The Hunt of Faramir the Great

An explaination of why Eomer is chasing Faramir down the hall brandishing a very large sword.

Good luck, Prince of Ithilien.

By Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: Blah de blah blah blah. Blah blah de blah. Blah. (Translation: I don't own it, but you already know that.)

Note: Random stupid fluffy fluff. I wrote it when I was bored, sore and tired from Practice, and waiting for my stupid roommate to get out of the shower at 9:30 at night.

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Faramir chuckled to himself as he hid behind one of the many stone columns that supported the halls of the Citadel of Minas Tirith. The slightly drunk – no, very drunk – Steward of Gondor was waiting for Eowyn to return to her rooms for the evening. The small part of his brain that was still sober told him that he would regret all the alcohol he'd had in the morning, but the rest of him told that part to shut up.

The small drinking party he'd had with King Elessar, Gimli, Legolas, and Mithrandir had been fun, and by the end all of them, excepting perhaps Gandalf (who had drunk very little, opting to smoke) and Legolas (whom it had taken seventeen tankards of finest Gondorian ale to even loosen up), were smashed enough that they would be severely hung over in the morning.

About fifteen minutes ago, the men had disbanded and gone their separate ways. Faramir had seen Aragorn stumbling off toward his chambers, and expected he was seeking his Queen. Legolas and Mithradir had ushered Gimli off to his room to sleep off the drink (he being far more tanked than any of the others).

Faramir had chosen to pay a visit to his betrothed, but when he'd reached her quarters, he'd found that she wasn't yet in. So, he decided to wait for her, and give her a bit of a scare when she returned.

This was why he was now hiding behind the column like an unruly child.

He kept a close watch out for Eowyn as drunken thoughts filtered through his head. He felt like a hunter stalking his prey. A mighty hunter. Hmm. A mighty hunter needed a mighty name.

Faramir the Strong? No, too obvious. Faramir the Sneaky? No, too stupid. Faramir the Smart? No: who cared if a hunter was smart, anyway?

Faramir the Great? Ah, there it was. Simple, yet precise.

Faramir the Great's thoughts were cut off as he saw Eowyn coming down the hall, carrying a basket that appeared to hold herbs and medicines.

His eyes narrowed and he focused in (at least as much as was possible for one so intoxicated) on his quarry. He took a deep breath. . . readied himself. . . and pounced.

Eowyn shrieked when she was grabbed from behind and dropped her basket, but her fear was short lived because it took her approximately seven seconds to deduce that her assailant was, in fact, her fiancé. She relaxed in his hold, and turned around to face him. Her nose wrinkled at the obvious smell of alcohol that Faramir emanated.

"Aha!" slurred Faramir triumphantly as he wrapped his strong arms more tightly around Eowyn. "It is I, Faramir the Great, and I have captured you, White Lady!"

Eowyn giggled at Faramir's playful manner as she chose to ignore his obviously inebriated demeanor – he was more fun when he was drunk - and wrapped her arms around his neck. "So you have, fierce warrior. What do you plan to do now?" she asked in mock horror.

Faramir looked at her thoughtfully. "Hmm. Usually, I simply ravage the women I capture and then leave them. However, you are far more beautiful than any maid I have captured before."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You are indeed a fine woman. I do not think ravaging you once will be enough to sate my hunger." He heaved a sigh of feigned inconvenience. "Therefore, I suppose I will just have to wed you."

"On two conditions," she said.

"And what are those, my Wife-To-Be?"

"You will cease to capture poor defenseless damsels, and you will ravage only me."

"If I must," he sighed.

She smiled at him. "You must."

"Well then, you have my word on the matter, Eowyn of Rohan."

"What level of wit do you think I possess, to take the word of a drunk man?"

"Ah," said Faramir wisely. "It is when men are drunk that they are most trust worthy."

"Is it?"

"Hmm."

They smiled at one another, and Faramir lowered his head to kiss her. Their lips met, and he pulled her closer. Then, just when things were starting to heat up. . .

"FARAMIR!"

Faramir tore his lips from Eowyn's and glanced down the hall in the direction from which the shout had come. Eomer was sprinting down the corridor as fast as he could, pulling out his sword as he came.

"YOU DARE DISHONOR MY SISTER, SON OF DENOTHOR! HERE, FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE!"

Faramir looked back at Eowyn. "I suppose I will have to ravage you later, my love." With that, he gave her a light peck on the cheek, and darted down the hall in the opposite direction.

"COME AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, STEWARD OF GONDOR!"

Eowyn laughed as Eomer came barreling past her after Faramir. Then she hiked up her skirts and took off after them.

After all, it would not do to have her brother kill her groom before the wedding.