chuckled as he found the vial of oil and taking out the stopper, he poured some into his hand, coating his fingers liberally.

He took Faramir’s legs and pushed them apart, draping each one over his shoulders; then he parted the firm globes hovering above the sheets. He ran his oiled finger along the crease between until he found the puckered entrance. Faramir’s young body froze when one finger touched his virgin entrance, the puckered opening tightening against the unfamiliar probing.

“Easy, Lover; I must prepare you for me. I will be as gentle as possible, I promise you.” At Faramir’s tremulous smile, he circled the tight aperture, before pushing carefully to gain entrance, slicking the walls as he went. When one digit went in easily, he added a second finger, scissoring the opening to stretch it so that a third could be added just to be sure.

When he was sure that Faramir was ready, he took his swollen flesh in his hand and rubbed his length with the oil and his own emissions; he then placed the large head of his swollen member to the opening, then pushed inside his lover’s body. As he went deeper, the tight passage contracted in pain, causing Faramir to cry out. Stopping briefly, the Éomer whispered soothing words of regret before kissing his lover’s gasping mouth, tasting Faramir’s salty tears. Éomer’s hand moved between their bodies, stroking his lover’s cock, bringing it to arousal again.

As the body before him began thrusting in his fist and the kiss deepened, Éomer resumed his forward motion, the hot tunnel impossibly tight until he breached the guardian ring of muscle, becoming fully sheathed in the tight heat. A pained whimper reached his ears before being followed by a moan of pleasure as he hit the tiny bundle of nerves inside the untried channel. Wanting to hear that sound again, Éomer aimed and struck the spot over and over again, the body rising to meet him thrust for thrust before screaming out—the Steward-prince finding his release for the second time that night.

As the smaller man bucked and writhe in pleasure, his entrance gripped Éomer almost painfully, milking his plunging shaft, undoing him until he too reached his climax, hot fluids surrounding him inside the grasping body. He smiled against Faramir’s mouth; then, satisfied and sated, he released Faramir’s slender thighs from his broad shoulders.

Faramir sighed in regret when Éomer’s soften member slipped free of his body, feeling empty and less whole until Éomer pulled him close to his broader form, wrapping him in loving arms. “You make me very happy, Éomer and I love you with all my heart and soul.”

“And I love you as well, with all my heart and soul.” They kissed again until the need to breathe forced them apart. “What was the name of the tailor?” At Faramir’s confused look, he clarified, “The one that offered to design Legolas’ wedding raiment?”

“I forget—why?”

“I think that I will have him design yours.” Éomer’s look turned dreamy as he said, “Gossamer lace and seedling pearls sounds lovely. Do you not think so?”

“Just what are you about, Éomer?” Faramir inquired, laughing.

“Aragorn is not the only one with a beautiful spouse and you will be my Prince-bride!” Éomer didn’t see the pillow before it hit him in the face (the unbruised side).

He retaliated by pinning Faramir down and tickling him, knowing how susceptible the Gondoran was to this. “Will you be my Prince-bride?”

“Yes—yes! Whatever you say, please!” Éomer thrilled at the sight of Faramir’s delighted face.

“Then I say that you are beautiful and I will love you—forever.”

“Forever and ever...” Faramir echoed.

And a kiss sealed it.

The End