Genre: general, family,angst
Warnings: adult themes
Characters: Faramir, Eowyn, Aragorn, Denethor
Pairings: Faramir/ Eowyn
Summary: Faramir is tossed on stormy seas.
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain.
The little boat was tossed remorselessly by towering waves that threatened any moment to overwhelm it. At the helm, Faramir sailed through the rough waters as best he could.
“Boromir would make a far better job of that, but what can I expect from a second son?” Denethor said, appearing beside him in the prow of the boat.
“I am doing the best I can, father,” said Faramir. “I cannot control the weather. A storm is approaching.”
“You’re a one man shift in the weather,” said Denethor. “We shall surely drown in this storm. That is not how I would choose the manner of my death!”
Éowyn suddenly appeared from the stern. “See reason, my lord,” she pleaded. “You cannot keep blaming Faramir!”
“You!” Denethor glared at her. “You’re the woman who just won’t sell, or so I thought. Why don’t you leave my son alone and go back to ogling that upstart from the North?”
“How dare you!” Éowyn slapped his face. The boat rocked precariously.
“No slow death by drowning for Denethor!” the Steward cried. Suddenly, he was holding a torch in his hand. He threw it into the bottom of the boat. The flames reared up, threatening to consume the tiny craft within moments. Faramir could feel the searing heat of the flames. So this was death? Everything went black.
Faramir awoke. He was sailing the small boat across a vast expanse of sea. He was dreadfully thirsty. The storm raged around him. He cried out to Lady Uinen to protect him. There was no sign now of any fire. Éowyn and his father had both disappeared. Had they been swept overboard, or had they ever really been there at all? He could not remember. How long had he been in this boat? Hours, days, months, years even? He did not know. He was alone and afraid. He doggedly kept on sailing, but there was no land in sight, nor any other ship.
“Faramir?” He turned towards the direction of a familiar and well- loved voice.
Another boat drew up beside the one he was in and Aragorn leapt aboard. The King was not as he remembered him, though. He was clad all in silver and in white and he glowed like the sun. The green gem he bore upon his breast shone as brightly as a star.
“Envinyatar!” cried Faramir. He knelt and kissed Aragorn’s hand.
“I have come to take you home,” said Aragorn.
“As you will, lord,” said Faramir. “I do not know the way though.”
The storm ceased and the sea became as calm as a millpond. The sun was setting and the sky turned from leaden grey to a glorious hue of rose pink. The splendour lasted only a few moments, though, before darkness fell.
And they looked up and saw a star. It was the Star of Eärendil.
“Set a course by the star and follow it,” said Aragorn.
Faramir did as he was bidden. Everything went black again.
The Steward opened his eyes and tried to focus. If only everything would stop spinning! He closed his eyes again.
“Easy now,” Aragorn’s voice was calm and reassuring. A warm, firm hand gripped his own and a cup of water was held to his lips. He drank thankfully. There was a throbbing pain in his shoulder. There was no sign of the boat or the sea. He appeared to be lying in bed.
“What happened” Faramir asked, fear in his voice. “The boat? Éowyn?”
“I am here, my love.” Éowyn clasped his other hand.
“You were struck by a poisoned arrow,” said Aragorn. “We feared we had lost you.”
“Don’t you remember?” said Éowyn. “Ithilien was invaded by a rebel group of Southrons on their war oliphant’s. You led your men to repel the invasion, but you were shot down. Beregond brought you home and I sent for Aragorn at once. He fought long and hard to counter the effects of the poison and entered a healing trance to bring you back.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“It was my pleasure. I would not be without you.”
The room had finally stopped spinning and Faramir looked around him. He was in his own chamber with Éowyn and Aragorn sitting either side of his bed. Aragorn looked nothing like the shining figure he had beheld, apart from the green stone pinned to the breast of the simple black tunic he wore. The King looked weary, but he was smiling.
“How did the battle go?” asked Faramir. “Are our people safe?”
“The Southrons were utterly routed,” said Aragorn. “They begged for mercy, which was granted. You have some unusual guests in Ithilien now.”
“There are two Oliphant’s in one of my paddocks,” said Éowyn. “Their handlers surrendered on the condition their beasts were spared. They are magnificent creatures and not nearly as fierce as they look.”
“We will decide later if we should send them back to Harad or find some peaceful work for them to do here,” said Aragorn. “Ambassador Tahir is helping me to reach a decision. He was horrified by the actions of some of his countrymen in making war against us. They are a rival faction opposed to the ruling Khan. Tahir and his wife have sent messages wishing you a speedy recovery.”
“How long was I unconscious?” asked Faramir.
“Two days,” Aragorn replied.
“No wonder I am so thirsty then!”
Éowyn bent and kissed his cheek then said, “I’ll just make more tea.”