Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

In the House of Gondor	By : LuckyPanda13 Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 5373 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any character from Lord of the Rings, and I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Éomer
- 2-Faramir
- 1
- 2
Éomer could not move. The image of his sister, paler than he had ever seen her, paler than even her nickname implied, unmoving on a bed frightened him beyond belief. When he had spotted her on the battlefield, panic and anger filled him and he lost his mind, brutally attacking every enemy in his sight for vengeance. Now that he knew she was alive, but barely, he did not know what to do, what to think. She was his baby sister. He had taught her everything she knew of fighting. He had teasingly tormented her into disguising herself and fighting in battle. It was his fault. He had always taken care of her. It was his job. Even after Théoden adopted them, it had always been Éomer’s self-proclaimed job to care for her and ensure she was safe. That was why he taught her swordplay. He knew that he would not always be around to care for her, so he taught her the basics. Nothing was supposed to happen to her. First Théodred, then Théoden, now Éowyn…
“She is healing, Éomer.” Aragorn’s voice jolted the man from his thoughts. “She will have to remain here for at least a fortnight for her to fully recover. She had severe Black Breath, but we caught it quickly, so she should survive. There is nothing more to be done. You should rest.” Aragorn did not need to say that the meeting with all the commanders the next day would be hellish.
“Thank you.” Éomer managed to get out before Aragorn left him. Aragorn shot him a tired smile before moving on to the next patient. He watched the chest of his sister rise and fall slowly, too slowly for her to be sleeping naturally, for a long time before he could convince himself to look away again. A groan of pain caught his attention and he looked over at the man Aragorn was tending to and felt his heart stop.
Éomer had never properly met Faramir, but there was no other person it could be. He had been privileged to meet Boromir once, when they were much younger, and all the older man would talk about was the brilliance of his younger brother. The resemblance between the brothers was striking. Had Éomer not known of his death, he would have thought that the man on the bed was Boromir. A second, cursory look showed Éomer how different Faramir looked, compared to his brother. Faramir had the same hair, same eyes, even the same nose, but his build was slighter, less of a warrior and more of a ranger. Éomer had known for a long time that he appreciated men more so than women, but his appreciation of Faramir’s physique was a little frightening, all things considered.
“This will take the poison from your wound.” Aragorn promised softly, mashing an herb with water in his hands. Faramir was covered in sweat and his chest heaved with fever, but his grey eyes were conscious, intelligent, and observant.
“Athelas.” He croaked out, eyeing the herb in Aragorn’s fingers. Aragorn smiled, but didn’t respond. Faramir flinched weakly as Aragorn pressed the herb into the bright red wound on his side, gasping at the sting. His knuckles were stark white with the pain as he struggled not to attack Aragorn. Éomer felt a stab of admiration for his self-control. Faramir’s eyes closed briefly and when they opened, they stopped on Éomer. Embarrassed that he had been caught, Éomer went to the other side of Faramir’s bed and took his fist tightly, silently offering support and help in attempting to not throw Aragorn off him.
“That will need to be changed tomorrow.” Aragorn sighed, wrapping the wound back up with clean bandages. Faramir nodded, though Éomer could see the despair in his eyes. Éomer really did not want to experience the pain Faramir was going through.
“Thank you, my king.” Faramir’s voice was miserable and Éomer handed him a goblet of water without thinking. Aragorn looked briefly startled at Faramir’s response, but threw his tired smile back on quickly. Faramir drank deeply from the goblet while Aragorn thought of a reply.
“Thank Éomer.” He said. “You’d probably have punched me if he hadn’t stepped in.”
“Yes.” Faramir shot Éomer a grateful, if exhausted, smile. “Thank you.”
“Get some rest.” Éomer stole Aragorn’s words, making Aragorn snort lightly and leave them. He took the goblet from the man. “Let the herb do its work.” Faramir did not reply, but he was asleep by the time Éomer had returned the goblet to its place and returned to Éowyn’s bedside.
For the rest of the day, Éomer ignored Aragorn’s advice and kept a steady watch on Éowyn. And Faramir. He couldn’t help watching the man. There was nothing to do for Éowyn, since she was still passed out and her body was taking care of the Black Breath itself. Faramir’s fever kept him sweating and Éomer knew from experience how uncomfortable that would be when the Captain finally woke up. While keeping one eye on his sister, as always, Éomer found a shallow basin and a cloth and cleaned the sweat from Faramir’s face and neck. He made a cold compress and left on Faramir’s head, hoping his fever would break. Each time Faramir woke in a daze, Éomer handed him a goblet of water and ensured he had enough to drink before he passed out again.
“Thank you.” Faramir muttered every single time before falling asleep again. Éomer maintained his vigil over his two charges, ignoring his own needs. At some point, Aragorn returned, checking on all the patients, and looked both unsurprised and mildly annoyed at Éomer. When Aragorn finally left the Houses, he sent Éomer a plate of food with the strict orders to “eat something before you pass out”. Obediently, Éomer ate the food, but nearly choked when he saw Éowyn’s eyes flutter open. He probably looked like a mess when he stumbled over to her bedside, but he didn’t care. She was awake.
“Éowyn.” He smiled in relief and her eyes met his. A small smile flitted over her features for a brief moment before pain filled them. Éomer had been taking care of her long enough to know what the pain meant. “He is with Théodred now. Do not allow his death to take you, too.” The sad smile fell back on her face when she spotted the pain in his.
“How could I leave you alone, ‘Mer? You’d be lost without me.” Her voice was hardly recognizable from the pain. Relief filled him and he hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair gratefully. Tears of relief pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, burying his worry and relief deep in his chest. Éowyn had no such qualms, so her tears broke free without a fight.
“I was worried, ‘Wyn. I’m glad you’re safe.” He said. “Next time you want to go into battle, please let me know before you decide to take on the Witch King of Angmar.” Éowyn burst out laughing and she wiped at her face, still crying through her laughter.
“You’re not mad?” She mumbled.
“I’m furious.” Éomer kissed her forehead. “But I know better than to get between you and what you want. Plus, you killed the Witch King. How could I be mad when I’m so proud?”
“Thank you, ‘Mer.” The siblings hugged again, their bodies relaxing as their worry fled their minds. A low groan followed by coughing had Éomer halfway to Faramir’s bed before he realized what happened. He took the cloth from Faramir’s forehead and handed the man the water, cooling the cloth in the small basin. Faramir downed the goblet and fell asleep almost instantly after murmuring his thanks. Éomer replaced the cloth on his forehead, gladly noting how his fever was slowly breaking, before refilling the goblet and returning to Éowyn’s bedside. The look on her face and the quirk of her brow made Éomer blush, something he forgot he was capable of.
“Is there something you should be telling me, ‘Mer?” A knowing smirk on her features. She knew his attentions tended towards men rather than women.
“That’s Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor.” Éomer ignored the question, hoping that his sister would forget her original question.
“Mmhmm.” Éowyn looked over at the sleeping man before focusing her eyes back to her brother. “Is there something you should be telling me, brother?” She repeated. Éomer shoved his face into his hands, groaning. He should have known better than to hope she’d leave it alone.
“Is it that obvious?” He asked, peering at her from between his fingers.
“Only because I am your sister.” Éowyn said sagely. “He’s quite handsome, your captain.”
“Éowyn!” Éomer frowned at his sister, hoping his chastising face would make her stop.
“You were taking care of him almost before he needed caring.” She explained, patiently. “You are kind, brother, but you focus your kindness on those you care about. Also, your face was the softest I have ever seen. I’ve never seen you so gentle, not even with me.”
“But ‘Wyn–”
“Oh, I know you love me, ‘Mer.” She waved his protest away. “But this Faramir is something different.”
“I hardly know him!” Éomer argued.
“That appears to matter little.” Éowyn retorted.
“You seem to be in fine spirits after battling Black Breath and dealing with a broken arm.” Éomer was not pouting. Éowyn smiled.
“I have my elder brother to watch over me and he’s finally found the person for him. I have every right to be in fine spirits.” Neither of them mentioned how lonely she was. Éomer knew he wouldn’t be able to be properly happy until Éowyn was happy. He couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love her, but he knew that her love was not so easily won.
“Let us talk no more of it.” Éomer pouted.
“Would you rather discuss what will happen now?” Éowyn asked.
“Aragorn would have us go to the Black Gates of Mordor to draw them out.” Éomer replied, his spirits dropping.
“The…” Éowyn froze, mouth open in surprise. “A distraction?”
“To buy the hobbits time to get to Mount Doom.” Aragorn had told him everything about their quest to destroy the One Ring. “If we can give them the opportunity to destroy Sauron once and for all, it will be worth the sacrifice.”
“I wish I could ride with you.” Éowyn sighed.
“I know you do.” Éomer smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. “But I am glad you cannot, if only to know you are safe.”
“As safe as I can be.” She muttered. “If this fails, Gondor will be the first to fall.”
“Then I’ll just have to ensure that we don’t fail.” Éomer threw a bit of bravado on to show her he was trying to make her smile, even though he was completely serious about ensuring no evil reached her. Éowyn rolled her eyes, a smile flitting across her features before a yawn overtook her. “I’ve kept you awake long enough.” He kissed her forehead again. “Sleep. I will take care of you.”
“You always do, ‘Mer.”
“It’s my job, ‘Wyn.” When she was safely asleep again, working off the rest of the Black Breath, Éomer glanced over at Faramir, who had apparently regained consciousness at some point during his conversation with Éowyn and was drinking water quietly. Éomer got up and returned to the Captain of Gondor’s bedside.
“I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced.” Faramir smiled at him gently. Éomer’s heart raced. “I’m Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor.”
“I recognize you.” Éomer admitted. “And the guards here speak very highly of you. I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and heir to the throne of Rohan. Well…”
“What?” Faramir blinked in confusion at Éomer’s hesitation. Éomer abruptly realized that the captain had been unconscious since before the Battle of Pelennor Fields.
“King Théoden, my uncle, died on the fields earlier today.” Éomer explained. “So, I am king in almost every way but technically.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Faramir’s smile fell. “You seem to be in the same boat as Aragorn.”
“Yes.” Éomer sighed, running his fingers through his tangled hair. “Two men who do not know politics and who have no education regarding ruling countries who are expected to become kings overnight and lead the world into peace, despite the looming threat of Sauron.”
“I’m sorry.” Faramir winced.
“Do not be.” Éomer waved his concern away. “I have long since come to terms with my fate. You are looking much better than you did.”
“Thanks to my bedside nurse.” Faramir chuckled. Éomer felt heat bloom on his face and promptly ignored it.
“I’d apologize, except I don’t feel sorry at all.” He replied. Faramir smiled.
“Your wife?” He indicated Éowyn’s bed.
“No!” Éomer spluttered. “Éowyn is my sister. She fought in the battle with the Rohirrim for reasons that are partially my fault, and she fought and killed the Witch King.”
“The Witch King of Angmar?!” Faramir gasped, jaw dropping. His brows furrowed lightly. “How is that your fault?”
“I tried to keep her from the battle.” And then Éomer was telling the captain all the details of Éowyn’s training and how he had basically taunted her into joining them, which he still felt guilty about. Faramir was laughing at one of the times Éowyn had tricked him into teaching her more swordplay when despair crossed his features and sadness filled his eyes. Éomer fought the urge to touch the man’s face.
“I apologize.” Faramir shook his head and stared down at his hands. “It’s just… I haven’t… My brother… You are a talented storyteller, Éomer.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Faramir.” Éomer replied. “Boromir was a great man.”
“And now my father is dead as well.” Faramir sighed. “I loved him, too, despite…”
“Despite?” Éomer had heard many stories and rumors about the relationship between the Steward of Gondor and his younger son. With every story he heard, Éomer was grateful he had never met the man. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have liked Denethor much.
“He was still my father despite his faults.” Faramir finished.
“My uncle, Théoden, basically raised Éowyn and me.” Éomer took the stress from Faramir’s shoulders. He started talking about the pain of being orphaned and having to care for a young Éowyn by himself as a child before their uncle took them in. The wounds had long since healed and the pain had long since been lost to time, but Éomer still felt odd about telling the darkness of his past to Faramir, who was such a creature of the light. He shifted his stories to focus on the mischief he, Éowyn, and Théodred got into while growing up. He brought Faramir back to laughter quickly and the tension he didn’t realize had settled in his gut relaxed.
“Boromir and I used to get into scraps like that.” Faramir laughed. The sadness flickered behind his eyes for a moment but the happy memory took him over and then Éomer was regaled with tale after tale of the happy childhood between the brothers with the occasional solemn interruption by Denethor. Éomer found himself laughing, something that hadn’t happened lately. He had forgotten how much joy there was in laughter, which admittedly, sounded stupid, but wartime left little cause for merriment. Coughing tore his attention back to his sister.
“Are you all right?” Éomer asked, handing his sister a goblet before he realized he had moved. He glanced back at Faramir, who looked more amused than anything else. Éowyn didn’t look much better than she did when she was lying prone on the battlefield, but being awake was a definite improvement.
“Fine.” Éowyn smiled after she had sipped some water. “Don’t worry so much, brother.”
“Now, you know better than that, ‘Wyn.” Éomer smiled. “I worry about everything.”
“It’s why you will be a good king.” She replied. “Your kindness causes you to worry.”
“I think it’s my little sister who doesn’t know how to quit the field when the Witch King is attacking her.” Éomer rolled his eyes. Éowyn laughed and sipped more water, beckoning him closer.
“How’s your captain?” She murmured softly. Éomer frowned.
“I’m not going to woo a man on his sickbed when I have to go off to war in a few days from which I likely will not return.” Éomer replied.
“Don’t take that tone with me, ‘Mer.” His sister glowered at him. “And you will survive. If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you.” Éomer sighed.
“I promise that I will try to survive, ‘Wyn.”
“Go back to your captain.” Éowyn ordered. “I am going to rest.” Obediently, Éomer took the goblet from her to place it on a table before kissing her hand and returning to Faramir’s bedside.
“Is she all right?” Faramir asked, concern deep in his voice. It occurred to Éomer that he didn’t even know if the captain would be receptive to his attentions. Perhaps he would be happier with his sister. Then Éowyn would have someone, too.
“Yes. Her Black Breath was caught quickly, according to Aragorn. He said she’ll be stuck here for a fortnight, though. She won’t be pleased.” Éomer said.
“He said as much to me.” Faramir admitted. “I admit that I am not pleased, either, but I do understand the importance of allowing myself to heal. Gondor will need me.”
“You should try explaining that to Éowyn.” Éomer sighed, trying to run his fingers through his hair in his agitation and realizing that he couldn’t pull his fingers through the tangles and snarls brought about from the battle. He hadn’t done any form of grooming at all between the battle and his steady watch in the Houses. Faramir’s eyes lighted on the tick and a bemused smile lit up his face.
“You should take better care of yourself, Éomer.” He said.
“Yes, Éomer, you should.” Aragorn’s voice made both men jump and Faramir twitched in pain. “I’m sorry, Faramir. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Faramir sighed. “Ready to get out of this bed.”
“Well, your fever has broken.” Aragorn checked out his patient. “But the infection is not gone. I’ll change out the athelas in the morning before the meeting with the commanders.”
“Thank you.” Faramir nodded. “Now, can you talk some sense into this one?” He gestured at Éomer, who blinked in surprise.
“What?”
“Yes.” Aragorn turned to the Rohirrim. “Éomer, you need to bathe. You have scratches and bruises and cuts from the battle and you haven’t kept any of them clean. You could have an infection, which could keep you from the battle.” Éomer flushed bright red and clenched his teeth. “As do you, Faramir.” Faramir’s snickers abruptly stopped. “You will have to clean up eventually, and I’d rather you do it before the oil and dirt and ash on your skin infects your wound again. Actually, Éomer, could you assist Faramir? He won’t have the movement ability to clean himself appropriately.”
“Uh…” Éomer knew his eyes were huge and his face was red and he felt utterly absurd.
“Thanks.” Aragorn took his hesitation for an answer and moved over to Éowyn’s bedside. When she answered him readily, Éomer knew she had been eavesdropping. He mentally swore and looked at Faramir, whose face was bright red and adorable.
“I can get someone else to assist you if you’d rather.” Éomer said, drawing the captain’s attention.
“Oh. No.” Faramir cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I trust my nurse over anyone else anyway.” Éomer forced back his blush and helped Faramir rise from the bed. True to Aragorn’s words, the captain was stiff and his wounded side was not helping matters any.
“I can carry you, if you’d prefer.” Éomer offered. Faramir’s blush intensified.
“I’d rather maintain some dignity.” He asserted stubbornly.
“As you wish.” Éomer helped Faramir hobble his way towards the bathing rooms. Each small bath was separate from all of the others in order to maintain some privacy between those housed in the Houses. Éomer led him to one that was larger than the others, allowing for multiple people in the bath and rolled his eyes at the towels, bandages, and variety of soaps that Aragorn had obviously laid out. The man was nothing if not annoying with his caretaking. How the king had known which bath he would go into was beyond Éomer, but he stopped bothering to question him.
“Here, sit down.” Éomer helped Faramir onto a stone bench and waited for the captain to regain his breath.
“Thank you.” Faramir replied, finally. “That was… unpleasant.”
“Are you all right?” Éomer asked.
“I’m fine.” Faramir waved his concern away. Éomer decided to start removing his clothes, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to help Faramir properly from outside the bath. He took his boots off, following by his shirt and undershirt when he glanced at the captain. Faramir’s eyes were wide and staring at Éomer’s chest, his face bright red. A weight lifted itself from Éomer’s chest. Faramir preferred men, it seemed. He smiled to himself and cleared his throat. Faramir’s eyes shot up to Éomer’s and his face turned even redder, if it was possible.
“Do you need some assistance?” Éomer asked gently, knowing better than to blatantly seduce the captain. Faramir shook his head and tried to shift the nightshirt he had on off his form, but hissed as he stretched his wound. Snorting, Éomer walked over to the captain and gently pried the shirt from Faramir’s form, allowing his eyes to appreciate the finer details to Faramir’s bared torso for a long moment. He glanced up at Faramir, who was still flushed, and smiled.
“Thank you.” Faramir muttered, stiffly.
“That’s why I’m here, is it not?” Éomer replied. “Come. If you don’t bathe, Aragorn will have my hide.” Faramir smiled and bowed his head, letting his hair obscure his features for a moment. Éomer waited for the captain to nod before he helped him upright. Faramir managed his pants by himself while Éomer got his own off. Stubbornly, Éomer refused to take in Faramir’s naked glory, feeling mildly inappropriate for taking advantage of the situation the captain was in. Silently, he helped the captain into the bath and had him sitting at the underwater bench before he got into himself.
“Thank you.” Faramir sighed into the relaxing warmth of the bath. “My bandages are wet, though.”
“I think that’s what those are for.” Éomer said dryly, gesturing to the stack of bandages directly next to the stack of towels. Faramir glanced over and snorted.
“Aragorn’s such a mother.”
“Yes, he is.” Éomer chuckled, grabbing a bar of soap and starting to scrub his skin.
“Come here.” Faramir ordered. Éomer glanced at the other man, who looked amused. He slid over to the captain and Faramir took the soap from him and started washing the skin of his arm gently. Éomer watched the man as the dirt, ash, and varieties of blood was slowly rubbed from his skin and into the water.
“Thank you.” Éomer muttered.
“You’ve been taking care of me.” Faramir replied. “I am merely showing my gratitude.”
“Speaking of caring for you…” Éomer eyed the dirt and ash on the other man’s skin. Faramir shrugged.
“One thing at a time.” He said. Éomer chuckled and allowed Faramir to continue his thorough cleaning on his arms, chest, and back. Faramir didn’t dare venture below the water, much to Éomer’s amusement.
“I can get the rest.” He offered at the dark blush Faramir was desperately trying to hide. Silently, Faramir handed him the soap and Éomer stood on the bench to better reach his lower torso and legs. He was excruciatingly thorough in his washing, but didn’t realize he had garnered much attention from his charge until he dropped back into the water to rinse the suds from his body. Faramir’s eyes were wide and focused deeply on the water around him, alerting Éomer to the knowledge that Faramir had likely been watching him the entire time.
“You need to clean your hair.” Faramir finally worked up the courage to look at Éomer again. Éomer sighed and tugged the tie out of his hair painfully. He submerged completely, knowing his hair was going to be a mess. “Sit down.” Faramir ordered. Éomer obediently sat next to his charge, passing him the bottle of liquid soap Aragorn had left. Gentle fingers washed his hair thoroughly albeit painfully. Faramir made Éomer rinse his hair between washings until he could get his fingers through the dirty blond hair without resistance.
“Thank you.” Éomer wrung as much water from his hair as he could before looking at the captain of Gondor with a bemused smirk. “Now, you have to quit avoiding letting me help you, because you need to get clean, too.” Faramir flushed and bit down on his lip. “I won’t hurt you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Faramir muttered. Éomer knew he wasn’t supposed to have heard the words, so he wisely ignored them.
“Relax, Faramir.” Éomer said, dropping his voice into the deep, soothing tones that always calmed Éowyn and Firefoot. He waited for Faramir to nod his consent before sitting next to the man and using the bar of soap to gently clear the skin of the dirt and ash. Years of experience with helping bathe Éowyn when she was little, and Théodred when they got older gave Éomer the gentle efficiency of cleaning the skin while simultaneously relaxing the muscles beneath. Faramir groaned and dropped his head back onto the edge of the bath, his eyes fluttering shut in appreciation. Éomer worked silently, cleaning and relaxing every inch of skin and every muscle above the surface of the water, avoiding anything beneath to keep Faramir comfortable. He cupped water in his palms and slowly rinsed the suds from the soft skin in his reach.
“You are amazing.” Faramir murmured, his voice soft and lazy in relaxation.
“Thank you.” Éomer chuckled. “But you are only half-clean, Faramir. Would you like to finish the job?” Faramir’s eyes snapped open in realization and turned bright red.
“Uh, yes.” He stuttered out. Éomer passed him the bar of soap and turned around with the pretense of busying himself with his hair and getting water out of it so Faramir would feel more comfortable. He heard the water drip behind him and kept his back turned, reaching for a towel to dry his hair more efficiently. He waited for Faramir to clear his throat before he dropped the towel and turned back to his charge.
“Shall I help with your hair?” Éomer asked. Faramir started to shrug but flinched in pain as his wound was stretched again. Éomer used the same process Faramir used to clean the captain’s hair and get rid of the tangles, albeit with much more practice and surety. Faramir once again relaxed into Éomer’s touch, practically purring while Éomer’s fingers slid through the locks and cleaning them thoroughly. Finally, the water rinsed the hair clean and Éomer chuckled at the puddle of a man relaxing against his chest.
“Faramir?” The man merely grunted in response. Rolling his eyes fondly, Éomer slid around his charge and gathered him in his arms, stepping out of the warm pool before Faramir realized what was happening. The captain shivered in the cold and opened his eyes sleepily. Éomer sat him down on the bench and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, drying the damp skin gently and with the same relaxing massage with which he cleaned said skin. Faramir was so close to falling asleep that he didn’t even flinch when Éomer started drying below the waist. He did flinch when Éomer pulled off the soaked bandage and redressed the still burning red wound with dry bandages. The discomfort didn’t last long, because when he started on Faramir’s hair, the man groaned in pleasure as a yawn wracked his body. Éomer chuckled in amusement and helped Faramir redress himself in the clean clothes Aragorn had also thoughtfully provided before dressing himself quickly.
“Thank…” Faramir mumbled, trying to keep his eyes open.
“You’re very welcome.” Éomer replied, combing out the dark brown locks gently. Faramir fell asleep not long after Éomer had started, making him chuckle to himself. He tugged the comb through his hair quickly before tying it back and looking at the slumbering captain on his chest. He shifted Faramir into his arms and carried him back to his bed, ignoring the bright grin from Éowyn and the snickering from Aragorn from where they were sitting. He settled Faramir back in his bed before returning to his sister’s bedside.
“Not one word, ‘Wyn.” He ordered, shooting his sister a glower. She snickered, but kept her lips firmly shut.
“You look much better when you’ve taken care of yourself properly.” Aragorn noted, wisely not mentioning Faramir. “And when you’re caring for another.” Or not so wisely, it seemed.
“I’ll knock you out, my liege.” Éomer retorted. Aragorn rolled his eyes.
“Not you, too.” He groaned. “I’m getting enough of that from the guards.”
“Payback.” Éomer smiled.
“Well, stop it.” Aragorn grinned. “Don’t forget to eat.”
“Yes, thank you, mom.” Éomer rolled his eyes.
“Éowyn, make sure this stubborn fool eats.” Aragorn smiled at the woman. Éowyn grinned in response. “And get more rest. The Black Breath has not released you, yet.” He walked to Faramir’s bed to double-check Éomer’s redressing of the wound before leaving the Houses.
“So…” Éowyn held the word out for a long time.
“Éowyn…” Éomer narrowed his eyes dangerously at his sister.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense!” Éowyn whined. “Does he appreciate you the way you appreciate him?”
“Appreciate.” Éomer snorted at the word choice. “All signs indicate so, yes.” Éowyn grinned.
“See? You’ll have him before you know it.”
“And then I’ll go fight Sauron’s armies at the Black Gates.” Éomer pointed out. “Even if I survive, I’ll have to go be king. A king must have an heir.” Éowyn frowned at him, the dark circles around her eyes worrying Éomer even as he grew fondly annoyed with her perseverance.
“So adopt one.” She argued. “There are more than enough orphans from this war for you to have as many children as anyone could hope for. And if you must have a blood heir, you know that my future children will always be available for that.”
“Well, looks like we’ll just have to find you a man.” Éomer said, eyeing the other patients in the Houses. “Perhaps a nice guard? Maybe a man who fought on the Fields beside you?” Éowyn’s eyes clouded with both pain and loneliness, but Éomer ignored it, knowing how to make her feel better. “Maybe you need a man of Gondor. I hear they are quite the lovers.”
“Éomer!” She gasped, affronted.
“Well, obviously the Rohirrim aren’t doing anything for you, so we need to find someone else.” Éomer shrugged. “Oh!” He gasped, like he had discovered a big secret. “An elf!”
“Éomer!”
“That’s it!” He grinned at her. “You want an attractive elf as your husband!”
“You’re such a…” Éowyn bit back a rather unladylike word that made Éomer laugh. She was annoyed with him, but she had forgotten her loneliness for the moment.
“Don’t worry.” He said solemnly. “I won’t hurt your elf-man. Much.”
“I’m going to kill you.” She swore, glowering at him.
“First, you need to rest.” Éomer ordered. “You can kill me later.” Éowyn grumbled for a few more minutes, but finally dropped off into a slumber. Éomer watched over his two charges for the remainder of the day, though neither woke again. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep on his watch until he startled awake the next morning, masterfully avoiding falling out of his chair. When he regained his senses and looked around, he spotted Faramir and Éowyn sitting on the same bed and snickering at him. He glowered at them and felt abruptly terrified that his sister had talked for any length of time to the captain.
“What are you two doing?” He asked warily. Éowyn burst out laughing, the dark circles under her eyes much less than they had been the day before, making the knot in Éomer’s chest loosen. Éomer hated that laugh, because it inevitably meant mischief.
“Good morning.” Aragorn joined them before either of the troublemakers could reply. “Faramir, I’ll change the athelas in a moment. I’d like to check Éowyn, first, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Faramir got off the bed and gingerly returned to his bed. Éomer got up and moved to his sister’s side, watching Aragorn check her over.
“You’re much better than yesterday, but you’ll have to remain here in the Houses for at least ten more days.” Aragorn said. “The Black Breath has stolen your energy, so you wouldn’t be able to do much even if you weren’t bedridden. I’d rather have you here so you can be cared for with ease.” Éowyn opened her mouth to argue when she saw Éomer’s narrowed gaze.
“Thank you, Aragorn.” Éomer spoke up.
“Rest, Éowyn. You need it.” Aragorn said gently, moving to his next patient. Éomer pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead before following Aragorn to Faramir’s bedside. Aragorn peeled the bandage back and a sour smell emanated from the wound. Faramir flinched and looked away from the king, who seemed to have expected the foul scent. Éomer stood on the other side of the bed, offering Faramir his hand. He took it tightly and gritted his teeth as Aragorn pulled the now-black athelas from the wound.
“This will hurt.” Aragorn warned. Éomer leaned over Faramir, pressing his weight down on him so Aragorn could do his work. Faramir hissed and bit down on his lip, his body struggling to surge away from the stinging pain the athelas was providing. It took less than a minute for Aragorn to finish and wrap up the wound, but Faramir nearly dislodged Éomer three times in that time span.
“Thank you for your help, Éomer.” Aragorn sighed. “I’m sorry for the pain, Faramir.”
“How does it look?” Éomer asked, taking his weight off the other man.
“Better.” Aragorn nodded. “It shouldn’t need any more athelas to remove the infection. Tomorrow, it can be removed completely and the rest should heal on its own without problems. That being said, you can’t do anything strenuous until it heals, so you should stay here in the Houses for at least a week.”
“Thank you, my king.” Faramir breathed out.
“Rest.” Aragorn ordered. “Éomer, I have to check on the others, but I should be ready to go to the meeting soon. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course.” Éomer nodded. Aragorn returned to his other patients.
“Thank you.” Faramir sighed. “Again.”
“It’s nothing.” Éomer smiled before the nagging thought attacked him again, making him narrow his eyes in suspicion. “What did you talk to my sister about?”
“My cousins.” Faramir replied, chuckling at Éomer’s paranoia. “I had three cousins who fought the other day. I know not what happened to them, but all three are unmarried.” There was a twinkle in his eye that Éomer could only associate with mischief.
“Why, my dear captain, are you trying to set my sister up with your cousin?”
“Wherever did you get that idea?” Faramir grinned. I chuckled.
“Thank you.” I murmured. “You have no idea how much pain she’s been through.”
“I think that Erchirion or Amrothos would be best for her. Probably Amrothos, but she might take to Erchirion better. I’m almost positive she wouldn’t like Elphir much. I think you would like their younger sister, Lothíriel.” Faramir admitted.
“I’m sure she’s lovely, but I’d rather have my sister meet these cousins of yours.” Éomer admitted. Faramir smiled.
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Faramir said. “I am feeling much better today, so I’m sure I could have something sent to Lothíriel in order to figure out the whereabouts of her brothers.”
“Thank you.” Éomer said, gratefully. “I should check on my sister.” Faramir nodded and Éomer went to the other bed.
“He likes you.” Éowyn confided softly. “I can tell.”
“Oh, really?” Éomer rolled his eyes at his sister.
“Yes.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “And he doesn’t know how to show you.”
“He doesn’t have to; I know already.” Éomer smiled, shaking his head.
“So, what are you going to do?” Éowyn’s eyes brightened in excitement.
“I don’t know.” Éomer fondly brushed some hair from her face. “But, let’s talk about Faramir’s cousins for a minute.”
“I know you two are trying to set me up with one of them, but it’s not going to work, ‘Mer.” She sighed. “You don’t even know them. What if you don’t like them? What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them?”
“Listen to me, ‘Wyn,” Éomer ordered, looking into her eyes, “You are beautiful and strong and kind. Any man would be an idiot if he didn’t like you. Plus, Faramir wouldn’t lead you astray. He knows them better than anyone else you know and he thinks you’d get along with Amrothos the best, though Erchirion was a close second in his mind. I trust Faramir’s opinion on this. And, let’s say you don’t get along with either of them. We’ll find you a different man who isn’t an ass.”
“Éomer!” Éowyn smiled wryly at his curse.
“Trust me.” Éomer pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There is someone out there who will love you for everything you are. Well, someone besides me.”
“Thanks, ‘Mer.”
“Are you ready, Éomer?” Aragorn returned to his side.
“Yes.” Éomer smiled at his sister and threw a nod at Faramir before leaving the Houses of Healing for the first time since he entered them.
He returned that evening after hours of arguing with old men who had no idea what was at stake, significantly more annoyed at the people supposedly “in charge” of Gondor and Rohan and significantly less enthused about the resulting trip to the Black Gates. Both his sister and Faramir were sleeping, so he collapsed into the chair midway between their beds and rubbed at his temples, wondering if he could just sleep through the march out and get away with it. He promptly decided that as the future King of Rohan he had no choice and needed to stop whining to himself.
“What’s wrong, Éomer?” Éomer looked up to see Faramir, awake but still drowsy and starting at him with worry in his grey eyes.
“Just the end of the world as we know it.” Éomer replied, smiling tiredly. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.”
“You shouldn’t have to bear that burden alone.” Faramir sat upright. Éomer shrugged.
“In all likelihood, I’ll die before I have to bear it.” Éomer replied. “And if I don’t, then the world didn’t end and I don’t have to bear it at all.” Faramir frowned at Éomer’s cavalier attitude about his life. He scowled thoughtfully at the king for a long moment before he stood up. Immediately, Éomer got to his feet and went to Faramir’s side for support.
“You’ll support me, but you won’t allow me to do the same?” Faramir said, his eyebrow quirking up.
“Of course not.” Éomer teased. “I am, of course, always going to use double-standards to my advantage.”
“To your downfall.” Faramir muttered, glowering.
“It is not a worry I want to burden your shoulders with while you are still healing.” Éomer explained. “Your focus should be getting well, not all the potential what-ifs involved in launching a campaign of the magnitude we are launching two days hence.”
“The day after next?” Faramir’s brow furrowed. “So soon?” Éomer contemplated leaving and forcing the captain to rest, but Faramir was leaning on Éomer, whether out of necessity or manipulation, Éomer wasn’t sure. But, Éomer wasn’t about to abandon the captain in case he actually did require the help.
“We must arrive at the Black Gates quickly so we might give the hobbits a clear shot to Mount Doom.” Éomer finally answered.
“Frodo and Sam.” Faramir muttered. “I hope no harm has befallen them.”
“They were in your care?” Éomer asked.
“For a time.” Faramir admitted. “I sent them on their way with provisions. A creature, Sméagol he was called, was travelling with them. I do not trust him and I hope they don’t trust him either. He will lead them to ruin.”
“Both Gandalf and Aragorn seem sure that the hobbits are alive.” Éomer said. “The hobbits I have met are strong folk. They are quite easily overlooked, which will be their greatest asset if we are to succeed.”
“Will you help me to the balcony?” Faramir asked. “I haven’t seen my city since I left to go fight for Osgiliath.” Éomer was positive Faramir was being slightly manipulative when the captain walked to the open balcony under his own power. Éomer smiled to himself as he watched the other man lean on the railing and stare out at the city. The young king followed him to see the demolished Minas Tirith beneath them.
“I’m sorry.” Éomer said, not looking at Faramir, but instead at the city, motivating himself into his responsibilities by observing the destruction Sauron’s forces had wrought.
“The guards told me that most of the civilians had been evacuated to the upper levels before the battle even started.” Faramir said.
“Still,” Éomer leaned on the railing, “Those people were your friends and family.”
“It’s no worse than what you endured, both at the Battle of Helms Deep and here.” Faramir said.
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” Éomer replied. He felt Faramir’s gaze on him and turned his head. Faramir was silhouetted by the setting sun and Éomer felt his heart leap to his throat.
“I hope you survive.” The captain murmured. Éomer didn’t speak. He couldn’t bring himself to break the image before him. They stared at each other for long moments before Éomer stepped closer, pressing the side of his body against Faramir’s. He offered his physical presence as support for the other man, hoping he understood everything Éomer was trying to convey. Faramir’s hand came out and rested on Éomer’s and he turned back to his city, taking in every detail of the devastation.
“In any case,” Éomer brought them out of silence, “I hope my sister finds someone worthy of her love.”
“Amrothos was injured in the battle.” Faramir replied. “A poisoned arrow to the thigh. Lothíriel says Aragorn insists that he is doing well. I’ll introduce Éowyn to him while you’re gone.”
“Thank you.” Éomer turned to smile gratefully at the other man and found their faces closer than he would have expected. Faramir blushed, but didn’t avert his gaze. Éomer thought of all his responsibilities as future king of Rohan, all the potential outcomes of the future march to the Black Gates, every possible bad thing that could happen to destroy any potential for happiness he might have if he stayed with the idea of pursuing Faramir.
And promptly ignored all of them.
Slowly, giving Faramir all the time in the world to escape, Éomer closed the distance between them. Their lips met, both slightly chapped from slight dehydration, and all Éomer wanted was to be able to hold and love the man next to him for the rest of their lives. For some reason, that was all that mattered to him anymore. The kiss was gentle, sweet and more than anything Éomer had ever experienced. When they finally broke apart, Éomer rested his forehead against Faramir’s, breathing in the scent of the captain. They stood like that for a long time before Éomer pressed a kiss to Faramir’s forehead and turned back to the city, wrapping an arm around Faramir’s shoulders in a gentle embrace. Faramir relaxed against him, staring out at the desolation.
They didn’t move until Faramir flinched in pain as his injury started bothering him. Éomer helped the captain back to the bed before visiting his still-unconscious sister. Éowyn didn’t wake up before Éomer started nodding off in his chair.
“You should sleep in an actual bed.” Faramir noted as Éomer stood up to keep himself from falling out of the chair. “Especially when you only have two more nights in a true bed.”
“It’s far too late to find someone who knows where the room assigned to me is.” Éomer shrugged. “And I’d rather be close to you and Éowyn just in case.” Faramir smiled and a light blush covered his features.
“Then stay here.” Faramir shifted over in the bed, showing the expanse of empty space he was inviting Éomer to.
“I wouldn’t wish to presume…”
“You’re not.” Faramir interrupted. “I’m offering, Éomer.”
“Thank you.” Éomer sat on the bed and tugged off his boots before allowing himself to relax on the soft mattress.
“You don’t have to sleep at the edge of the bed.” Faramir sounded amused. “Idiot. I’m not going to hurt you.” Éomer turned to give the captain a wry look.
“That’s not what concerns me, Faramir.” Faramir blushed bright red, but didn’t flinch away from Éomer’s gaze. Finally, Éomer shook his head with a smile and granted himself the leisure of slightly more of the mattress. Faramir gave him a dirty look until he shifted again to take up at least half of the bed. Éomer gave him an amused look and Faramir sniffed haughtily before cuddling up to Éomer, much to the king’s surprise. Adoration filled Éomer’s chest and, wary of the injury that still plagued the captain, he wrapped his arms around Faramir to hold him closer. He allowed himself a moment of selfishness when he pressed another kiss to the man’s forehead before drifting off into sleep.

Thank you so much for reading the first part! It’s a little plot bunny that found me. I’ve always thought that Éomer and Faramir belonged together, but I hated the idea of leaving Éowyn alone, so I did some research and found Faramir’s cousins, which makes perfect sense all things considered. I tried to keep as close to book-canon as possible (aside from the obvious man-on-man hotness).
Thank you!

~LP
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In the House of Gondor