Fic for roh_wyn
Title: Got Wood?
By butterballer
For roh_wyn
Characters: Faramir, Eomer, Lothiriel
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humor
Warnings: None
roh_wyn had requested: a humorous Faramir and Eomer story.
The spring feast spread out large around Edoras and the verdant field lay studded with patches of bright color. The sudden crop of colored flags came from all the corners of Rohan and, some, even as far as Belfalas and Lebenin. Those merchants brought with them uncanny, dried sea creatures and glittering sea glass strung together and held up to the wind. The chorus of the chimes was like the call of the sea and everyone in Rohan who has never looked upon the vastness of the sea, was called towards a deafening infinity, towards the source-less and, therefore, endless waters.
“My uncle, Imrahil, wanted to teach us how to construct these.” Faramir held one of the fragile chimes up to the wavering, red and burnt orange light of the sunset. “But we never returned from the beaches with enough of the shells.”
Eomer King had, like his people, become enamored of the products of the sea. He had believed, without acknowledging this belief to himself, that the only reasonable benefits Man could reap from the sea was confined, solely, to enriching the equally vast vaults of flavors in cuisine. Now, he stroked his chin thoughtfully, holding the chimes to his eyes. He smiled warmly at the merchants and gladly purchased a smaller chime.
“Lothiriel will be wanting the sound of the sea for comfort. Her pregnancy is only beginning yet the midwives warn me that the babe will be large and she will be vastly uncomfortable.” A small twinge of regret erupted in his heart and Eomer almost frowned. He cast his eyes across the small avenue of Belfalas merchants.
Not to be discouraged, Faramir moved to another stall and picked up a small vial.
“Brother, be at ease. Your queen is strong and she is young. There is nothing to fear. When Eowyn, your sister, was at the zenith of her term, she said that the pain, however strong, never lasted long. Our wives will be more concerned if you are anxious.”
Faramir took Eomer’s large shoulders and squeezed them. “She will be fine. You should treat her no differently. She will be going through a difficult nine months, Brother. She will need you to stand firm and hold your ground. Do not forbid her from performing any task that she might’ve once done for you.”
Leaning in, Faramir added “or on you.”
“I am glad to learn at your expense, Faramir.” Eomer laughed. He had heard the rumors of his sister’s wrath when Faramir decided she shouldn’t ride a horse merely because she was large with child. He could only barely imagine the scope of her merciless rage when Faramir sought to forbid her riding him. Faramir grinned.
“A folly I swore I will never commit again. Our women, Eomer, should never have to suffer our ignorance. How should we know what they can or cannot do? We have certainly never been with child. I learned, the hard way, that women know more than what we can ever know, in this respect, and what they need from us now that our, how shall I put this, contribution has been received, is a little pampering.”
Faramir drew Eomer aside, his grin large. He leaned towards Eomer and beckoned for Eomer to follow suit. Eomer grinned in turn.
“Pampering?”
“You are not averse to pampering your wife, are you, Eomer King, even now? I admit, I will express disappointment and righteous anger in equal amounts if you answer in the affirmative.”
“I pamper my wife into the wee hours of the morning, Brother. She is well pampered. No queen has been more pampered. Sheath your sword.” At the final play on words, Eomer almost burst out laughing but he stamped his feet on the ground, bruising a couple of weeds in the process. Faramir was almost shaking with laughter.
“I do admit, Brother, that I am overcome, at times. She wants to be pampered too much.”
Faramir curbed his desire to burst out laughing. “You find this situation difficult? You are not up to the challenge?”
“I am a man, Faramir. Even the sun must set. The tides fall.”
“The Anduin never runs empty.”
“Large trees are felled!” Eomer almost erupted, clearly exhausted by the effort to communicate his predicament.
They continued down the row of stalls until Faramir stopped and excitedly picked up a small bottle of what looked like fragrant water. But Faramir wheeled around to face Eomer, his features schooled into a mischievous mask. Eomer peered at the bottle that Faramir had set down on the counter.
“Lothiriel’s favorite perfume?”
“Brother, do you believe in the inexhaustible bounties of the sea?”
“I believe in Bema, Faramir.”
“Aye, that you do. You believe in wild horses and golden shields. And war cries. So do I, so does Imrahil. When we, my cousins and I, were lads, we were playing a game of hide and seek. I hid in my Uncle Imrahil’s closet which, to my confusion, was stock-piled with a small treasury of peculiar small bottles quite like this.”
“These are?”
“Sea plants are gathered from just off the rocky battlements that faces the sea. The moss that grows there, when crushed and steamed, produces an oil that allowed my uncle to remain a healthy man.”
“With four sons and a daughter, I do not understand how a man of such prowess would need such a battery. Surely, you jest.” Eomer’s amazement wore off when Faramir’s face turned grave and he pressed the vial slowly into Eomer’s open palms.
“Brother, even great trees are felled.”
***
“Lothiriel?”
The Queen set down the tray of breakfast near foot of Faramir’s bed. Her long, black hair had been braided and pinned on top of her head. Faramir noticed the blotchy, suspiciously red marks on her neck and, despite the heat, the long-sleeved gown she wore over a light spring dress.
“Faramir, eat, you will need your strength.”
Picking up a piece of toast, he squirmed under her gaze. “For the hunt this afternoon?”
“For your journey to Emyn Arnen. Eomer King is indisposed but he is greatly saddened at your sudden departure.”
Utterly perplexed, Faramir bit into the toast. “Is your husband well?”
“My husband is chained to our bed, nursing a headache and a large problem.”
Faramir’s eyes widened and, suddenly, he had finished breakfast and was pulling on a new pair of breaches. “Inform Eomer King that, alas, my hasty departure must not be forgiven. I will send him a large peace offering for the trouble I’ve caused him.”
“He has a message for you, Cousin.”
“What is it, Lothiriel?”
“Large trees have deep roots which are not uprooted easily.”
“Lothiriel?”
“Yes?”
“Inform your husband of this: I know about his little secret.”
The End
Thanks, butterballer!
By butterballer
For roh_wyn
Characters: Faramir, Eomer, Lothiriel
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humor
Warnings: None
roh_wyn had requested: a humorous Faramir and Eomer story.
The spring feast spread out large around Edoras and the verdant field lay studded with patches of bright color. The sudden crop of colored flags came from all the corners of Rohan and, some, even as far as Belfalas and Lebenin. Those merchants brought with them uncanny, dried sea creatures and glittering sea glass strung together and held up to the wind. The chorus of the chimes was like the call of the sea and everyone in Rohan who has never looked upon the vastness of the sea, was called towards a deafening infinity, towards the source-less and, therefore, endless waters.
“My uncle, Imrahil, wanted to teach us how to construct these.” Faramir held one of the fragile chimes up to the wavering, red and burnt orange light of the sunset. “But we never returned from the beaches with enough of the shells.”
Eomer King had, like his people, become enamored of the products of the sea. He had believed, without acknowledging this belief to himself, that the only reasonable benefits Man could reap from the sea was confined, solely, to enriching the equally vast vaults of flavors in cuisine. Now, he stroked his chin thoughtfully, holding the chimes to his eyes. He smiled warmly at the merchants and gladly purchased a smaller chime.
“Lothiriel will be wanting the sound of the sea for comfort. Her pregnancy is only beginning yet the midwives warn me that the babe will be large and she will be vastly uncomfortable.” A small twinge of regret erupted in his heart and Eomer almost frowned. He cast his eyes across the small avenue of Belfalas merchants.
Not to be discouraged, Faramir moved to another stall and picked up a small vial.
“Brother, be at ease. Your queen is strong and she is young. There is nothing to fear. When Eowyn, your sister, was at the zenith of her term, she said that the pain, however strong, never lasted long. Our wives will be more concerned if you are anxious.”
Faramir took Eomer’s large shoulders and squeezed them. “She will be fine. You should treat her no differently. She will be going through a difficult nine months, Brother. She will need you to stand firm and hold your ground. Do not forbid her from performing any task that she might’ve once done for you.”
Leaning in, Faramir added “or on you.”
“I am glad to learn at your expense, Faramir.” Eomer laughed. He had heard the rumors of his sister’s wrath when Faramir decided she shouldn’t ride a horse merely because she was large with child. He could only barely imagine the scope of her merciless rage when Faramir sought to forbid her riding him. Faramir grinned.
“A folly I swore I will never commit again. Our women, Eomer, should never have to suffer our ignorance. How should we know what they can or cannot do? We have certainly never been with child. I learned, the hard way, that women know more than what we can ever know, in this respect, and what they need from us now that our, how shall I put this, contribution has been received, is a little pampering.”
Faramir drew Eomer aside, his grin large. He leaned towards Eomer and beckoned for Eomer to follow suit. Eomer grinned in turn.
“Pampering?”
“You are not averse to pampering your wife, are you, Eomer King, even now? I admit, I will express disappointment and righteous anger in equal amounts if you answer in the affirmative.”
“I pamper my wife into the wee hours of the morning, Brother. She is well pampered. No queen has been more pampered. Sheath your sword.” At the final play on words, Eomer almost burst out laughing but he stamped his feet on the ground, bruising a couple of weeds in the process. Faramir was almost shaking with laughter.
“I do admit, Brother, that I am overcome, at times. She wants to be pampered too much.”
Faramir curbed his desire to burst out laughing. “You find this situation difficult? You are not up to the challenge?”
“I am a man, Faramir. Even the sun must set. The tides fall.”
“The Anduin never runs empty.”
“Large trees are felled!” Eomer almost erupted, clearly exhausted by the effort to communicate his predicament.
They continued down the row of stalls until Faramir stopped and excitedly picked up a small bottle of what looked like fragrant water. But Faramir wheeled around to face Eomer, his features schooled into a mischievous mask. Eomer peered at the bottle that Faramir had set down on the counter.
“Lothiriel’s favorite perfume?”
“Brother, do you believe in the inexhaustible bounties of the sea?”
“I believe in Bema, Faramir.”
“Aye, that you do. You believe in wild horses and golden shields. And war cries. So do I, so does Imrahil. When we, my cousins and I, were lads, we were playing a game of hide and seek. I hid in my Uncle Imrahil’s closet which, to my confusion, was stock-piled with a small treasury of peculiar small bottles quite like this.”
“These are?”
“Sea plants are gathered from just off the rocky battlements that faces the sea. The moss that grows there, when crushed and steamed, produces an oil that allowed my uncle to remain a healthy man.”
“With four sons and a daughter, I do not understand how a man of such prowess would need such a battery. Surely, you jest.” Eomer’s amazement wore off when Faramir’s face turned grave and he pressed the vial slowly into Eomer’s open palms.
“Brother, even great trees are felled.”
***
“Lothiriel?”
The Queen set down the tray of breakfast near foot of Faramir’s bed. Her long, black hair had been braided and pinned on top of her head. Faramir noticed the blotchy, suspiciously red marks on her neck and, despite the heat, the long-sleeved gown she wore over a light spring dress.
“Faramir, eat, you will need your strength.”
Picking up a piece of toast, he squirmed under her gaze. “For the hunt this afternoon?”
“For your journey to Emyn Arnen. Eomer King is indisposed but he is greatly saddened at your sudden departure.”
Utterly perplexed, Faramir bit into the toast. “Is your husband well?”
“My husband is chained to our bed, nursing a headache and a large problem.”
Faramir’s eyes widened and, suddenly, he had finished breakfast and was pulling on a new pair of breaches. “Inform Eomer King that, alas, my hasty departure must not be forgiven. I will send him a large peace offering for the trouble I’ve caused him.”
“He has a message for you, Cousin.”
“What is it, Lothiriel?”
“Large trees have deep roots which are not uprooted easily.”
“Lothiriel?”
“Yes?”
“Inform your husband of this: I know about his little secret.”
The End
Thanks, butterballer!