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Mar. 10th, 2004 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Yeah. I forgot about this one. I have three chapters written to almost completion. This first one is pretty much done because a different version of it used to be a different story that I'm not going to finish.
Title: Beyond Edoras 1/?
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer, Frodo/Faramir
Rating: PG13
Summary: Frodo struggles for balance between his unrequited (?) love for Faramir and his physical desire for the new king of Rohan.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Note: For some of you…some parts of this may seem familiar. This is a revised version of a different story that I decided not to finish but instead decided to combine it with this new story idea.
Beyond Edoras 1
Frodo could not turn his gaze from him. Long gold-red hair, the filth and tangles gone, gleaming in the spring sun. The white tree on his tunic was now free from splotches of mud from the wild of Ithilien. His gray eyes were clear and proud as he held Aragorn’s crown in strong, sure hands.
*He does not mind that the line of stewards is ended*
Frodo’s heart swelled, and at that moment, Faramir met his gaze and gave him a gentle smile. Frodo looked down, his cheeks heating. He had last seen Faramir on the dark day they had parted in Osgiliath. During the dark struggle through Mordor, the days of blackness and whip lashes in Cirith Ungol, when the wheel of fire had overtaken nearly all his thoughts, he would remember the compassion in Faramir’s eyes when he had released Sam and Frodo. That look in his eyes would be a ray of light that would for just a moment, penetrate the darkness.
Now that the shadow had passed and neither of them faced the danger of falling under the influence of the Ring, Frodo had much he longed to discuss with Faramir. While Frodo had recuperated in the Houses of Healing, Gandalf had told him that Faramir was very learned in matters of history and elves, both subjects dear to Frodo’s heart.
“His father did not love him for it,” Gandalf had said, sighing. “For it was warriors like Boromir who were valued in a city so often in conflict.”
Frodo could understand all too well. Even among his closest friends and kin in the Shire, Frodo had always felt isolated because he sought knowledge in obscure and lofty topics.
A warmth filled his stomach as it truly hit him that their toil was over. He was free to do as he would with the remainder of his life. So long had he been full of narrow purpose, foregoing happiness and expecting death, that now that it was over, he felt bewildered and shy, like a caged bird that had been set free in the wild.
Tonight there would be a feast, and Frodo intended to sit beside Faramir.
***
“Will you choose a seat already!” Pippin tugged at Frodo’s sleeve. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Frodo said faintly, craning his head toward the entrance to the hall. Already, the hall had filled with bustling folk, all eager to partake in the feast, but there was no Faramir. Frodo swallowed the hard lump of disappointment in his throat. Nearly everyone had arrived, and the empty seats were being filled at an alarming rate.
“Where will you be sitting, Masters Halflings?” A Man carrying four cushions bowed before Frodo, and Frodo flushed, annoyed that this Man had made it so obvious to everyone in the hall that the hobbits needed cushions to sit on regular chairs, as if they were children.
“Frodo.” Merry nudged him. “If you do not make up your mind, we’ll not be able to sit together.”
“All right,” Frodo said, casting a mournful glance toward the entrance. Everyone was to be at the feast, and Frodo had daydreamed about meeting Faramir here since the coronation, and for the first time in months, his thoughts had been light and frivolous. All afternoon, he had laughed easily, like a young girl in the throes of new love. New love? He thought about Faramir’s fair hair, his kind eyes, the gentle tone of his voice. He was not meant to be a captain of Men during a time of war. His place was in a quiet hall where he could be surrounded by gentle folk, riveting books, and good food. Now that could be possible.
Frodo had dressed carefully for the feast, wearing a silk tunic in gray-blue. He stood before the mirror and whistled a little. He had gained some of his weight back and though he was far from being the plump ideal, at least his face was beginning to look more rounded again, and color had come back to his cheeks.
“Cousin Frodo,” Merry had said in surprise. “I’m glad to see you so cheerful! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sweet on some lucky lass.”
Frodo had flushed. “There are no hobbit lasses in Gondor, Pippin, and I doubt any of the good ladies of Minas Tirith would want a husband with nine fingers who only comes up to her chest.”
Pippin and Merry had burst into laughter at that last. Frodo had smiled at his reflection, thinking again to the sweet smile Faramir had bestowed upon him during the ceremony.
***
Once settled at the long table, seated on a cushion with Sam on one side and a Gondorian soldier he did not know on his other side, he kept his eyes strained toward the entrance. Every time someone entered, his heart would leap, but when he saw it was not Faramir, his throat would fill with new disappointment. There was one seat remaining across from him, and if Faramir did not enter soon, the seat would surely be taken.
And sure enough, not but two minutes later, Eomer of Rohan took the seat. Frodo swallowed, hoping his disappointment did not show.
“I am honored to sit across from the Ringbearer,” Eomer said, nodding at Frodo. Frodo managed a return smile.
He said, “And I am honored to be at a table full of so many great people.”
“Great deeds have been done by many at this table,” Eomer said, sipping his wine. “But all would have been in vain if not for your brave deeds, Master Holbytla.” Eomer’s gaze pierced through him and it seemed that the Man could read his thoughts.
Frodo blushed at such nonsense, and he glanced around Eomer’s broad shoulder, again looking for Faramir.
“You’re not eating a thing,” Pippin whispered, and Sam’s head whipped around to look down at Frodo’s plate.
“Are you not feeling well?” Sam asked. “Shall I help you back to bed?”
Eomer looked concerned, and Frodo felt embarrassed. He shook his head. “I am all right,” Frodo said quickly, forcing a piece of meat down his throat. He gulped half of the contents of his wineglass to wash the food down.
“Steady,” Eomer said, laughing. “Gondorian wine can be more potent than you Shirefolk might imagine.”
Eomer’s laugh was rich, his deep eyes fathomless and stern, yet Frodo found that it was easy to laugh with him. “And I am certain the pipeweed of our country would lay challenge even to a great warrior such as yourself.”
“Perhaps someday I shall find out.”
“Perhaps your young soldier of Rohan will send you some,” Frodo said, lifting his eyebrows at Merry.
“I can command it of him, should I wish,” Eomer said in a deep voice. “Perhaps I would bid that he send the Ringbearer to deliver it for me.”
Frodo found Eomer’s bantering to be a refreshing distraction, though he found his eyes wandering constantly to the door. Still, Faramir did not appear. He, too, had been wounded by the arrows of the Enemy, and perhaps the darkness pressed upon him as it did Frodo when his shoulder ached. He would likely not come this evening, and suddenly everything seemed dim and gray.
“That was a melancholy sigh, Master Halfling,” Eomer said.
“Call me Frodo.” Frodo wearied of all the great folk using such lofty titles. He longed for the familiarity of the Shire. He remembered there had been a time less than a year back, when his own heart had been so light that he had danced upon a table in Bree.
“I apologize,” Eomer said, pausing only for a moment. “Frodo.” He smiled slightly as if the name sounded strange to his ears but yet pleased him. “Frodo,” he said again.
Just as folk were beginning to stir and rise from the table, trickling out in groups of two or three, bidding one another good night, Faramir strode in the entrance. Frodo could not believe his good fortune. The feast hall took on new colorful life, and it was now the only place he wished to be. He jumped from his chair, eager to talk to him before anyone else stole his attention.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam called. “Where are you going?”
“I will be back.”
Just as he had nearly reached Faramir and was about to call out to him, Faramir turned away sharply. “Lord Eomer!” he called. Frodo startled, unaware that Eomer had followed right behind him.
Frodo stood awkwardly, tapping his toes on the marble floor, trying to control the beating of his heart. Now that it seemed he might get a moment alone with Faramir, he had no idea what he would say. He felt foolish and tongue-tied, like a young hobbit courting a lass for the first time.
“Frodo!” A hand clasped Frodo’s shoulder, and Frodo whirled around, gasping. “I am sorry to startle you.” Faramir laughed softly. “Lord Eomer says you wish to speak to me.”
Frodo’s tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not speak while Faramir’s hand was on his shoulder. He nodded.
“I meant to speak to you today,” Faramir continued. “But I’ve not stolen the chance. Right now I must deliver a message to one of my Men still recovering from wounds in the Houses of Healing. Will you not join me on the walk?”
Frodo’s legs trembled, but he nodded. “Yes, I would love to.” His cheeks heated. He could barely believe his luck. He had imagined that they might get to talk for a few minutes in the feast hall with many surrounding them, but it was beyond his wildest daydreams that he would accompany Faramir on a private walk. He tried to steady his breathing as he followed Faramir out of the hall. At the corner of his eye, he saw that Eomer watched their departure, and Frodo frowned slightly, wondering why he looked like he was bothered by it.
Faramir kept his hand on Frodo’s shoulder as they walked down the narrow street. A fresh spring breeze ruffled Frodo’s curls, and he shivered in delight.
“Are you cold?” Faramir asked, looking down in concern.
”Oh, no,” Frodo said, blushing. “I am all right…I…I had meant to speak to you as well.” Frodo’s cheeks heated even more. Of course that was a foolish thing to say. Eomer had already told Faramir that Frodo wanted to speak to him.
Faramir did not seem fazed, though, and he said, “I mainly wanted to thank you, Frodo. And to tell you that if there is anything at all I can do for you—anything—consider it done, though I can think of nothing worthy of your deeds.”
“Oh,” Frodo said, thoroughly embarrassed.
“Binding you, blindfolding you, interrogating you…” Faramir laughed gently. “These are not things that men of honor do to the savior of their lands.”
“How could you have known?” Frodo said. “We could have indeed been orc spies, as Anborn called us.”
“Not you.” Faramir’s soft smile warmed Frodo from his hairy toes up to his forehead. “You’re far too fair for that.” He chuckled a little. “Perhaps Samwise. He was a force to be reckoned with.”
“Indeed,” Frodo laughed. Had Faramir truly said he was fair? His arm was so close. Did he dare link arms with the Man? He bumped against him, and every slight brush of skin sent a tingling sensation through him.
Faramir became serious. “I am glad that you came out of it unscathed. I worried so about you after we parted.”
*Just do it.*
Frodo slid his arm through Faramir’s, looking up at him, the smile trembling on his lips. Faramir accepted Frodo’s gesture, and they walked in pleasant silence.
“What plans—“ Frodo began.
“What will you—“ Faramir said at the same time.
They laughed, and Faramir gently pulled out of Frodo’s arm. “I am sorry. I meant to ask what you plan to do now. Will you return to the Shire soon?”
Frodo’s smile faded. He did indeed want to go home. He missed the rolling green hills, he missed Bag End. He missed walking down the road and not having everyone tower over him. But what was there for him? Sam had his Rosie waiting, and Merry and Pippin were young – many years still stretched before them. For them there would be wives and hobbit babes and rich life.
“It pains you to return?” Faramir asked quietly. “Or do your wounds trouble you?”
“Oh, no,” Frodo said hastily. He forced a smile. “It is nothing.”
Faramir stopped in front of a doorway to the Houses of Healing. “I am here.”
“Oh,” Frodo said, his chest tightening in disappointment. He had nearly forgotten that Faramir had a reason for the walk beyond wanting to talk to Frodo.
Faramir bowed slightly, touching his hand to his breast. “We shall see each other soon, I should think. Do you know your way back?”
“Yes,” Frodo said, nodding. “I’ve walked it many times.” He bowed back. “Have a good night, Faramir.”
“Goodnight, Frodo.” Faramir turned and disappeared inside the cottage.
Frodo clutched his arms as he walked up the stone street toward the cottage he shared with Gandalf and his cousins. He felt somewhat remiss that he had not bid any others at the feast a good night, but his friends would understand. Alas, Frodo thought with a silent groan, they might have guessed a bit too much.
Already out of breath from the steep incline, Frodo paused a moment to gaze up at the stars. He breathed in the fragrant spring air. “Ah, Elbereth, thank you. Thank you for giving me hope.”
TBC
Title: Beyond Edoras 1/?
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer, Frodo/Faramir
Rating: PG13
Summary: Frodo struggles for balance between his unrequited (?) love for Faramir and his physical desire for the new king of Rohan.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Note: For some of you…some parts of this may seem familiar. This is a revised version of a different story that I decided not to finish but instead decided to combine it with this new story idea.
Beyond Edoras 1
Frodo could not turn his gaze from him. Long gold-red hair, the filth and tangles gone, gleaming in the spring sun. The white tree on his tunic was now free from splotches of mud from the wild of Ithilien. His gray eyes were clear and proud as he held Aragorn’s crown in strong, sure hands.
*He does not mind that the line of stewards is ended*
Frodo’s heart swelled, and at that moment, Faramir met his gaze and gave him a gentle smile. Frodo looked down, his cheeks heating. He had last seen Faramir on the dark day they had parted in Osgiliath. During the dark struggle through Mordor, the days of blackness and whip lashes in Cirith Ungol, when the wheel of fire had overtaken nearly all his thoughts, he would remember the compassion in Faramir’s eyes when he had released Sam and Frodo. That look in his eyes would be a ray of light that would for just a moment, penetrate the darkness.
Now that the shadow had passed and neither of them faced the danger of falling under the influence of the Ring, Frodo had much he longed to discuss with Faramir. While Frodo had recuperated in the Houses of Healing, Gandalf had told him that Faramir was very learned in matters of history and elves, both subjects dear to Frodo’s heart.
“His father did not love him for it,” Gandalf had said, sighing. “For it was warriors like Boromir who were valued in a city so often in conflict.”
Frodo could understand all too well. Even among his closest friends and kin in the Shire, Frodo had always felt isolated because he sought knowledge in obscure and lofty topics.
A warmth filled his stomach as it truly hit him that their toil was over. He was free to do as he would with the remainder of his life. So long had he been full of narrow purpose, foregoing happiness and expecting death, that now that it was over, he felt bewildered and shy, like a caged bird that had been set free in the wild.
Tonight there would be a feast, and Frodo intended to sit beside Faramir.
***
“Will you choose a seat already!” Pippin tugged at Frodo’s sleeve. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Frodo said faintly, craning his head toward the entrance to the hall. Already, the hall had filled with bustling folk, all eager to partake in the feast, but there was no Faramir. Frodo swallowed the hard lump of disappointment in his throat. Nearly everyone had arrived, and the empty seats were being filled at an alarming rate.
“Where will you be sitting, Masters Halflings?” A Man carrying four cushions bowed before Frodo, and Frodo flushed, annoyed that this Man had made it so obvious to everyone in the hall that the hobbits needed cushions to sit on regular chairs, as if they were children.
“Frodo.” Merry nudged him. “If you do not make up your mind, we’ll not be able to sit together.”
“All right,” Frodo said, casting a mournful glance toward the entrance. Everyone was to be at the feast, and Frodo had daydreamed about meeting Faramir here since the coronation, and for the first time in months, his thoughts had been light and frivolous. All afternoon, he had laughed easily, like a young girl in the throes of new love. New love? He thought about Faramir’s fair hair, his kind eyes, the gentle tone of his voice. He was not meant to be a captain of Men during a time of war. His place was in a quiet hall where he could be surrounded by gentle folk, riveting books, and good food. Now that could be possible.
Frodo had dressed carefully for the feast, wearing a silk tunic in gray-blue. He stood before the mirror and whistled a little. He had gained some of his weight back and though he was far from being the plump ideal, at least his face was beginning to look more rounded again, and color had come back to his cheeks.
“Cousin Frodo,” Merry had said in surprise. “I’m glad to see you so cheerful! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sweet on some lucky lass.”
Frodo had flushed. “There are no hobbit lasses in Gondor, Pippin, and I doubt any of the good ladies of Minas Tirith would want a husband with nine fingers who only comes up to her chest.”
Pippin and Merry had burst into laughter at that last. Frodo had smiled at his reflection, thinking again to the sweet smile Faramir had bestowed upon him during the ceremony.
***
Once settled at the long table, seated on a cushion with Sam on one side and a Gondorian soldier he did not know on his other side, he kept his eyes strained toward the entrance. Every time someone entered, his heart would leap, but when he saw it was not Faramir, his throat would fill with new disappointment. There was one seat remaining across from him, and if Faramir did not enter soon, the seat would surely be taken.
And sure enough, not but two minutes later, Eomer of Rohan took the seat. Frodo swallowed, hoping his disappointment did not show.
“I am honored to sit across from the Ringbearer,” Eomer said, nodding at Frodo. Frodo managed a return smile.
He said, “And I am honored to be at a table full of so many great people.”
“Great deeds have been done by many at this table,” Eomer said, sipping his wine. “But all would have been in vain if not for your brave deeds, Master Holbytla.” Eomer’s gaze pierced through him and it seemed that the Man could read his thoughts.
Frodo blushed at such nonsense, and he glanced around Eomer’s broad shoulder, again looking for Faramir.
“You’re not eating a thing,” Pippin whispered, and Sam’s head whipped around to look down at Frodo’s plate.
“Are you not feeling well?” Sam asked. “Shall I help you back to bed?”
Eomer looked concerned, and Frodo felt embarrassed. He shook his head. “I am all right,” Frodo said quickly, forcing a piece of meat down his throat. He gulped half of the contents of his wineglass to wash the food down.
“Steady,” Eomer said, laughing. “Gondorian wine can be more potent than you Shirefolk might imagine.”
Eomer’s laugh was rich, his deep eyes fathomless and stern, yet Frodo found that it was easy to laugh with him. “And I am certain the pipeweed of our country would lay challenge even to a great warrior such as yourself.”
“Perhaps someday I shall find out.”
“Perhaps your young soldier of Rohan will send you some,” Frodo said, lifting his eyebrows at Merry.
“I can command it of him, should I wish,” Eomer said in a deep voice. “Perhaps I would bid that he send the Ringbearer to deliver it for me.”
Frodo found Eomer’s bantering to be a refreshing distraction, though he found his eyes wandering constantly to the door. Still, Faramir did not appear. He, too, had been wounded by the arrows of the Enemy, and perhaps the darkness pressed upon him as it did Frodo when his shoulder ached. He would likely not come this evening, and suddenly everything seemed dim and gray.
“That was a melancholy sigh, Master Halfling,” Eomer said.
“Call me Frodo.” Frodo wearied of all the great folk using such lofty titles. He longed for the familiarity of the Shire. He remembered there had been a time less than a year back, when his own heart had been so light that he had danced upon a table in Bree.
“I apologize,” Eomer said, pausing only for a moment. “Frodo.” He smiled slightly as if the name sounded strange to his ears but yet pleased him. “Frodo,” he said again.
Just as folk were beginning to stir and rise from the table, trickling out in groups of two or three, bidding one another good night, Faramir strode in the entrance. Frodo could not believe his good fortune. The feast hall took on new colorful life, and it was now the only place he wished to be. He jumped from his chair, eager to talk to him before anyone else stole his attention.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam called. “Where are you going?”
“I will be back.”
Just as he had nearly reached Faramir and was about to call out to him, Faramir turned away sharply. “Lord Eomer!” he called. Frodo startled, unaware that Eomer had followed right behind him.
Frodo stood awkwardly, tapping his toes on the marble floor, trying to control the beating of his heart. Now that it seemed he might get a moment alone with Faramir, he had no idea what he would say. He felt foolish and tongue-tied, like a young hobbit courting a lass for the first time.
“Frodo!” A hand clasped Frodo’s shoulder, and Frodo whirled around, gasping. “I am sorry to startle you.” Faramir laughed softly. “Lord Eomer says you wish to speak to me.”
Frodo’s tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not speak while Faramir’s hand was on his shoulder. He nodded.
“I meant to speak to you today,” Faramir continued. “But I’ve not stolen the chance. Right now I must deliver a message to one of my Men still recovering from wounds in the Houses of Healing. Will you not join me on the walk?”
Frodo’s legs trembled, but he nodded. “Yes, I would love to.” His cheeks heated. He could barely believe his luck. He had imagined that they might get to talk for a few minutes in the feast hall with many surrounding them, but it was beyond his wildest daydreams that he would accompany Faramir on a private walk. He tried to steady his breathing as he followed Faramir out of the hall. At the corner of his eye, he saw that Eomer watched their departure, and Frodo frowned slightly, wondering why he looked like he was bothered by it.
Faramir kept his hand on Frodo’s shoulder as they walked down the narrow street. A fresh spring breeze ruffled Frodo’s curls, and he shivered in delight.
“Are you cold?” Faramir asked, looking down in concern.
”Oh, no,” Frodo said, blushing. “I am all right…I…I had meant to speak to you as well.” Frodo’s cheeks heated even more. Of course that was a foolish thing to say. Eomer had already told Faramir that Frodo wanted to speak to him.
Faramir did not seem fazed, though, and he said, “I mainly wanted to thank you, Frodo. And to tell you that if there is anything at all I can do for you—anything—consider it done, though I can think of nothing worthy of your deeds.”
“Oh,” Frodo said, thoroughly embarrassed.
“Binding you, blindfolding you, interrogating you…” Faramir laughed gently. “These are not things that men of honor do to the savior of their lands.”
“How could you have known?” Frodo said. “We could have indeed been orc spies, as Anborn called us.”
“Not you.” Faramir’s soft smile warmed Frodo from his hairy toes up to his forehead. “You’re far too fair for that.” He chuckled a little. “Perhaps Samwise. He was a force to be reckoned with.”
“Indeed,” Frodo laughed. Had Faramir truly said he was fair? His arm was so close. Did he dare link arms with the Man? He bumped against him, and every slight brush of skin sent a tingling sensation through him.
Faramir became serious. “I am glad that you came out of it unscathed. I worried so about you after we parted.”
*Just do it.*
Frodo slid his arm through Faramir’s, looking up at him, the smile trembling on his lips. Faramir accepted Frodo’s gesture, and they walked in pleasant silence.
“What plans—“ Frodo began.
“What will you—“ Faramir said at the same time.
They laughed, and Faramir gently pulled out of Frodo’s arm. “I am sorry. I meant to ask what you plan to do now. Will you return to the Shire soon?”
Frodo’s smile faded. He did indeed want to go home. He missed the rolling green hills, he missed Bag End. He missed walking down the road and not having everyone tower over him. But what was there for him? Sam had his Rosie waiting, and Merry and Pippin were young – many years still stretched before them. For them there would be wives and hobbit babes and rich life.
“It pains you to return?” Faramir asked quietly. “Or do your wounds trouble you?”
“Oh, no,” Frodo said hastily. He forced a smile. “It is nothing.”
Faramir stopped in front of a doorway to the Houses of Healing. “I am here.”
“Oh,” Frodo said, his chest tightening in disappointment. He had nearly forgotten that Faramir had a reason for the walk beyond wanting to talk to Frodo.
Faramir bowed slightly, touching his hand to his breast. “We shall see each other soon, I should think. Do you know your way back?”
“Yes,” Frodo said, nodding. “I’ve walked it many times.” He bowed back. “Have a good night, Faramir.”
“Goodnight, Frodo.” Faramir turned and disappeared inside the cottage.
Frodo clutched his arms as he walked up the stone street toward the cottage he shared with Gandalf and his cousins. He felt somewhat remiss that he had not bid any others at the feast a good night, but his friends would understand. Alas, Frodo thought with a silent groan, they might have guessed a bit too much.
Already out of breath from the steep incline, Frodo paused a moment to gaze up at the stars. He breathed in the fragrant spring air. “Ah, Elbereth, thank you. Thank you for giving me hope.”
TBC