The Boy King of Rohan

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything affiliated with it. I know it. My agent told me yesterday, and it was a major let-down! I was in total shock. No, I don't own anything. Begins to cry uncontrollably. This goes on for a while and then she dries her tears.

Ok, so here we go.

Note: The fourth installment. Inspired by percyismine. Thanks for the idea! It's a great one!

Note the Second: Sorry this took so long to get up. I've been on vacation, and then at Band Camp. I haven't really had a lot of time to write. But it's up now, so no need to fret.

In addition. . .

Bird Cordwangler:
First of all, yes, this all is a bit over the top, and in real life (or as close as a fantasy novel can get to real life) Eomer would probably just roll his eyes and pull Faramir away from Eowyn. However, this entire plotline is meant to be over the top and that, I believe, is what makes it funny.

Also, in the Dark and Middle Ages (the closet Earth periods that compare with Middle Earth), anything more explicit than hand-holding was considered improper (and THAT was pushing it). Not to mention that Faramir is high nobility and Eowyn in a Princess, and therefore expected to maintain an air of decorum. Such conduct would be scandalous!


Faramir met Aragorn's eyes over the fire and they grinned at each other, their smiles hinting mischief. Then they turned their attention back to their comrade: one King of Rohan.

Correction: One very drunk King of Rohan.

Eomer was no stranger to alcohol. In fact, he was considered to be one of the finest drinkers in Middle Earth.

At the moment, despite how well he could hold his liquor, he was completely tanked.

Eomer was in Minas Tirith due to the yearly trip he took with his company and his wife (who at the moment was somewhere with Arwen and Eowyn). It had become a tradition that on this visits he meet with Aragorn and Faramir for a little drinking party.

'Little' being the understatement in the previous sentence.

Even Aragorn, who had lived far longer than either of the other two men in the room, could never remember anyone drinking so much in his very long lifetime. Ever.

They'd passed quickly through the stages of drinking; cheerfulness, happiness, giddiness, vulgar comments and jokes, offense, anger, fighting, crying, making up, sadness, more happiness, and so forth.

Currently, Eomer was singing loudly to himself in his native tongue. Faramir, who had learned the language to please his wife, understood some of what Eomer said but his words were so slurred Faramir doubted that even Eowyn would be able to understand him.

Aragorn and Faramir were also considerably drunk, but Eomer was making them look like lads who had never even looked at ale before.

Not that such circumstance was completely out of their control. They had a plan.

An evil plan.

Abruptly, Eomer stopped singing.

They looked at him.

He looked at them.

Then there was a heavy thud as Eomer fell backward off his seat and passed out.


The fire crackled, and Faramir and Aragorn stood. They grinned evilly at each other, and Faramir pulled a knife from its sheath in his boot. He looked at Aragorn.

"Are you certain this is a good idea?"

Aragorn smiled. "Of course. Would your King lead you astray?"

Faramir smiled back and knelt next to Eomer's unconscious form. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he placed his dagger against Eomer's throat, and pulled upward.


When Eomer came to he had an aching head and a very cold face. For a moment he couldn't even move. Then he groaned.


There was soft chuckling from around him. "I feel your pain, brother," a voice said. He opened his eyes. Aragorn and Faramir were standing over him, grinning.

"Up you get," said Aragorn.

Eomer groaned again. "Not so loud. I feel like there is a dwarven mine inside my head." He allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position by the King and Steward of Gondor. He rubbed his eyes. "How much did I drink last night?"

Aragorn and Faramir looked at each other.

"Far too much," said Faramir.

Eomer mustered up as much of a glare as he could in his present condition. "I could tell that much for myself." A new thought struck him. "Lothiriel is going to kill me." His head sank into his hands, and he rubbed his face.

Then he went stock still.

He ran a hand over his chin again.

Suddenly a pounding headache and an angry wife were the least of his problems.

He looked up slowly to see that Aragorn and Faramir had taken several steps back and were grinning at him.

"Which one of you did it?"

"What's that, Eomer King?" asked Aragorn with a chuckle.

"Which one of you shaved my beard?"

Aragorn, laughing loudly, pointed to Faramir, who was grinning nervously. Eomer pulled himself to his feet.

"Are you amused, Steward of Gondor?" he asked, deadly calm.

". . .Yes?"

"You find it funny that you've made the King of Rohan look like a child just off his mother's breast?"

"Er. . ."

As Faramir stumbled for words Eomer glanced around , searching for something.

Faramir stopped rambling abruptly as Eomer picked up his sword and unsheathed it.

Silence. Even Aragorn had stopped laughing. Eomer glared at Faramir.

Suddenly the door to the chamber opened and Elfhelm entered. He was studying a parchment of some sort. "My Lord, the West Mark-" He looked up and stopped mid-sentence. "My Lord. . . what happened to your beard?"

"I do not wish to talk about it," said Eomer darkly through his teeth, still glaring daggers at Faramir.

There was silence for a moment and then Faramir turned on his heel and bolted for the door, past Elfhelm into the corridor. In a flash Eomer was after him, brandishing his sword and cursing loudly in Faramir's direction.


Elfhelm and Aragorn looked at each other for a moment and then sprinted after Faramir and Eomer.

Perhaps the King of Gondor had misled one of his subjects.

This could not possibly end well.