Request: Horses

Summary: Even a simple trip can have fatal consequences.

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Today, Rohan crowns her new king. Elfwine sits in his high chair, tall and lordly, and so much like his father, though his dark hair and grey eyes tell of N�menorean descend. But it should not be him wearing the crown. If not for me, Elfwine would be at Éomer's side, listening and learning the ways of rule and leadership. I alone am responsible for the tragedy that befell that befell the house of Eorl so many year ago.

Some things I still remember very clearly, but others I could not recall even if my life depended on it. The most vivid memory I have is the accident itself. I still see Éomer stumbling, falling backwards to land on the rocks many feet below. When I reached him, he was already dead. And when I wake in the dark hours of the night, drenched in sweat and heart racing, I look upon Éowyn as she sleeps and the guilt and pain are as strong as on the first day. I know that I have done wrong. But the story starts earlier.

It was shortly after our house and the gardens in Emyn Arnen had at last been completed that Éomer visited us. I think it was the year we achieved the great victory against Harad. So it was that before returning to Rohan, Éomer went with me to Ithilien to enjoy a few weeks with us. One day, we were talking about my days as a Ranger and naturally Éomer, ever curious, wanted to visit Henneth-Ann�n. At the time, it was already deserted by the rangers.

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18 years ago

Faramir and Éomer journeyed on foot, as horses would but hinder them in northern Ithilien's dense forests. They went slowly because they were in no hurry to reach their destination, a thing that neither man would have thought possible but a few years earlier.

The beginning of their trip was as beautiful, the sky was a clear blue and the early summer sun shone brightly down upon them. When the terrain allowed it, they would walk abreast, but oftentimes the path was too narrow. Faramir would take the lead then, his footfall so light that it seemed that he was barely touching the ground. Behind him walked Éomer with his heavy tread.

Faramir breathed deeply, feeling gladness overcome him. The woods that had once been infested by orcs were now healed and safe. It was a thing that he would never have thought possible not that long ago. A new age had indeed come.

Finally the very soft sound of rushing water reached his ears and he stopped. Turning to Éomer, he said: "Before the War of the Ring, I would have had to blindfold you because none that was not authorised must ever see the way in or out of Henneth-Ann�n. And this is exactly what I will do now. It is too much fun to let the chance pass."

He lauged and Éomer groaned but eventually turned so that Faramir could bind a cloth around his head. As he reached up to tie the blindfold and made sure that Éomer's eyes were properly covered, he noticed how tall the man really was. Éomer was a good two inches taller than him and surely bordered seven feet. And his hair was even more golden than Éowyn's, and certainly more unruly. Faramir allowed his hands to linger over the knot a bit longer than necessary, then let them sink slowly to his sides.

"I will guide you now. Are you ready to move on?"

Éomer gave only a grunt as response and shrugged his shoulders, clearly not liking the situation.

"Ah, it will not be so bad and what awaits you is certainly worth the bit of discomfort. And if it means something to you, you are not the only one I have guided to Henneth-Ann�n."

***

Faramir guided him well, his firm arm not letting him stray and his voice warning him of obstacles on the path. The last leg of the journey took longer than he would have liked, though. When they finally stopped, it was already afternoon. He felt Faramir move away and tuck at the blindfold. When it fell away, he gasped. It was even more beautiful than he had imagined it; the sun made the water-droplets glitter and the water roared as it rushed down in the forbidden pool. It was amazing.

When he turned, Éomer saw that Faramir had already moved on and followed him, quickly closing the gap. Soon the two men were climbing the steep rocks that led to the huge cave behind the great waterfall. It was damp at the entrance, but dry at the rear end of the cave. When the Rangers of Ithilien left, they had abandoned the pieces of furniture that they had once used. It consisted mainly of barrels, but there were still a few chests. Éomer put his pack on the floor and seated himself on one of the small barrels, stretching his long legs out in front of him. After a moment, Faramir joined him.

"It is strange to see it so empty and abandoned," Faramir said softly. "I have many memories of it. It was a hard life, but we had a close companionship. Many were good friends of mine, and many died in that accursed battle. I still feel responsible for them."

Éomer nodded, understanding what the other man meant. With command came responsibility, and with responsibility came the guilt if you were not able to save the people you led to their deaths. They were silent, the only thing they heard was the roaring of the waterfall outside.

"But was the outcome not worth the sacrifices?" The Éomer asked, "we all suffered, but now we are reaping the fruits of our labours. Let us be glad today and remember why Henneth-Ann�n is no longer used by the rangers; there is no need for secrecy. Your people can stride boldly through the land! That is something, no?" He clasped the Gondorian's shoulder and felt him shiver under his hand. Surely the man was not cold? He stood up and said over his shoulder, "I will just go and see if I can find something burnable so that we can have something warm to eat."

He opened a few chests, but most of them were empty. Some of them still held bows, arrows and even now-uneatable food. And at last a chest with linens and blankets. At the very back, he noticed something covered with a great cloth. He pulled it away and found himself grinning. Firewood. They would manage to make themselves quite comfortable.

Not long after, they had a nice fire going.

"Now if we only had roast beef instead of these dried things," Éomer said, waving his piece of dried meat high into the air, "there is nothing better than the formidable Roast Beef of Old Rohan. It would be perfect."

"Ha," Faramir retorted, "then you have never tasted Gondor's finest ragout. There is nothing better, believe me!"

"Oh, no wonder you would say that. You are a sissy, and this is exactly what your ragout is there for � sissies. I am sure that you would turn green if one were to set a piece of horse meat in front of you."

"You are sure there? We can put it to the test. When we get home, I will gladly eat some Firefood-ham. I am convinced that he will taste most delicious."

Éomer bared his teeth and smiled wickedly. "You dare. What about some Faramir ragout. Perhaps I can find a liking in it!"

Faramir made a rude gesture and Éomer lunged at him, causing them to topple over and almost land in the fire. They rolled around wrestling until they finally came to lie in a tangle on the floor with Éomer on top. For a moment, they could not move, neither wanted.

***

Faramir lay pinned to the floor, unable to move. Éomer's body was heavy upon him, his breath hot on his cheek and his hair in his eyes. For a moment he felt sick and then... he felt desire surge through him. He looked into Éomer's eyes, dark and glittering. For a moment, all was still, and then hands were grabbing at him, and he was grabbing back. The kiss was rough, eager and passionate, nothing like that of a woman; but it felt so good.

Suddenly there were hands on his chest, his arms, his sides, traveling ever lower. He felt them tugging at the laces of his jerkin and finally parted it. He felt hot now, both from the fire behind them and and the passion within him. Soon Faramir had discarded Éomer's tunic and shirt and flung it several feet away. And oh, the man was beautiful, the fibres of his muscles rippled with every movement he made as he leaned over Faramir to place a trail of kisses on Faramir's neck and down his shoulders. Faramir gripped Éomer's arms, feeling muscles hardened by many years of wielding blade and bow. But the skin was soft, though broken here and there by scars. He could feel himself hardening and scraped the nails of his fingers sharply across the other's back. And then they had undone the lacings of their breeches. He reached down hungrily.

The coupling was brief and painful at first; until Éomer had hit something deep within him. Faramir decided that it was one of the best experiences he had ever had. Soon they were lying next to each other, the sweat slowly drying between them. Éomer drew one of the blankets he had found over both of them. It smelled; but at this point, Faramir did not mind.

***

When Éomer woke, pale sunlight already illuminated the cave. He lifted his head groggily, then let it fall back on... Faramir's arm? He touched the other man's hair where it lay tangled with his own. He liked the contrast of raven and gold. But how did it come that he was lying stark naked in his brother-in-law's arms? The memory was slow to come, but then it came with full force. And it was not an altogether unpleasant one. It certainly had felt very good! He yawned and rolled over, freeing Faramir's arm. What was he to do now? Place a kiss on his brow? He would have done that with Loth�riel. But he was not her, Béma, he was not even a woman! He might hit him! But certainly not with his right, he thought, chuckling. It was sure to pain Faramir when he woke � as were other parts of his body. He grinned at that. He decided on a quick peck. At that moment, Faramir opened his eyes; Éomer had never noted their clear, grey colour. He streched and groaned.

"Am I still in possession of my right arm?" he asked. "Ah, it feels as if something heavy lay upon it!"

Éomer laughed long and hard at that. "I fear that the 'something' was my head, dear friend. You make a formidable cushion. I give you my thanks," he added as an afterthought.

"Now did you per chance � as compensation for the usage of my arm � did you per chance make a fire, fetch water and prepare breakfast? That would be most kind."

"But say, Faramir, are you not disturbed by our... at the situation we find ourselves in? This is hardly normal for me."

"Neither is it common for me. But I have never been one to shy at something I did. I am fully aware of the facts. You are married to my cousin and I am married to your sister; do you wish to tell either of them? I do not. I value my life, you know. And you know your sister. It happened once and will never happen again. That is all there is."

Faramir untangled himself and went to the mouth of the cave, but Éomer remained lying on the floor, enjoying the view of Faramir's retreating backside. He had much to think about. Were they to go on as if nothing had happened? He knew that they had no other chance, but was it possible? He sighed. Éomer was a man of action, used to make honest decisions, could he be silent and let the matter rest for the remainder of his days? Faramir made it sound too easy. He threw the covers aside and followed the other man out.

He found Faramir standing by the waterfall, washing away the sweat and other things of last night's activities. Éomer touched the water with his hand and shivered; the water was cold, but Faramir did not seem to care. He cleared his throat, but the rush of the water was too loud for it to be heard.

"Faramir!" he shouted, and the other turned at last. "We must speak!" We must speak? Now I am sounding like an angry wife!

"No, not a word!" Could he detect fear in Faramir's eyes? "Nothing happened. There is no love between us, only friendship. We both love our wives and children, and with them we shall remain, my brother."

"It is not as easy as that, Faramir. It will be... difficult."

"Difficult?" Faramir laughed bitterly and poked a finger into Éomer's chest, making Éomer take a step backwards, "you know nothing about it. It will be nothing compared to what I once endured, but I kept silent." Another poke, but he did not elaborate.

Shocked, Éomer took another step backwards. Never had he seen his gentle friend so angered. Suddenly his naked foot caught at some kind of stone. Arms flailing, he tried to take hold of something to keep himself upright, but only met with air.

***

Faramir stood stock still, unable to move for many moments. Éomer had disappeared from the edge of the cliff. Then motion came back to him and he hastened over, trying to find Éomer somewhere down below. Where was he? Without bothering to put on some clothing, he began the descend, all the while calling for the man. The descend was longer and more laborious than he remembered. Stones dug in his unshod feet, but he took no heed. He had to find Éomer quickly! The echoes of his calls wandered through the ravine, but they were only answered by silence.

At last he reached the bottom and hastened into the direction Éomer must have fallen. He ran over stones, grass, water and finally stopped in front of a cluster of boulders. There lay the form of a man, bleeding from many wounds where the sharp rocks had bitten into his skin. Éomer did not move, made no sound. Faramir dropped at his side, frantically searched for a pulse, but found none. He had been a warrior long enough to know that all attempts were futile and let out a long, loud, agonized howl of pain.

Éomer was dead, and it was his, Faramir's fault. Many thoughts raced through his mind. How could he ever look Éowyn in the eyes, or Loth�riel and so many others. He hung his head. Elfwine, who was to be the King of Rohan after his father, was a mere two years old, destined to never know his father. And it was his fault alone.

He sat there for many minutes, crying silently over his friend's lifeless body. When he finally lifted his head, he knew then what to do � and there was not much time. He willed himself to stop thinking and do what instinct told him; he knew that he would never be able to get Éomer back alone. The terrain was difficult and he could neither use the river, nor drag the body through the wild. He must somehow get back and bring others to help him get Éomer home. Faramir climbed up to the cave and dressed, then got Éomer's body up into the cave so that no wild animals would get him. He bathed his wounds slowly, dressed the body and finally covered it.

Faramir made the journey to the Great River as fast as he could, but progress was still too slow for his liking. When he reached And�in at last, he was sapped out of all strength. He collapsed on the damp ground and succumbed to an exhausted sleep.

When next he woke, he was surrounded by many men, and one was calling his name.

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Faramir remembered little from the journey down to Osgiliath, only that he was led ashore and to the quarters of the city's commander. He slept for many hours, then went outside into the fresh morning. When he returned inside, he found that captain Brandir was already waiting for him.

"What happened, Faramir?" he asked solemnly, his face stern and betraying no emotion.

"Éomer is dead."

Brandir paled. "How did it happen? Where is he? Were you attacked?"

Faramir lowered his head. "He is at Henneth-Ann�n. We were not attacked, Brandir, it was an accident. Éomer slipped and fell of a cliff. Send some men to fetch him."

Brandir opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

Faramir narrowed his eyes and looked at him. "Do you not believe me, Brandir?"

The Captain of Osgiliath shook his head. "You have never given me reason not to believe or trust you, my lord. It is only that I think it is a tragedy that a man who has braved war and terror meets his death in a mere accident."

"Indeed," Faramir echoed, "it does make us humble, does it not?"

Brandir nodded and clapped Faramir on the shoulder. "I am sorry that you had to witness it, my lord. I will make a cart ready," he finished, saluted and left Faramir on his own.

That meant that Faramir a few days on his hands. He decided to have a look at the fortifications, of the city. A bit disappointed that he could detect no fault, which would have given him something else to thing about, he seated himself behind a building and closed his eyes. The weather was fair and warm, and the air held a fishy aroma. Faramir sighed. He would rather have had rain at that moment, now and for a long time to come. All seemed to be mocking him; it was indeed no good time to die. He wept again, but did not bother to wipe the tears away. They were honest tears and he had been soldier long enough to know that there was no shame in choosing a quiet corner if the emotions were too overwhelming.

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Present

I shake my head to clear myself of the memories. Loth�riel took the memories with stoic acceptance, clutching young Elfwine in her arms. Just the behaviour expected from a queen and daughter of Imrahil, but she could not hide the pain from someone who knows her as well as I do. Since then, she has rarely spoken, and never with me. I think the only thing that kept her here was her little son.

Aragorn, Aragorn had first given me one of his penetrating stares that made me fear that he knew the full story, but then hugged me tightly as one grieving friend another, trying to give and take solace at the same time. Never has a word of reproach left his mouth, no matter what he perceives or guesses.

The hardest one was Éowyn. She was the only one who openly blamed me for her brother's death, though rather out of grief than real knowledge. One day she was shouting at me, the next silence lay heavily over our house. For years she refused to accompany me me on my trips to the city. And the worst is that I could never be angry with her, for I fully deserved her treatment of me.

But time did pass, and the wound healed, though it left scars on all of us.

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A.N. I am pretty sure that Henneth-Ann�n was not deserted at that time, but I had to throw the valiant rangers out for the purpose of the story.