Disclaimer: All characters, places, objects, concepts etc. that you recognise from the Lord of the Rings universe belong to J.R.R. Tolkien or to their respective copyright owners. This story is not meant to offend anyone and I do not make any money with it.
Author's Note: It's been quite some time since I posted my last story, hasn't it? Well, here is one of the reasons for this long break. I had envisioned a light-hearted, romantic story, not too long, not too short, something of a palate cleanser if you will, while I thought of ideas for my next big project. But alas, I severely underestimated the subject matter or maybe gained a new perspective on it while writing and thus, this transitional project turned out not quite so easy-peasy after all...
Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, sexual content.
1. A Truth Universally Acknowledged
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."
- Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
The newly crowned King of the Rohirrim, Éomer, Éomund's son, swung lightly from his horse, the White Tree of Gondor at his back as he strode towards his first official meeting with King Elessar of Gondor. The last time he had been here, the smell of battle had hung in the air, smoke and blood and the faint echoes of terrified screams. Éowyn had been a pale ghost wandering through the halls, lost in despair and grief. He smiled as he thought of his sister now, glowing with happiness and love in the arms of a man who understood and respected her strong spirit.
"Éomer!" Aragorn's greeting jolted him from his thoughts as the other king quickly approached him and clasped his arms. "It is good to see you again, my friend!"
"Likewise," Éomer replied, surprised to find the hall empty when he had expected to find Aragorn surrounded by his advisors and guards. "It has been too long."
"Still, there is always enough time for hospitality and the renewal of our friendship before we discuss matters of state," Aragorn answered, leading him to the table that had been set up with all manners of food and drink. "Sit down, have a drink and something to eat and tell me how you have fared."
"Thank you," Éomer answered, accepting the goblet of watered down wine Aragorn handed him. "It has been a long ride indeed, though I admit I was glad for the opportunity."
They exchanged smiles of understanding, both men accustomed to wide open spaces and the solitude of the wild now forced into stuffy halls, social gatherings and political manoeuvrings.
"I am lucky to have Arwen and Faramir to help me," Aragorn offered and Éomer detected some strange emphasis in his words that he couldn't parse. "Without Arwen's soothing influence and Faramir's keen understanding of politics and his tireless efforts to smooth the transition, I fear Gondor would be clamouring to have their stewards back."
"I am sure you are exaggerating," Éomer replied. "The people of Gondor love their king and from what I have heard the last Ruling Steward of Gondor made rather a miserable if lasting impression."
A shadow flitted over Aragorn's handsome face, like the younger king had touched upon something painful. "I would thank you not to bring this subject up with Faramir. He carries enough hurts without being reminded of his father's last actions."
Éomer inclined his head, not sure he wanted to know exactly what Aragorn was referring to. It didn't matter in any case; it had been a thoughtless comment, and he was not so tactless as to repeat such words to the man's son.
The easy camaraderie they had forged on the battlefield carried them through the meal as they talked about other things: the rebuilding efforts in their respective kingdoms, the patrols along their borders, hosting elvish in-laws and Éowyn's impromptu wedding.
"I am glad she found her happiness," Aragorn said softly.
"So am I. I just wished he had waited until after their marriage to sweep her quite so thoroughly off her feet," Éomer grumbled good-naturedly. "Now everything has to be arranged post-haste before it becomes apparent that she is with child."
"Leofric gave her hope when all she saw was darkness," Aragorn offered. "I would not begrudge them for sharing their love freely."
"I don't," Éomer assured him. "And in any case, my sister does not need me to defend her honour and Leofric may be a simple rider from the Eastfold, but he fought bravely during the war and has shown Éowyn nothing but kindness and love. It is true that I would not have picked him as her husband, but then Éowyn has always been keen when it came to looking into the hearts of people."
Aragorn topped up his goblet. "And what about you? Is there someone you would pick for yourself?"
"I do not see any fated romance in my near future." Éomer laughed softly. "I can barely keep up with all my kingly duties – I would have no time for the duties of a husband on top of that."
"But having a wife would help, don't you think?" Aragorn suggested mildly, rising from his chair and indicating that they should take a postprandial stroll. "I spent the few weeks until Arwen's arrival hiding from potential devotees and self-proclaimed matchmakers. I was informed, repeatedly, that an unwed king was simply unfeasable."
"I have heard that as well," Éomer admitted, thinking of all the aspiring wives he had had to turn away, all the men that had tried to casually bring up the good qualities of their daughters, sisters or nieces. "But even if… I cannot follow my heart anymore, Aragorn, who ever I decide to marry has to be… strategic. Good for my kingdom, not just for me. If I pick one, I am bound to offend ten others and their respective families and houses. It is easier to do a bit of hiding."
Aragorn inclined his head. "What if you were to choose someone from another kingdom?"
Éomer swivelled around to fix the other man through narrowed eyes as it dawned on him where Aragorn was heading with this. "I was told you wanted to discuss the Oath of Eorl. Clearly that is not all you had in mind."
"I admit I was hoping to strengthen the alliance between our kingdoms even further." Aragorn rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed. "Sauron is defeated, for good as we hope, but there is no telling what foes and hardships the future will bring. Nor can we predict if those who come after us will have the same rapport and the same understanding of the need to help each other as we do. The Oath of Eorl was all but forgotten when it was needed most; who is to say that whatever agreement we reach in the coming days will be remembered when the time comes?"
"Who did you have in mind?" Éomer sighed, the wind tugging his long blond hair as they stepped out onto the spur of rock that divided the city's levels in two.
It wasn't that he found the idea absurd or even surprising, but while his uncle had often talked about Éowyn or Théodred finding a suitable and strategically valuable match, such discussions had never moved to involve him. He had never aspired to be anything more than he was, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, respected by his peers, loyal to his king. He had never expected to be king or to be faced with such choices.
"Prince Imrahil's daughter Lothíriel is of an age to be wed, beautiful to look upon and of a noble line," Aragorn suggested mildly, while they looked out on his city and his kingdom.
Éomer sighed again, bowing his head between his bent elbows. "I have met her briefly."
"You could spend some time with her while you are in Gondor, and maybe you will grow fond of her. This need not be only a political arrangement."
Éomer clenched his hands around the stone banister, grit his teeth against the desire to shout out his frustrations. "I may be able to grow fond of her, but I will never love her as a husband loves his wife, never desire her as a man desires a woman."
Aragorn hummed, not surprised just thoughtful. It still irked the young King of Rohan.
"Do not tell me you have not heard the rumours! I have never made a secret of my desires, nor have I been discreet in my escapades."
"I did not mean to upset you, my friend." Aragorn rested a supporting hand on his back.
Éomer took a few deep breaths, letting Aragorn's touch and the cool breeze sooth his temper. "Is this what it means to be king? Having to sacrifice my own happiness and that of an innocent woman for some abstract construct of peace?"
"Sometimes I think so," Aragorn replied, huffing out a quiet, mirthless laugh. "But in this case, I believe we can find a better solution. How would you feel about marrying a man?"
Éomer craned his head to the side, looking at the older man with open scepticism. "A man?"
"Faramir, to be exact," Aragorn replied, unconcerned. "It's not unheard of for two people of the same sex to bond in this way. I admit it is rarer in royal families because of the issue of heirs, but given that Éowyn is already with child that seems less of a concern in your case."
"Faramir." Éomer wondered how quickly he has been reduced to echoing single words, even as he realised that this had been Aragorn's plan all along.
Aragorn nodded jovially, raining praise on Faramir like he was a flower dying of thirst. Éomer listened with half an ear as he tried to wrap his head around Aragorn's proposal. He didn't really know Faramir, having met him only a few times - whenever Rohan had had dealings with Gondor in the past, Denethor had sent his older son. But he had always got along well with Boromir with his easy laugh and boisterous nature, admired the older man for his skill with the sword and self-assured demeanour. And he had been handsome, broad-shouldered and well-muscled, with hair darker than his own. He could imagine marrying Faramir if he was anything like that.
He bit back a smirk, reminding himself that he could not base such an important decision on personal preferences, not while the fate of Rohan rested on his shoulders. A suitable marriage would indeed strengthen the alliance between Rohan and Gondor, secure the peace for generations to come. And Faramir, it was easy to see, was held in high esteem by King Elessar, even if Gondor had no more need of stewards. And while he had never worried about heirs before, Aragorn was right that Éowyn's children would easily fill that role.
"What is Faramir's opinion on this?" Éomer asked, possibly interrupting Aragorn's laudatio mid-sentence.
"I believe you had best ask him that yourself," Aragorn answered, not visibly thrown or put out by the interruption. "I admit I want what is best for my kingdom – but I also want what is best for you and Faramir. If you do not feel comfortable with the idea, our kingdoms will prosper even without a marriage."
"Fine by me," Éomer replied, his mind still racing with possibilities. "And I would not want to buy a pig in a poke."
He ignored Aragorn's scowl at his choice of words, laughing softly. "Where can I find my prospective husband, do you know?"
"Faramir has been helping to get your men situated," Aragorn replied after a short pause. "Near the stables on the Sixth Level there is an inn returning rangers like to frequent."
"Then that is where I shall be heading," Éomer answered, already turning away. "We can continue our discussion on the morrow, after Faramir has shown me the sights of the city."
He strode away before Aragorn could reply, glad that the older man couldn't see his grin. Aragorn had his own sense of humour, he knew, but sometimes he was a little too uptight, dignified and honourable, like the kings of old, but very much unlike the men Éomer was accustomed to.
And in any case, Éomer had no interest in Aragorn's matchmaking services. Now that the thought had been planted, that the option was on the table, he couldn't wait to speak with Faramir, to see him, to find out if this was something he could imagine for himself.
It was already late in the day, the sun sending its last warm rays to light up the walls of the White City, as he made his way down to the Sixth Level, easily making out the inn Aragorn had mentioned. A drunkard was sitting out front, raising his glass to anyone who passed and inviting them to join him for a drink.
"Bes' ale in the lan', lemme tell ya," he slurred to Éomer, almost tipping from his stool. "Nothin' like tha' anywhere else. Here 'ake a sip!"
He thrust his half empty tankard in Éomer's general direction, sloshing ale over his hands.
"I will take your word for it," Éomer replied, shaking his head at so much self-indulgence, and stepped past him into the inn.
It was like every other inn he had ever been to: loud and crowded, dimly lit and with the mingled scent of alcohol and sweat in the air. He spotted his men at a long table to the right, tankards of ale, baskets of bread and a roast pig in front of them.
"Drinking on the job, I see," he said sternly, resting a heavy hand on Hereward's shoulder.
"Just wetting some parched throats, your majesty," Cenric replied and while the tone was familiar, the moniker was still new. "Trying to get our honourable steward to spill some state secrets."
His riders laughed, some raising their glasses in a toast, even as the man in question got to his feet and greeted Éomer with a small bow.
"Welcome to Gondor, King Éomer. If you would care to join us, we would be honoured," the young man said respectfully, offering his own seat to the king.
"I am quite certain that my men have grown tired of the honour of my company after three days riding," Éomer replied sarcastically while he studied the other man. "And King Elessar has already plied me with food and drink – but I would be interested in a tour of the White City."
He could see the family resemblance between Faramir and his late brother, broad shoulders and toned muscles, light brown hair and clear blue eyes. But Boromir had had a presence to him that demanded respect, the bearing of a leader, brash and dominant and at times even belligerent. Faramir seemed less self-assured, soft-spoken and reverent if not exactly obsequious.
"Of course, my lord," Faramir hastily walked around the table, stopped one of the serving maids for a brief chat and then reached Éomer's side, keeping a respectful distance. "I would be - "
He cut himself off, a soft red tinge spreading over his cheeks. Éomer smirked to himself, deducing that though he had looked forward to pitting his will against someone like Boromir, it might also be interesting to see in how many ways he could get Faramir flustered and blushing.
"I assure you my men can entertain themselves." He threw a significant look at Béorwine to remind him not to let things get out of hand and then led Fararmir from the tavern. "Aragorn mentioned the stables were around here, maybe we could start there."
If he was fulfilling every cliché about the Rohirrim, so be it, but he found you could tell a lot about a man by the way he treated his horse.
"Of course, my lord," Faramir agreed readily, stopping briefly to heft the drunkard out front back onto his stool before leading Éomer the few paces to the stables. "I rubbed down your horse and fed him some hay. I hope I have not overstepped."
Éomer looked at him in surprise. "Firefoot usually is not very fond of strangers." Meaning that he liked to kick and bite anything and anyone that got within striking range.
"I may have bribed him with an apple," Faramir admitted in a tone of voice somewhere between joking and chagrined, glancing briefly up at him and then averting his gaze. "He is in one of the stalls at the back because they offer more room."
Éomer hummed thoughtfully, easily slipping into the stall Faramir had indicated. Firefoot greeted him with a soft snort before going back to munching on his hay, allowing Éomer to lean against his shoulder but not paying him any particular attention. For all of Firefoot's good qualities, Éomer had no illusions that he could compete with fresh hay and so he used the time to take everything in and study Faramir, who had entered the stall diagonally opposite of him.
Faramir was talking softly to a chestnut mare, feeding her slices of apple, checking her hooves and patting her neck.
"Is it not too warm for that blanket?" Éomer questioned, indicating the rug Faramir was adjusting on the horse's back.
"She was exposed to the Black Breath of the Nazgûl when she brought me back to Minas Tirith," Faramir said softly, caressing the mare's forehead. "I do not know how their fetid presence affects animals, but Lainith has always been my loyal companion and deserves all the care I can give her."
In all honesty, Éomer had almost forgotten that Éowyn hadn't been the only one hurt by those wretched creatures and as he looked at the other man with new regard, he saw some of the same despair that only Leofric had been able to fully dispel from his sister's eyes, the barely noticeable slump of his shoulders, the way he favoured his right arm.
As if noticing his gaze, Faramir looked up at him with a gentle smile. "King Elessar has done much to help me heal and I heard your sister is doing better as well. I am glad for that."
"Have you met her?" Éomer asked, patting Firefoot's neck in farewell before leaving the stall to join Faramir.
"Briefly, in the Houses of Healing," Faramir answered, feeding his mare another slice of apple. "She was very kind, though we both did not enjoy the thought of remaining there while the battle waged on without us. She tried to convince me to get some rest and I did likewise, while we both hatched plans to sneak past the healers and join the action."
Éomer laughed, easily imagining that to be true, and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "That seems about right. I am sure she would be happy to meet you again."
"You are too kind, my lord," Faramir murmured modestly. "Would you like me to show you the rest of the city now?"
"Let us do that, yes," Éomer agreed, squeezing Faramir's shoulder once before letting go.
He hadn't seen much of Minas Tirith the last time and Faramir thawed as he talked about his city, greeted and enquired after people left and right, showed Éomer all of his preferred spots and shared anecdotes and facts about the city's history that he doubted could be found in any book - even if Faramir's favourite place in the whole city was the library.
The moment in the stables had already told him much about Faramir's character, enough even if push came to shove, but the time spent together affirmed his conclusions. A part of him was still irritated that Aragorn had even dared suggest this, as if he was but a peasant to be ordered about by his liegelord. But then he remembered how instrumental Aragorn's help had been in freeing his uncle's mind and defending his people and the anger passed.
The fact of the matter was that while Aragorn had allies all throughout Middle Earth - the elves of Rivendell, Lothlórien and Mirkwood, the dwarves of the Erebor and the Iron Hills, the Dúnedain of Arnor and the hobbits of the Shire - Rohan had no such ties, passing acquaintances rather than true relationships, simple exchanges instead of sustained trade. They needed to make provisions now, create alliances so that they would not stand alone in their time of need. And the easiest way to do so was through marriage.
"My lord?" Faramir's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I did not mean to bore you - maybe you would rather see something else?"
"I think I have seen enough," Éomer answered. "Maybe you could show me to my quarters."
"Of course," Faramir was quick to agree, directing them out of the library and through a maze of corridors. "Your men are in the rooms adjacent to yours. Lord Ealraed and Lord Dirol already retired, but I had the cook send up some supper."
Faramir opened the door for him and awkwardly hovered in the doorway as Éomer looked around. There was a fire crackling in the hearth and the room was pleasantly warm after the slight chill of the air outside. His saddlebags had been deposited next to the bed, downy covers and pristine white sheets.
"Come join me for a drink," Éomer said, noting the carafe of wine that had been left for him, next to a basket of fruit and a covered cheese plate.
He sank into one of the high-backed chairs and poured them each a glass. Faramir carefully closed the door and sat down opposite of him, taking a small sip of wine after Éomer had raised his glass in a silent toast.
"Do you know what Aragorn and I talked about?" Éomer demanded, observing how Faramir's straight-backed posture tensed even further.
"I know he is concerned with strengthening the alliance between Rohan and Gondor," Faramir answered promptly. "He thinks a marriage could be beneficial for both of our peoples."
"Do you know whom he suggested for this purpose?" Éomer pressed, taking another sip of the dry red wine.
"My cousin Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and me," Faramir replied, avoiding his gaze. "I can introduce you to her, if you wish. She is an amazing woman with a kind heart and a great sense of humour. And beautiful too."
"I do not doubt that, but you may have noticed that I am sitting here with you," Éomer said. "How do you feel about that?"
"I would be honoured, my lord, if you were to choose me." Faramir was blushing again and rolling the stem of his glass between his slender fingers.
Éomer almost - no, definitely rolled his eyes. "Yes, I had gathered that, but would you be happy about it?"
"My lord? I do not understand the question." Faramir looked up at him. "Why would I not be happy?"
He didn't know whether to find relief in Faramir's earnest expression or feel rejected by his lack of enthusiasm. The strategic advantageous of the proposed union were clear, but could he resign himself to aiming for friendship rather than marriage, to camaraderie rather than passion? It would be easier to settle for an unfulfilling marriage with Lothíriel or any other woman than to have this gorgeous man as his husband in name only.
"You are not attracted to men then?" Éomer demanded, tasting the disappointment on his tongue.
But Faramir blushed brighter than ever, jerking his head, and Éomer felt a wave of desire crash down over him. "I think you're very handsome, my lord."
"You do not know how happy it makes me to hear you say that, my dear future husband." Éomer grinned, getting up in one swift move, "Because I have wanted to do this from the moment I first laid eyes on you."
He took Faramir by the lapels of his shirt, dragging him up so that their mouths were withing kissing distance, and swallowed the other man's response by capturing his plump lips and tasting a hint of wine, a note of honey. With quick hands, he tugged Faramir's shirt out of his breeches, took a moment to caress over defined abdominal muscles, and then moved on to unlace his breeches.
"My lord?" Faramir questioned while Éomer left love bites on the fair skin of his neck. "I… Should we not wait until after the wedding to consummate?"
"Are you worried for your virtue?" Éomer teased between kisses. "It is good practise to take a ride before buying a horse and the same is certainly true when committing to a life together. Would you not agree?"
Faramir gave a startled moan as Éomer's hand closed around the soft velvet skin of his erection and the young king took that as his answer, claiming Faramir's mouth in another biting kiss. Faramir was already half-hard, his shaft hot and rising from its nest of cinnamon curls, and Éomer could easily see himself falling in love with the noises he could wring from the other man, choked moans and surprised gasps and breathless keens. He moved his hand carefully at first, in an easy up and down movement with a slight squeeze around the base, until there was enough precome to slick the way.
Faramir was clutching to his shoulders, soft lashes fluttering against his cheeks whenever his unfocused eyes drifted shut, his mouth gaping open to draw in stuttered pants. Éomer hid his smirk against Faramir's neck, licking the salty clean skin and feeling the racing heartbeat under his lips.
"Do not hold back on my account, sweet Faramir," he whispered in the other's man ear, worrying his earlobe between his teeth and pressing his own burgeoning erection against Faramir's hip. "This is just the opening act."
As if Faramir had only waited for his cue, he screwed his eyes tightly shut, threw his head back and gushed out all over Éomer's hand and his own stomach. Éomer teased his fingers over Faramir's softening manhood, through the mess on his stomach and waited until the Gondorian had regained his breath and focused on him with a still slightly dazed gaze.
"Do you want me to…?" Faramir asked with a fierce blush and a slight nod down at Éomer's by now almost painful erection.
"I want you to undress," Éomer murmured in his ear before taking Faramir's mouth in another bruising kiss. "And wait right here."
He drew back reluctantly, spending moments just taking the other man in - flushed cheeks and tussled hair, kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes, shirt rucked and breeches undone, the perfect image of debauchery - and then hastened over to his bags. He riffled through his things and quickly found the saddle oil he had been looking for.
When he turned around, Faramir had stepped out of his breeches, toed of his boots and was just plucking his shirt away from his come-smeared stomach. Éomer had to kiss him again. Faramir stumbled back in surprise before he managed to stabilize himself against the table, allowing Éomer to step between his legs and grind his erection against his naked thigh.
"My lord, won't you get undressed as well?" Faramir asked, timidly caressing Éomer's chest through his shirt.
Éomer smirked, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and unlacing his breeches, pushing them down his legs and finally freeing his aching erection. Faramir reached out to take his manhood in hand, a question and unexpected daring in his eyes, but Éomer evaded his grasp.
"I want to be inside of you when I come," he said, taking Faramir by the hips and spinning him around. "Brace yourself against the table for me."
He moaned softly when Faramir complied, presenting him with his enticing backside, all fair skin over tight muscles. He slid his hands over the thin material of Faramir's shirt, felt the hard planes of muscles underneath, kneaded the firm flesh of his ass and then placed a light bite on one of his cheeks. Faramir jerked in surprise and Éomer laughed softly, repeating the action on the other side before gently spreading the globes of his ass and blowing on his puckered entrance. A shiver raced down Faramir's back.
Éomer loved his partners sensitive, responsive to his every touch, strong men that he could take apart with his lips and hands and cock, reduce to whimpers and keens, sighs and moans. Faramir proved to be exactly like that, bitten off moans answering every slow press of Éomer's fingers and a long wail the moment Éomer entered him for the first time in one smooth thrust until he was pressed flush against the other man.
He kissed the nape of Faramir's neck to distract himself from the overwhelming need to come right then and there. After he had given Faramir time to adjust and himself time to regain at least some composure and he set an easy rhythm in and out of the other man's tight passage, running his fingers soothingly through damp brown curls when Faramir pushed back to meet his strokes and almost threw him off balance.
"Easy there, my dear Faramir," he murmured, oblingingly speeding up his thrusts until he was pistoning hard into the other man, battering Faramir's prostate and racing inevitably towards his own orgasm.
His vision went white for a timeless moment as he buried himself deep within Faramir's clinging heat and coated his insides with his essence, marked him as his own in the most primal way. When he was spent he pulled out and slumped into the chair to calm his breathing and gather enough energy to open his eyes.
After a moment he heard the soft pad of naked feet and shortly after he felt a wet cloth against his stomach and manhood, gently cleaning him of the residues of their lovemaking.
"You can tell Aragorn I accept his offer," Éomer said, blinking his eyes open to find Faramir kneeling between his legs, already dressed and moderately put together. "I certainly accept." He grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to Faramir's red lips.
"Yes, my lord," Faramir murmured, almost hastily getting to his feet. "I will tell him right away."
Éomer could only stare in surprise at the door as it swung shut behind Faramir, pondering whether he should be offended that Faramir was so eager for them to get married that he had forwent another round of pleasure. Probably not. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes with a satisfied smirk. It might in part be due to the amazing sex they had just shared, but he felt already half in love with Faramir and couldn't wait to fall all the way.
Oh, lookie here, a big, empty input field. What could you possibly do with that?