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Chapter 1
“Welcome home, my friend,” Boromir turned
around at the sound of a familiar voice, and his tired but pleasing
countenance wreathed in smiles when he noticed the tall, blond figure
who had greeted him as he headed towards his room.
“Haldir! It is good to see you! It has been so long!”
he exclaimed heartily shaking hands with his old acquaintance, taking
in the elven features seemingly unchanged since the last time they had
met ten years ago in Edoras at an archery meet.
“You have changed,” Haldir commented, as he pushed
back his hood revealing the trademark ears of his kind.
“Ah, but it has been nearly a decade,” Boromir
exclaimed, “Although you have not changed at all.”
“A decade is not a very long time for my kind,”
Haldir said smiling.
“Aye, you are true there,” Boromir said, “but,
where are my manners, do come inside,” he jerked open the door
to his room, “are you here for the council?”
“Yes, I am here for the council as a representative
of Lórien. But, you have just arrived, surely you have other things
to do, spend time with your family?” Haldir said.
“I have met my father, but had to leave for he has
an important envoy meeting him today,” Boromir said, “And
my brother I have yet to meet, but he is sure to come around himself,
and when he does he will be pleased to meet you. Unless you have already
met him?” He smiled thinking that Faramir would surely jump to
meet an elf that too one from the Golden Wood. He had been so excited
to hear of Haldir when Boromir had returned from Edoras.
“Would you join me in a cup of wine?” he asked,
“I hope you are comfortable here?”
“The Lord Steward’s hospitality has been impeccable,”
Haldir replied, and then smiled, “He even sent someone to request
me my needs for the night.”
“And did you tell him you had a preference for blonde
young Rohirrim men?” Boromir asked grinning as he remembered how
interested Haldir had been in one of the contestants at the tournament
who unfortunately had not returned the interest preferring the company
of blond young Rohirrim women.
Haldir smiled, “No, but I did refuse the request politely.”
Boromir suddenly looked up from his goblet of wine, “Haldir,
you must be careful.”
Haldir cocked an eyebrow up quizzically.
“I saw whom my father is meeting today. A commander
of a breakaway troop from Harad. They have, it seems, been speaking
with my father a few days now, offering their services to Gondor.”
“And?”
“The commander of the troop – Captain Fenekor,
I have heard of him. You remember in Rohan one day when we went out
riding and came across that injured man from the Harad camp?”
Haldir nodded. He had been truly appalled at that sight,
the man had been repeatedly assaulted physically and sexually and lay
in a ditch. They had taken him to the healers but he had refused on
awakening to name his attacker.
“I found out later that Fenekor was the attacker, and
that he does this regularly. If he finds out you prefer men to women,
Haldir… I am scared he may hurt you,” he breathed softly.
Haldir nodded grimly, “Do not fear for me, Boromir,
I can look after myself. Now tell, me who is this diplomat’s wench
I hear much about?”
Denethor glanced back at the huge man in front of him.
“Captain Fenekor, surely -?”
“No! If he spends the night with me, and I get to use
him for my entire stay here, we have a deal, else I call all off!”
Fenekor retorted crossing his arms across his ample chest, his thin
lips seemingly smiling through his tick dark beard and moustache.
Denethor sighed, “And he is the one?”
“Aye.”
“Very well, come with me then,” Denethor rose
and headed for the door, “I have given you rooms on the same wing
as his, and the servants have been dismissed for the duration of your
stay. You may do as you please, but if you do not mind my requesting
it, use your room and not his.”
He opened the door, and passed on a message to one of the
guards, and then led Fenekor out towards one of the wings in the far
corner. He never came this way nowadays, for he had little work there.
They entered the room allocated to the captain.
“You will not regret this, Gondor has much to gain
from my troop, and we know of every tactic every movement Harad will
employ. And we know their strengths and their weaknesses. In return
for that this is small price.”
“I do this for the sake of Gondor,” Denethor
informed him.
“Is that why you object little?” Fenekor inquired.
Denethor gave him a cold look, and was about to reply, when
a knock sounded on the door. He bade the arrival enter, and watched
his guest’s reaction. He could read pure lust in those eyes.
“You called for me, sir?” the new voice interrupted
his reverie and he turned to look into grey eyes, that looked puzzled,
apprehensive and hopeful all at once. He made the necessary introductions
and then addressed the dark haired new arrival, who nodded as he spoke.
“Captain Fenekor wished to meet you. You will give
him all the help he wants.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, I take your leave, Faramir will give you
what you want.”
“I will take what I want, my lord steward,” came
the smooth toned reply as Fenekor returned Denethor’s bow. He
rose, and walking up to the slim young man, suddenly reached for his
face.
“Faramir, is that your name?”
Faramir’s reaction was cut off for Fenekor had already
closed his mouth on his even as Denethor stood at the doorway. Faramir
pushed him away, roughly, and scowled at him, “How dare you?”
he spluttered angrily.
“My lord steward, would you be so kind as to –”
Fenekor began.
“Faramir, do as he says,” Denethor said.
“But sir, -”
“That is my order, Faramir.”
“Father -?” he pleaded anxiously, as out of the
corner of his now tearing eyes, he saw Fenekor remove his belt and finger
it meditatively.
“It is for the sake of Gondor, you must do as he says!”
with that Denethor turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Fenekor reached for Faramir and grabbing him roughly began
tearing off his shirt. Faramir struggled hard, screaming for his father
all the while. Two hard slaps across his face stunned him into silence,
until he stood completely naked in front of the Harad man, who drunk
in the sight of the supple young body. He grabbed him by the arm, wrenching
it badly in the process, and causing Faramir to cry out, and pushed
him onto the large bed.
Faramir fell heavily and lay dazed for a few seconds unable
to move. When he recovered his breath he raised himself up only to fall
back as a thick leather belt came flying on his chest. He yelled in
pain and shock, but by the time Fenekor was done all he could do was
whimper softly. Then he was turned onto his stomach, and whipped across
his back. When it was all done, he was in such pain, that everything
else receded to the background.
Fenekor grabbed his hair and threw him onto the ground, where
he kicked him repeatedly. But he never hit Faramir’s face.
He kept hitting the young man even as he undressed himself.
He slapped a half dazed Faramir awake and paraded his huge well-muscled
body in front of him, before giving him a bruising kiss. Throwing him
back on the bed, Fenekor entered Faramir without warning or preamble.
And smirked contentedly as he heard the screams.
Faramir screamed and screamed till he had no voice left.
It hurt, it hurt so much, as the other’s shaft pounded mercilessly
into him, tearing through him, sending trickles of blood down his legs.
Then a great weight lifted off him, and he felt someone turning
him over and licking his neck and torso, “That was lovely darling,”
a voice at his neck whispered, “We must do it again tomorrow,
and the day after, and – ”
Faramir kept his eyes shut. Even when he was slipped into
a long robe, and scooped up in Fenekor’s arms.
“Open your eyes,” Fenekor commanded, and Faramir
instantly obeyed.
The thin lips closed in on his again.
When his gasping mouth was released, Fenekor leered down
at him, and then carried him back to his own room. There he threw him
onto his own bed, and then bent down over him as he lay there heaving.
One hand reached out and went under his robe, lifting it up a long way.
Fenekor continued smirking at his face.
Faramir felt the hand groping his groin area, and then suddenly
he was being tickled there. He wriggled in protest. Fenekor finally
stopped, and then smoothing the robe over him, bent and kissed him on
his groin through the coarse fabric of the robe. Tears pricked his eyes
suddenly as he realised all he’d been through. Fenekor leered
at him once again and then walked out of the room.
“I wonder where Faramir is?” Boromir said aloud
as he walked Haldir back to his room, a slight disappointment showing
up in his voice.
“Does he not know you are coming today?” Haldir
asked.
“He does, but I suspect he thinks I will be coming
in much later, after meeting with father,” Boromir responded,
“I think I shall go to his room, he must be there, will you not
come? He will like to meet you.”
“Certainly.”
Boromir lead the long winding way through a number of hallways
and staircases to the wing his brother’s chamber was in.
“This is some distance away from the great hall and
yours and your father’s chambers,” Haldir commented.
Boromir simply nodded in reply.
Chapter 2
Faramir lay in his bed, covered to his chin in blankets
as he felt a chill descend on him. He had with great difficulty managed
to clean himself somewhat, get rid of the blood and apply some salves,
but it was not enough for his mind to feel at rest. He had always assumed
he would give his life for Gondor’s sake, but what he had given
up now seemed worse. His eyes welled up as he remembered how his father
had stridden out of Fenekor’s room with not even a look of remorse
on his face.
*Does he not care? Would he have been so heartless if
it had been Boromir? Would he have given him up so easily?*
He was so sore, he could barely move, he had nearly bent
over in pain more than once while trying to clean himself, and had had
to crawl back to his bed, where he now lay curled up on his side because
in any other position it hurt. He felt he had as much strength as a
half-drowned kitten. His entire body was covered in bruises and welts,
and Fenekor had promised a tomorrow. He shuddered at the thought of
it.
He tried to block out the incident from his mind, the indignity
and pain of it. And the feeling of betrayal, which festered all the
more so because his father had not even bothered to come and see how
he was doing.
*Oh, father what have you asked of me?* His eyes
burned but the tears refused to come. It had all happened so soon, he
was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. Barely an
hour and a half earlier, one of the servants had told him his father
had summoned him.
He had been a little apprehensive for he had already met
his father once since his return from a stint with the company of rangers
at Ithilien. Denethor had been curt and had listened without comment
to his words, and then dismissed him immediately. Since then Faramir
had not seen his father except at breakfast, the only meal they ate
together, where they had barely spoken. Denethor would eat and leave,
exchanging only the barest words with his younger son.
When the summons had come, he had been worried wondering
if he had done some ill and angered his father for Denethor never called
for him these days, but when he was asked to go down to one of the guest
rooms in his wing, he had a faint flicker of hope too that perhaps his
father might be giving him some task of responsibility.
He shifted as his muscles protested being in the same position
too long. Waves of pain ran through his entire body with even the slightest
twitch, and he could barely control the soft moans he made as he turned
over onto his other side. Lying on his back was out of the question.
He had tried lying face downwards, but his chest and stomach were too
tender from the welts criss-crossing them.
He wondered quietly if his father might come and see how
he was doing, surely he would. Boromir might be his favoured son, but
surely even he, Faramir, merited at least a little concern.
Boromir!
Boromir was to come today. Had he come? And what would he
think if he had not seen Faramir yet? Surely he would realise something
was amiss, and come down to his room? He must not see him like this!
Faramir snuggled deeper into the blanket, ensuring that not
a bit of skin showed through, glad that he had worn his old nightshirt
that closed up at the throat and had long sleeves. If he pretended to
be asleep when his brother came it would solve the problem. But why
had he not come yet? Surely he would have noted his absence. Faramir
had always been one of the first to greet his brother each time he returned
form his soldiering duties. And this time, Faramir too had been out
with rangers. His brother knew that.
As if in answer to his thoughts he heard a knock on the door.
“Faramir!” his brother’s voice wafted through
the wooden door, and too late, Faramir realised he had not latched it.
He shut his eyes, and curled in even more, willing himself to stay calm.
The door slid open, and he heard the sound of movement across
the bare uncarpeted floor. Two sets of footsteps.
*Father?*
Faramir’s eyes flew open involuntarily, eager for the
sight of Denethor hoping he had come after all, but he hadn’t.
It was someone else. In the fading light he could make out a fair pleasing
countenance, and a tall and lithe but well-toned figure.
“Faramir! Are you unwell, where have you been? I thought
you would have to throw you out of my room tonight as I always have
to when I return, instead I find you in bed already, and it is just
a little past sundown.” Boromir ranted.
“Boromir,” he was surprised at how normal his
voice came out, soft and a little scratchy from all the screaming but
calm nevertheless, “You have arrived.”
“Are you unwell?” Boromir repeated.
“Nay, I am all right, merely a little tired,”
Faramir responded still wrapped up in his blankets, “When did
you come?”
Boromir stared at his brother a little disappointed, “Yes,
but surely you knew I was coming at midday? Where have you been all
day? In the libraries?”
He laid a hand on his brother’s forehead looking for
signs of fever relieved to find none but at the same time angry at his
impolite behaviour. The room was dim and he could barely make out the
expression on his face, for the shadow of the walls fell over his features
revealing little, or he would have seen the raw pain and sorrow in them.
“I am well, Boromir, merely very tired, that is why
I retired early,” Faramir repeated, still clutching the blanket,
trying to move as little as possible.
“Will you join me in a small supper in my rooms?”
Faramir shook his head, “Forgive me brother, I am very
tired. Can we not do that tomorrow?”
“Very well,” Boromir said, a little coldly. He
did not mean to sound so, but it annoyed him when he saw that Faramir
did not look all that overjoyed to see him as he always had earlier.
*He thinks he’s been out once with the rangers
so he’s all grown up now.*
“Are you not going to introduce me to our guest?”
Faramir interrupted his thoughts.
“It would hardly be polite while you are still in bed,”
Boromir said tersely, “but seeing as nothing will induce you to
abandon your comfort, this is Haldir of the Golden Wood, whom I met
in Edoras all those years ago. He is here for the council.”
“Eight years ago,” Faramir said suddenly, “at
the archery tournament wasn’t it?”
“Yes, nearly a decade,” Haldir nodded smiling.
“It is good to meet you, Haldir, forgive me for not
rising but I am not dressed to receive company.”
Boromir stared amazed, surely Faramir would not be acting
so modest as to refuse to appear in front of another man in his nightclothes!
He shook his head slightly, disappointed at the seeming changes
in his brother.
“I bid you a good night then,” he said coolly,
“We will meet when you have recovered sufficiently from your hard
labour in the library.” He regretted the words immediately for
even in the dim light he sensed rather than saw a look of hurt pass
his brother’s face, but what was said was said and he would not
take it back now.
“Good night Boromir,” came the small voice, “I
bid you a pleasurable stay in Minas Tirth, Haldir.”
Boromir was quite unhappy as he led Haldir down the hallway.
“I am sorry for my brother’s impoliteness Haldir,
he is tired, and not himself,” Boromir said.
“He seemed worried,” Haldir told him.
“Worried?” Boromir could not keep a trace of
anger from his voice, “What has he to worry about, he has not
spent all these years staving off Mordor’s shadow. He has served
barely two months in the army, now. No, his worries are trivial.”
But even as he said that Boromir knew he was not quite right.
Faramir’s worries were ones he knew he’d never know. For
he would never know what it was like to feel unloved by a parent. He
knew Faramir hurt a great deal from Denethor’s treatment but he
was still angry with his brother. Faramir had never before let his disappointment
at his father’s remarks come in the way of his love and respect
for Boromir. So all he could assume now was that his brother had changed.
Faramir no longer loved him as much as he did earlier; he no longer
thought Boromir was the centre of his existence.
“You are weary, and it is clouding your mind, sleep
the night through, and you will feel much better,” Haldir’s
voice broke through his reverie, but he recognised the wisdom in the
soft-spoken words.
The coldness in Boromir’s voice had not escaped Faramir
and when his brother left he let his mask of control slip, as the tears
flowed down his cheeks. He felt a pain clutch his heart. His brother
was angry with him, and he didn’t blame him. He must have sounded
so rude and hateful, refusing to get up, refusing to sup with Boromir,
and probably insulting one of his friends.
He willed himself to try and sleep, but sleep would not come.
He wished he could sit by the window, and let the cool night air touch
him, but he could not think of moving. He stared instead at the window,
into the sky outside, full of stars, and was reminded of his days at
Ithilien, under the commander of the rangers. He had learnt much, from
a slightly unsure youth of twenty-one to a more confident and tactically
intelligent warrior. But he had a long way to go before he became like
the older rangers. He sighed softly as he remembered the nights spent
outside, sleeping on the soft earth, the smell of grass and heather
in the air, the stars in the sky. And the tears continued to fall.
When he awoke, the sun was already up, and it took him a
while to realise why he felt so terrible. The herbs he had ingested
the night before had left their influence, he felt lethargic and his
head ached. So did the rest of him. Slowly, like the pages of a book,
the past day’s events unfolded themselves in his fogged mind,
with crystal clarity, each shard of memory wrenching a knife deeper
in his heart.
He rose from the bed, slowly, painfully, almost bent over
like an old man. Each ache in his worn body hit him like a hot skewer.
The slaps to his face had thankfully not bruised noticeably, and his
lips had been healed by the salve. He felt a little faint too and realised
he had not eaten since midday the day before. And though he was not
sure he could eat much, he knew he should have some nourishment at least.
Denethor would not hear of him having breakfast in his room, for the
first meal of the day was always held in the great hall. He would have
to go down. And he might as well, or Boromir might come here himself.
For the first time ever, he was thankful, his wing was so far from his
brother’s. Hardly anyone came here. But that was why Fenekor could
do as he pleased too with no disturbance.
The thought of the man from Harad plunged him back into despair.
When he finally managed to get ready, ignoring the protests
from his aching muscles, and reached the hall, having walked down the
long halls and winding staircases at an extra slow pace, he was flushed
from his effort, and feeling very faint. He was also obviously very
late, judging by the barely contained annoyance in his father’s
face.
Faramir realised with a start that they had guests at breakfast.
Haldir was there, as were two more elves, two dwarfs, and men from Rohan
and Dol Amroth and Fenekor and one of his men.
“You are late.” Denethor did not even raise his
eyes from his plate. Even Boromir gave him only the tiniest of glances
and then looked away, his expression completely unreadable.
“I apologise,” he directed it to the entire table,
and hurriedly slipped into a place between Denethor and Haldir. The
seat was hard and he winced a little as he sat. It still hurt him and
he was also careful not to rest his back against that of the chair.
Boromir sat to the other side of his father talking to one of the Rohirrim.
Haldir sat speaking to the other Rohirrim and one of the other elves,
leaving Faramir with no one to talk to. His father ate in silence, occasionally
nodding at something the Rohirrim near his brother would lean over and
say. Boromir would interject often too, and Faramir could not prevent
the pang of jealously as he watched father and son talk.
*He never says a word to me during meals, now he talks
with Boromir of horses.*
He picked at his food, stealing glances every now and then
at his father to see if he was looking at him. But Denethor had no eyes
for his younger son. Across the table, Fenekor gave him a polite glance
once. Nothing more. Somehow that scared Faramir more than if that glance
had been a smirk or a leer. He was still picking at the food when the
others rose. Denethor glanced at him briefly as if in impatience and
then stood up, the others following him. Faramir too pushed back his
chair and made to get up.
“Finish you meal,” Denethor bade him gruffly,
and then turning to the others said, “Gentlemen we meet at midday
then, and the council begins at first light tomorrow, as agreed.”
As the others filtered out of the room, Denethor called Boromir
back, “Meet me in my chambers now.” He told him.
“And, Faramir, I wish to see you, alone, as soon as
you have finished your meal.”
Before Faramir could reply he strode out followed by Boromir,
who still would not look at his brother.
Faramir ate what he could slowly, for otherwise, he felt
nauseous, and finally upon finishing it headed for his father’s
chambers. He wondered why he had been called alone, and then realised
his father probably wanted to ask after him. There could be no other
reason, he had given his report on Ithilien, he was not in the council
so it could not be about that, it must be as he thought. It made him
feel decidedly better.
He knocked on the door and entered as bade. Boromir was sitting
on the couch leafing through some papers, a cup of herb tea in his hands.
Denethor sat at his table, another cup in his hands. Faramir was suddenly
struck by how companionable it all looked. Denethor was pleased with
Boromir’s performance, there had been no secret about that. He
had literally killed the fatted calf on his eldest son’s return.
“Boromir, go through those papers carefully, and I
will expect you at the council at first light tomorrow.” There
was a hint of pride in the words; one Faramir never got to hear.
“Yes sir,” Boromir rose and headed for the door,
nodding at Faramir as he passed. Just a small, polite nod.
Faramir shut the door behind him and stood in front of his
father’s desk. The faintness had gone though the aches and pains
still screamed. He wished he could sit on that lumpy couch but Denethor
had not given him leave to do so. Denethor rarely spoke to him for long
however, so he never offered him a seat, or herb tea for that matter,
a small voice in his mind told him.
He stood quietly as Denethor began to speak.
“I have received a report from your commander at Ithilien,”
Denethor’s calm voice hit Faramir. Ithilien, he called me to talk
of Ithilien, not of last night.
“So he is willing to have you under him some time longer.
You will make ready to leave within a fortnight.” Denethor’s
closing words pierced through the haze in his head, and he stared at
him quietly.
“Yes father,” he said when Denethor gave him
a baleful glare.
“You may leave now,” Denethor dismissed him.
“Father, I –” what was he to say? Surely,
it was to Denethor to say something?
“Yes?” Denethor snapped looking up from his papers.
“Nothing father,” he muttered and sidled out
of the door. The faintness returned with a vengeance. He made his way
back to his wing reeling in pain and exhaustion. Stumbling down the
hallway with half-closed eyes, he pulled up short as he hit something.
“Well, beautiful one, looking for me?”
He felt himself being dragged into Fenekor’s room,
the door being latched shut, and then he was pushed up against the wall.
He cowered slightly as Fenekor held him against the wall with just one
arm, and then pressed onto him. Fenekor was huge and he completely dwarfed
Faramir, as he kissed him violently once again. Then he was thrown to
the floor, on a thick carpet, on his back. Fenekor began kneeling down,
and then holding Faramir’s hands flat against the floor suddenly
brought his knee down on Faramir’s crotch, grinding it in hard
through his clothes, causing the young man to scream out in pain, and
buck against the attack.
Faramir sobbed aloud as the grinding continued, until Fenekor
equally suddenly removed his knee, and released the Gondorian’s
hands. He curled over clutching himself in pain, only to look up in
horror as he heard the crack of the huge whip Fenekor now held in his
hands.
Chapter 3
Faramir moved purely on reflex, as he had been taught to
in case of a sudden attack, ignoring his pain, he rolled away, but was
still not quick enough to prevent the tip of the whip lashing his side.
It tore through his tunic, and bit into the tender skin below drawing
a thin line of blood, and causing him to cry out in pain as it stung.
He scrambled to a sitting position edging further and further away from
Fenekor who seemed to be highly amused by his attempts to escape. A
heavily booted foot lashed out at him catching him in the centre of
his stomach, then again, and again. Faramir bent over groaning, exposing
his bent back to the captain.
The whip sang through the air and landed full across over
the previous day's welts, cutting cloth and skin, and leaving behind
it a trail in bright red. Faramir screamed in agony and arched his back
away from the whip. It landed again, this time across his torso and
stomach. Then again. And again. And again on his back. It was a huge
whip, and quite sharp, so that the cuts were not only large but deep
as well. He could bear it no longer, the pain was intolerable. He used
whatever strength he had left in him and bringing up one his legs kicked
out at Fenekor. His boot came in contact with the other’s shin,
drawing out a yell and much swearing. Fenekor hopped on one leg, fury
engulfing his face. He bent towards the fallen young man and grabbed
him by his shirt.
But Faramir was past caring, he struck out with a bunched
up fist, and Fenekor barely managed to dodge it. Instead of landing
smack on his face as Faramir had intended, it brushed his jaw, the impact
causing him to grunt in pain, and serving to further fuel his ire. Faramir’s
ring had scratched his chin and drawn blood. Fenekor glared at the Gondorian.
“You will regret this, I promise you that!” he
yelled and grabbing Faramir by his hair, slapped him across his face
repeatedly gleefully watching the red marks spread across the cheeks,
some turning blackish, as they bruised him. Grey eyes clouded over,
and the once firmly held head now lolled backwards and forwards as the
smacks continued.
Faramir swayed in a daze, if Fenekor left his collar he would
fall. He felt his body explode with pain, he felt rivulets of blood
flow across his back and front, and then he felt his clothes being ripped
off again, as he was thrown against a huge wooden table. He lat dazed
across it, his clothes ripped apart, pain coursing through every inch
of his body.
“For Gondor, remember,” a silky voice cut through
the haze of his mind, and then Fenekor was entering him again as he
lay bent over the table. He rammed hard into him without warning, pushing
into him with greater force than he had used the day before. Healing
muscles were ripped once again, and blood trickled down his legs, mingling
with a trail of blood leading down from his back. Faramir had thought
he had never hurt as much as he had the day before, but this was worse.
Knowing how it felt did not ease the pain for him. And this time Fenekor
showed no mercy whatsoever. He rammed into him again and again, till
Faramir began screaming from the pain.
When he was satiated, Fenekor turned Faramir around. He smirked
at the sight of the bruised and bloodied body, covered in half torn
clothing, leggings lying at his ankles, and grey eyes filled with pain…
and fear.
He reached a hand out for him, and almost smiled when he
saw Faramir begin to tremble.
“Scared, beautiful?” he purred, reaching for
Faramir’s face, and running a sharp fingernail down one darkening
bruise, causing him to wince. Another hand reached for his crotch, and
began toying with his member. Faramir moaned involuntarily at the touch,
and when Fenekor suddenly bent down and kissed it lightly, and ran his
tongue all over his lower belly he gasped. Fenekor rose and started
licking his face, while continuing to lightly rub his hand over his
swelling member.
“They tell me you are not one for the women, pretty
one, how goes it then. Is it the men that you bed, love?” the
Harad man crowed, “Do you not secretly love to be taken by another
man?”
Faramir simply screamed in reply as Fenekor tightened his
grip and ruthlessly twisted him, sending an explosive pain through the
battered body.
“Whore!” he spat at his face and released him.
Faramir crumpled to the ground sobbing, and curled up in a ball of agony
and pain.
“How many more had your father given you to? You weep!”
he snorted, ”If I had a son who were to weep so, I would give
him to a brothel. No wonder your father feels naught for you!”
Faramir gave a loud strangled cry, and made as if to shake
his head, but Fenekor bent down and grabbed him by his hair and pulled
him up, till their lips were nearly touching, “Come with me,”
he hissed into the abused face, glaring down at the frightened grey
eyes, “Come with me when I leave, I will give you your heart’s
desire.”
Faramir shook his head ignoring the overwhelming pain. He
got a perverse satisfaction from noting that the cut he had unintentionally
given the man from Harad with his ring, still bled.
“Fool! What have you here? Can you not see Denethor
loves you not? What father would give his son up for the sake of his
land?”
Faramir shook his head again, angering the captain. The grip
on his hair tightened, and then he was kneed in his groin. He had no
strength left to scream as he sagged down in pain. Fenekor continued
to grip his hair so that he almost hung to his knees now.
“You whore!” Fenekor screamed at him again, “You
filthy, vile creature!” A resounding slap to the side of his head
sent Faramir into a daze. What happened after that was only a vague
memory in his mind. He felt himself being entered once again, he felt
immense pain, he felt slaps, he felt a heavy body pressing down on his
groin, he felt it grind against him, causing more pain, and he shut
his eyes and tried to lose himself in a void, but the void wouldn’t
let him inside.
It kept him on a threshold from where he could feel all,
but do nothing. He was powerless, completely helpless, so he just lay
there.
Then there was a knock on the outer door, and Fenekor rose
cursing, rustled on a robe and walked out. The sounds of a whispered
conversation filtered through, of a summons in the great hall. Fenekor
returned and throwing a long tunic at him, pulled him up roughly by
one hand.
“You can go now! Go – go to whomever else it
is you have sold your filthy body to. The Rohirrim? The elves? The dwarfs?”
He dragged him over to the door, a shaking figure, stumbling over the
leggings around his ankles, and bodily threw him out into the thankfully
deserted hallway, in his torn clothes, clutching pathetically to the
tunic.
Faramir lay on the cold floor, willing himself to rise. He
knew this wing was rarely visited, that was why his father had made
him move there, so he could keep him out of his sight.
*Father, do you hate me so?*
He dragged himself up against a wall, watching detachedly
as he left spots of blood all over the floor, wondering what the servants
would think. He pulled up his legging somehow, and then half crawled,
half dragged himself to his own room. Pushing the door open he stumbled
inside and then painfully raising himself entered his antechamber where
his cleaning and healing materials lay, and passed out.
Boromir spent the morning reading the reports his father
had bade him to. Then he had gone down and had some good rigorous sword
practice. When he returned to his chambers and finished cleaning off
the sweat and grime it was almost midday. He entered the great hall
for his luncheon meal nodding at the other eaters who sat scattered
along various tables.
Noticing Haldir sitting alone at a table, he made his way
over and sat next to him. They exchanged pleasantries and discussed
each other’s plans for the rest of the day.
“I do not see your brother,” one of the Rohirrim
men remarked from a nearby table, “Is he always late for his meals?”
Boromir heard the underlying jest but the words still angered
him. Faramir was being so stupid. But then, Denethor was not around
either, perhaps the two were together. His rigorous session in the morning
had helped Boromir get rid of all his excess energy leaving him much
calmer now, and better disposed over his younger brother. Perhaps he
had been tired last night. After all he was late for breakfast, which
he would never have dared to, especially with guests around, for fear
of Denethor’s wrath. And who was to know how his father had been
treating the younger brother while he was not there. He knew though,
from Faramir himself that for many months, the slights had been verbal
only, and not physical. It had been a relief to here that Denethor had
now stopped raising his hand at his younger son at the least provocation.
“Is Lord Faramir with my father?” he asked the
servant who came to replenish his wine.
The servant shook his head, “No, my lord the lord steward
has been meeting with his commanders since morning.”
“And Lord Faramir?” Boromir asked, a little glad,
for he knew any meeting between father and son would only result in
disquiet for the younger.
“He has not been here all day,” the servant replied.
“He must be in the library,” Boromir mused slightly
exasperated.
“No, my lord, for they are cleaning there today, and
it is my lord Steward’s orders that none else be allowed in.”
“Very well, thank you.”
He left with Haldir after his meal intending to take the
other too the armoury and show him the new archery equipment that had
arrived there. But he was still thinking of his brother.
*I was too cold with him yesterday; I hope he did not
notice. But of course, he would notice it. Father’s behaviour
has made him a little too sensitive. But he did look tired.*
He fretted all the way along the long hallway traversing
the citadel, worrying about Faramir. If he had not been in the hall
it would mean he had not had his meal at all, for Denethor had long
since forbidden him from having meals in his room. Boromir knew it was
just an excuse to prevent Faramir from hiding away by retreating into
his books. Denethor might not eat his meals with his younger son, but
he still insisted that he walk all the way to the hall to eat.
“You are worried,” Haldir stated simply. Boromir,
not for the first time was struck by the other’s quiet perceptiveness.
“I would like to check on Faramir first, I see no reason
why he should have missed a meal, it is down this wing here and will
barely take us a few minutes. If you do not mind, we can go to the armoury
after that,” Boromir requested.
“Certainly, my friend,” Haldir agreed sagely,
“your brother I am sure would welcome your company.”
He used to, Boromir thought to himself, but will he now?
When he rapped on the outer door, there was no response.
He was about to turn away when Haldir stopped him and pointed at a small
stain on the floor near the door, a drying crimson stain. Boromir simply
pushed the door open and barged in, the elf following him.
Faramir was nowhere to be seen. He noticed the open door
to the antechamber and covering the distance in a few long strides stopped
short at the sight in front of him.
His younger brother lay on the floor, in a muddled heap.
He gave a small cry and rushed to the motionless figure that lay bleeding
on the floor, face hidden from view by his hair. He gathered the fallen
figure up in his arms, and cried in alarm again as he saw the whip marks,
and then the dark bruises covering his face.
“Oh, little one,” he cried, using a term from
long-forgotten childhood days, “Who has done this to you?”
“Boromir,” Haldir’s voice cut through the
varied emotions swirling through him, “We must get him into bed,
he will be getting cold on the floor.”
Together they carried the young man to his bed, and began
undressing him, faces becoming progressively grimmer as the true extent
of the injuries came out. The entire torso was either black or blue
or red in colour. As also the back. When Haldir tugged the leggings
down, Boromir noticed the line of dried blood on the leg. But it was
Haldir who realised what had happened, and turned him around, nodding
angrily at Boromir, who was now beside himself with emotion. The next
few minutes were ones Boromir went through in a haze. He remembered
being pressed by Haldir into getting herbs, heating water, and getting
fresh clothes out. Once the injuries were dressed, and Faramir put into
a long tunic of fine soft material, Boromir knelt by the bed drained,
waiting for his brother to awaken and tell him hat had happened. Who
had hurt him so badly?
He sank his head down, and then the felt the bile rise up
his throat. He swiftly rose, and headed for the antechamber where he
collapsed against the wall retching and crying. How long he lay sprawled
there he could not say, but he heard Haldir enter and put a hand on
his shoulder and was glad of it. It provided him strength as he sobbed,
“He was hurt yesterday, some bruises are a day old. How could
I be so blind?”
Lost in recriminations, neither heard the outer door open
as the Steward of Gondor entered his younger son’s chambers for
the first time in many years.
Denethor strode through the darkened room, towards the lump
on the bed, his face a mask, but his set body revealing barely suppressed
anger. The figure on the bed lay in the shadow and all that was visible
of him was dark hair. The steward grabbed at him by the neck, causing
the grey eyes to open unsteadily and the dark hair to fall all over
the face, hiding it from view, and aided by that and a blind rage, Denethor
did not notice the condition of his face or the pain filled grimace
that assailed it.
Yanking Faramir out of the bed, he shouted, “Whatever
possessed you to do something so stupid? If Gondor is ruined it will
be because of you.” And sent a resounding slap to his son’s
face, that was loud enough to be heard by the two occupants of the antechamber.
Chapter 4
Faramir was deep in a sleep he wanted to awaken from desperately
for all he saw over and over again in a silent nightmare was Fenekor’s
face and then a pain would explode in him as a weight would descend
on his slender body. Each time he would feel the fear and pain as Fenekor
entered him. He only rose when a hand gripped him and shook him awake
fiercely. Through sleep-clouded eyes, he could vaguely make out his
father’s form looming over him. Consciousness was yet to return
fully, but the searing pain did not go unfelt. Too tired to verbalize
his pain, he was even less ready for the shouting and then his father’s
hand rose, and fell on his abused face.
And then came the noise of more shouting.
*Boromir.*
He was pulled into someone’s arms, spent, exhausted
and in pain so severe that everything else was forgotten.
The sound of the slap had brought Boromir out of his shock-induced
state and he had rushed out for fear of his brother. The sight that
met him angered him greatly. His brother’s limp form was being
held up by Denethor, who in his furious rage was raising his hand again
to get his silent son to answer him.
“You fool! Thanks to your folly –”
“What are you doing?” Boromir lashed out at the
steward, grabbing his upraised arm with one hand, and tugging at his
brother with another. He pushed away Denethor’s arm, and turned
his attention to the one he held. Dragged into the light, the injuries
on Faramir were clearly visible.
“He is hurt!” Boromir spat out angrily, and picking
the semi-conscious form laid him gently on the threadbare couch near
the fireplace.
“He has been beaten, and - and- ” Boromir bit
back a sob.
“He has endangered Gondor!” Denethor shouted,
and turned away to face the window.
“No!” Faramir’s faint voice rang out. They
turned to see his eyes open, tired, but open, and clouded with pain
and sorrow.
“No, I did all you asked,” he gasped out. His
body was on fire. Pain resounded in every muscle and every bone. He
could not even sit properly.
“What did you do?” Boromir asked anxiously.
But neither father nor brother seemed to hear him for Denethor
continued to stand in the shadows his voice lashing out at his younger
son, while facing away from him.
“Did I ask you to hit Captain Fenekor, you worthless
idiot? To draw blood?”
“Father!”
“No, my lord, it was an accident,” Faramir’s
voice was getting fainter still and wavering, and tinged with what Boromir
realised almost immediately was fear.
“You hit him, he says, and refused to do as he asked,”
Denethor spat out, “Coward!”
Boromir took a step forward, “You speak in riddles,
this is not the time. Faramir is ailing, my lord, and I would call a
healer.”
“Ailing? So he should, when the white city is destroyed
tomorrow, we can all ail with him!”
“My lord!” Faramir raised himself, ignoring Boromir’s
cry of annoyance, and his own body’s protests, “I swear
to you, I did all he asked, would you not trust me, your own son, to
speak the truth?” Faramir sounded terrible, and raw pain laced
his voice now. Haldir who had been standing silently by took a step
towards the couch, but stopped short as Denethor’s voice cut through
sharply.
“You are no son of mine.”
Faramir simply gave a strangled sob in response.
“Father!” Boromir sounded as though he wanted
to strangle Denethor. Instead he sat by Faramir holding the trembling
young man.
“My son would give his life for Gondor,” Denethor
continued mercilessly, still facing away from his sons.
“I would,” Faramir cried, “You ask for
body and soul and I gave up both, what more do you ask? My life? You
have it my lord for I can live with this shame and humiliation no more!”
“Who did this to you?” Boromir’s voice
came icily calm.
“You gave up your body you say? For Gondor? Then why
says Fenekor otherwise? He says you resist him, and you hit him and
left?”
“Fenekor!” Boromir shouted, “Fenekor did
this to you?”
Denethor turned suddenly, “Did what?”
“And you knew?” Boromir raged.
Denethor walked up to the couch, and then for the first time
in all that while saw his younger son’s condition.
“Fenekor hit you?” he said slightly horrified
at the bruises lividly standing out in a pale face.
“He raped him!” Boromir screamed, “And
with your leeway.” He launched himself at Denethor, only to be
stopped by a strong arm.
“Do not be foolish, Boromir. Your brother was his price
for allying his troop with us against Harad. And little price.”
Boromir seethed speechless in anger.
“But that he would go so far as to hurt your brother
like this, I did not realise,” Denethor leant towards Faramir,
and opened the bindings holding the long robe in place. Faramir flushed
as his chest was exposed bandaged and bruised. He tried to push away
his father’s inquiring hands, and made to move off the couch,
to be stopped by Haldir who grabbed him and sat him down.
Denethor blanched at the sight of the marks that covered
his son’s torso, the spots of blood on a bandage covering the
wound from the whip standing out against the black and blue skin.
He reached a hand for his son’s face and brushed a
stray strand of hair away. Faramir flushed again, unused to such a display
of concern from his usually taciturn father.
“You let someone and that too a Haradrim *have* your
son as payment?” Boromir shouted again.
“Yes,” Denethor rose.
In Haldir’s arms, Faramir started to shake, tears flowing
down his face.
“How could you? A Haradrim, a filthy Haradrim? And
my brother?”
“If the need be, I would let an orc take your brother,
if it meant saving Gondor!” Denethor spat out.
Faramir gave a distressed cry at that. Fenekor’s words
hit him with a vengeance.
*How many more had your father given you to?*
Haldir tightened his grip around the trembling young man
in his arms. The unfolding events were leaving a bitter state in his
mouth.
“Father, you should leave now, please send for a healer.
I will be here with Faramir all day and possibly all night,” Boromir
replied with a strange calm that belied his true feelings.
“No,” Faramir whispered, struggling to get out
of Haldir’s arms, “Not a healer, I will not let anyone see
me like this, no, please no,” he sobbed. Pain clouded his mind,
threatening to send him over a deep dark abyss and he fought to stay
awake.
“Very well, Boromir will see to your injuries,”
Denethor said and strode towards the door.
“F- fa- My lord?” Faramir spoke up again, his
eyes tinged with anxiety.
“Yes?”
“What of the captain? Will he – what will you-?”
*I cannot anymore, not anymore…*
“I do not know,” Denethor said sighing, “But
you will not have to go to him again, that I can assure you, I did not
think he would hurt you so badly.”
“You must be joking!” Boromir shouted out again,
“What did you think he would do to Faramir? Give him a hug and
a sweet and send him back to his room?”
“You will not understand, Boromir, but you must, for
you must also learn that Gondor should have the first place in your
heart. Faramir, rest and recover your strength, I will have your meals
sent to your room, and inform the servants that you are ill and not
to be disturbed.” With that the steward swept out of the room.
Boromir moved to the door too, his hands clenched tight,
he felt like hitting his father, and killing Fenekor and… the
small cry from the couch stopped him. He turned to his brother his face
a mask of remorse and sorrow, tears filling up his eyes and spilling
onto his cheeks, when he saw the forlorn young man lying in his friend’s
arms. Faramir stared back at him, and then pushing Haldir’s hands
away with unexpected force rose, and stumbled into his brother’s
arms.
They stood there for a long time, taking comfort in each
other’s presence, just being close to his elder brother giving
Faramir the strength to stand.
*Oh Boromir, I know you’ll keep him away, I’m
scared, it’s stupid and cowardly, but I’m scared, and if
Gondor falls it will be because of me…*
Haldir watched them, his heart ached for the younger, who
seemed torn between duty and self, who so obviously did what he did,
not just out of duty but out of need for filial love. Little things
like the lack of conversation between father and son, the desolate location
of Faramir’s room had not escaped his notice. Everyone else liked
Faramir much, his brother, the servants, the people loved the two brothers
equally. All but Denethor, it seemed. Denethor was quite simply indifferent.
Which was a pity because the boy, no the young man, was indeed
likeable, he seemed intelligent, sensitive, brave, not built like a
warrior though. He was slight of build but surely a few seasons with
the rangers would change that. The slight figure must have been what
attracted Fenekor’s attention, Haldir decided, and the finely
chiseled mouth, and those beautiful grey eyes, they look wise and far-seeing,
like one with elvish blood in him, from his mother, no doubt –
Valar what am I thinking? I am no better than the fool captain from
Harad to analyse his body like this. I should be helping.
Boromir was still holding his brother in his arms, tears
pouring down his own cheeks.
“I did not realise yesterday, did that -, did he -
?” Boromir could barely complete the sentence, as Faramir nodded
and then buried his head in his shoulder. He instinctively tightened
his hold on the slim figure of the younger man.
“Oh, Faramir, I am sorry, I should have realised,”
he started off, hugging his brother tighter only to be cut off by a
gasp from the younger man, “What is it?” he asked alarmed.
Faramir raised his head, grey eyes clearly showing he was
hurting badly, ”Naught, it is just my back.”
“Oh,” he loosened his grip, and then carefully
adjusted his arms so that he would not hurt his brother’s injured
body more.
Haldir rose, not missing the fact that Faramir looked on
the verge of collapse, and Boromir looked terrible too, “Come,
you must rest now,” he told the younger one, and pulled him away
a little. Faramir nodded, and began to sag slightly as Borormir’s
hands left him. The next minute his brother had picked him up and carried
him back to bed. Haldir went quietly into the small antechamber.
“Haldir is right, sleep now,” he said soothingly
and leaned down to brush his forehead with a small kiss.
“Sleep does not come,” Faramir said tonelessly.
Boromir placed a hand on the dark hair, and sighed, “It
will, little one, it will.”
“Perhaps Boromir should stay here for the rest of the
day,” Haldir suggested,” Here, have some of this brew, it
will help you sleep.” He handed the young man on the bed, a small
cup full of a thick liquid.
Faramir glanced up, it was as if he was realizing for the
first time that Haldir was there for hew flushed uncomfortably, “I
am sorry, Haldir, to have caused you all this needless trouble.”
That Faramir was embarrassed to have been in such a position
before a relative stranger was painfully obvious. He seemed very distressed
at the thought, so the elf leaned forward, and placing a hand on one
shoulder, said quietly, “It is no needless trouble to be of service
to you Faramir, Boromir is a very good friend, I am sure he would not
hesitate before doing anything for me, and I merely reciprocate the
sentiment. Now sleep, you are in no condition to debate on trivialities.”
“Thank you indeed Haldir,” Boromir said as he
sat on the bed watching his brother’s light sleep after a while,
“He sleeps now, but not peacefully, I feel. I will be by him for
the rest of the day. He needs me.”
“You cannot stay up all day and night,” Haldir
told him quietly, “there is a council tomorrow. Will you not let
me help you further, and watch him awhile while you sleep?”
Boromir sighed, “You are being too kind. I would not
like to impose, but you are correct too, so I will accept your offer.
Although, I must admit I am loathe to attend the council on the morrow,
for I do not see any likelihood of Faramir getting better by then. He
has been through much, and If Fenekor is there, I will probably rip
him apart for doing this!”
“Peace my friend,” Haldir said softly.
“How could he, Haldir? How could father do this to
him? Doe he not see his pain and his suffering? My poor little one,
he looks so terrible.”
There was a quiet sob from the bed and both elf and man rushed
to the sleeping man’s side to assuage whatever nightmare seemed
to be bothering him.
“Get some more of the brew, Boromir, it is in the other
room,” Haldir said urgently as he took the flushed face of the
sleeping man in his hands and tried to quiet him. Boromir ran to the
antechamber, leaving Haldir with the younger man, softly sobbing away.
Haldir found that a soothing litany of elvish words calmed
him down sooner than anything else, and suddenly began to croon a soft
slow melody, all the while stroking his hand. Faramir’s face relaxed
and he slipped back into a quiet sleep and Haldir continued to hold
his hand, lightly caressing the long fingers and watching him.
They spent the day taking turns with Faramir, who woke up
just once. He was groggy and was immediately fed a few spoonfuls of
a drugged soup that sent him back to sleep again. When he awoke the
next time, it was at night, and Boromir had gone to fetch some more
healing herbs for Faramir’s stock had depleted. He awoke when
the effect of the herbs had worn out, with a startlingly fresh memory
of everything that had happened, as though he had not slept at all,
and finding Haldir next to his bed gave him a look fraught with confusion
and worry.
Haldir gave him a reassuring smile, “how do you feel?
Boromir has just gone to get some herbs.”
Faramir tried to return the smile, “I don’t feel
very hungry. I am alright, merely a little weary.”
Little, Haldir felt was an understatement. Dark circles lined
the young man’s eyes, neatly complementing the ugly bruises on
his face. Tiredness and pain shone intensely in the slate grey eyes,
and lines around the mouth.
“The pain -?”
“I am well. The pain is little.”
*That, my young friend, is not what your eyes tell me*
Haldir thought but forbore to say aloud.
“You are tired? Then go back to sleep, my friend, it
will do you good,” he said instead.
“I do not think I will be able to,” was the unhappy
reply. Seeing Haldir’s distress at those words, he put one hand
on the elf’s palm resting on his bed, and said quietly, “Will
you not tell me about the Golden Wood?”
Haldir almost gasped at the tingling he felt when the man’s
hand touched his. He could feel the calluses in the palm, an indication
of much time spent handling weapons one was not entirely accustomed
to, and he felt an irrational anger at the circumstances facing the
land that forced hands that should have been touching books being forced
to touch weapons that maimed and killed even if for a cause. And those
bruises, still fresh from that terrible assault. Ai, he was young, too
young. *Why, Denethor, did you force him into this? Surely you could
have refused? * And the anger rose, further, but finally he swallowed
his feelings and patting the hand atop his with his other hand began
to speak softly.
The next ten minutes showed Haldir a little of the side of
Faramir he had heard of. The grey eyes sparkled with the light of one
who loves knowledge for its own sake as he fluently spoke of his home,
and not without yearning for in the stones of Minas Tirth he missed
the trees of his beloved Lórien. And Faramir seemed to understand for
his eyes took on a look of compassion as Halidr went on telling him
about his brothers, about the woods, about the lady.
Faramir’s eyes were closing, despite his unwillingness
to sleep, and face fresh nightmares. Haldir softly stroked his head
with his free hand, the other still lying loosely under the man’s
hand.
“It sounds a nice place,” came the sleep tinged
remark.
“It is beautiful,” Haldir responded.
“As our its inhabitants. Are all elves as beautiful
as you?”
Haldir stopped short at those words, and then leaned forward
only to see Faramir was nearly asleep. He suddenly realised Boromir
should have returned by now, and began to wonder when he heard muffled
sounds from outside and went to the window. Lights were coming on as
torches began to be lit. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
It was a servant with summons to the hall downstairs. Lord Boromir was
there too. He turned hesitantly to the bed where Faramir lay, his eyes
open for the knock had caught him just as he was falling into slumber.
“Go, Haldir, but would you ask Boromir if he would
come when his work is done?”
“Certainly.”
Haldir left with the servant. Neither saw a figure detach
itself from a nearby corridor, and walk slowly to Faramir’s door.
Waiting outside listening to sounds of sleep, finally turning the handle
on the door, and entering the room making straight for the bed, where
his current infatuation lay.
Chapter 5
Haldir hurried behind the servant wondering what the motive
behind such an urgent summons could be. He had a feeling, nay, he knew,
it had something to do with the heightened activity outside. The number
of torches he’d seen being lit far outnumbered the norm on any
given day. And his heightened uneasiness did not help matters either.
He did not want to leave Faramir alone, but the missive the servant
had brought along to add weight to his words was worded urgently. And
Faramir would be safe here, he felt. After all, from what he’d
seen of this wing, no one ever came here, and Faramir’s was the
only room.
But he still felt worried for the young man. He decided it
was because of the state he’d seen him in. Faramir was seemingly
on the verge of physical and mental collapse if not already there.
*Poor lad,* he thought to himself, *it must
be difficult for him when Boromir is not around. No wonder he prefers
to spend his time in the library, even books can be better friends than
stone walls, and the distance of a father.*
The handsome young face floated back into his vision just
then, a face shorn of the ugly bruises that covered it, a face lively
and animated and grey eyes that reflected joy and content, and not as
he had just seen, pain, sorrow, fear, and loneliness. The last he had
seen vanish each time the soulful grey eyes had rested on Boromir.
“Does Lord Faramir stay alone in this wing?”
he asked the servant.
The servant nodded grimly, as most did when they sensed questions
about the younger son of the house that could only bring about uneasy
silences and hedged words.
“Sometimes, if there are many guests, such as now,
then some of the rooms are opened.”
Haldir shrugged slightly, he thought he’d seen one
of the rooms open the day before, but by now they were at the hall,
and the general aura of confusion there soon took over his senses pushing
everything to the background.
“What is the matter?” he asked a worried looking
Boromir who stood some distance away from the melee of people all trying
to talk at the same time, servants, guards, soldiers. Denethor’s
study door was shut, and Denethor himself was nowhere to be seen.
Boromir grabbed Haldir by the arm and led him further away
from the crowd, “Faramir?” he asked.
“He is all right, nearly asleep, but wishes you visit
him when your work here is over.”
“I wished to stay with him tonight,” Boromir
said grimly, “but this will take awhile. Oh, friend, great problems
have arisen.”
“What is the matter?” Haldir asked again, knowing
that Boromir had left merely to get some herbs for Faramir’s comfort
and would never have tarried returning to his ailing brother’s
bedside where he was sorely needed, unless it were a really serious
matter.
“It seems Fenekor’s aide, Lieutenant Dorec was
found killed,” Boromir replied, running a hand through his dark
hair, weary grey eyes clearly filled with worry, “And we know
not who the perpetrator is. And worse is that Fenekor thinks the knife
used was meant for him for he had sent Dorec off towards his camp in
his place at the last minute, and Dorec was found dead in the stables.
And he has the gall to imply Faramir might have tried something. Can
you think that? Boromir’s voice rose in anger here, “Thankfully,
father assured him there has been someone with Faramir all day, and
he has been too ill to move from his room.”
Haldir took a deep breath, “This is terrible news,
what is to be done now?”
“I do not know. Fenekor awaits in the study. Father
will be here shortly; he is speaking to his generals. Haldir, we fear
greatly now. Even if Fenekor has rebellious tendencies, a death of one
of their lieutenants can be an invitation for attack. I am sure it is
the work of their spies. They will now have killed two birds with one
stone. Killed a rebel and found an excuse to attack our defenses.”
Haldir was about to reply when Denethor strode around the
corner, beckoning to Boromir to follow him as he did so.
Boromir tugged Haldir along though the elf was sure Denethor
would not like him around, but the steward barely seemed to notice his
presence as he flung his study door open and stood on the threshold
nonplussed. For the study was obviously empty. They entered it, and
looked around once again.
Boromir, yelled out to a servant, asking him if he had seen
the Harad captain to be told the man had just walked out of there some
ten minutes ago, towards the wing his rooms were in.
“And where is his room?” Boromir asked.
“The outer wing,” he was told.
“He was last seen heading towards his room in the outer
wing,” Boromir re-entered the study and told his father, and then
stopped struck, “But that is Faramir’s wing. You placed
him in Faramir’s wing?”
Receiving no response from his father, he continued, icily,
“How convenient!” And then dashed out of the study, with
Haldir following him.
“Move Faramir to your rooms tonight,” Denethor
called out to the retreating back of his elder son.
The two friends raced through the long hallways and winding
staircases to the far reaches of the citadel. When they reached their
object it was to found that their deepest unspoken fear had come true.
Faramir’s room was empty, the only signs that anyone had been
there all day, were the rumpled sheets lying on the bed and floor.
Fenekor urged his horse forward, the prone body of the young
man lying in front of him, dressed only in a thin long tunic, that flapped
up and down in the wind, revealing pale skin underneath, and adding
to his arousal. He gave a feral grunt each time the tunic rode up a
little more, hands often itching to leave the reins of his steed, and
stroke the exposed upper thighs, moving further upwards… His destination
was thankfully nearing, and he could hardly wait to continue where he’d
left off with the steward’s younger son.
Boromir dashed out of the hallways running around wildly
before Haldir stretched out an arm and stopped him gently.
“We will ask the servants,” he told him quietly
trying to calm down the panicking man. A search of Fenekor’s rooms
had revealed no one inside and Boromir had panicked thinking Faramir
could be anywhere now.
“He would not leave towards the more crowded part of
the citadel, it would be too conspicuous to carry out the steward’s
son, is there a lesser known way out of that wing?”
“Yes,” Boromir breathed sharply, “It leads
down to the stables.”
And then he was racing down to the stables, the elf at his
footsteps.
The stables were in uproar, given the events of the day,
but quick inquiries revealed that one of the urchins playing outside
a side exit had seen someone resembling Fenekor ride out, with some
kind of a long bundle in his arms. He had of course headed out of the
city, towards a long out of use track that went across the Pelennor,
over the Anduin and hit Harad Road.
“We do not use that track anymore, we have better routes
now,” Boromir muttered, “Why would he use that trail then
to head back to his camp, near Harad?”
“Maybe he has a hideout there?” Haldir suggested,
“but if so, surely you would know?”
“Nay, not a hideout, although old buildings are many,
but in ruins.”
“We will have to ride out then. He must have thought
we would follow him along the usual route, and taken this path instead.”
Haldir said.
“You will come with me then?” Boromir asked eagerly,
and Haldir nodded seriously. He did not like where this was heading.
His heart filled with worry for Faramir. His predicament was unenviable.
“Should you not take more men along?”
Boromir paused and then shook his head, “We can ill-afford
to tarry longer and he is a lone man. But I will send a message to father,
let us leave immediately.”
They were soon on their way, racing through the old disused
pathway, searching for signs of their quarry, and his precious baggage.
Haldir’s keen eyesight could track them even in the low light.
They had ridden long and hard when Haldir began stopping irresolutely.
“Their tracks have vanished,” he said worriedly,
“I noticed sometime back but thought I may have missed something,
but now I am sure. They have not come this way, we must turn back and
search for signs of their having left the track.”
Reaching the point where the tracks left the trail, Haldir
finally found a set of tracks going through dense bushes towards a highly
overgrown area.
“Is there anything here?” he asked Boromir frowning.
“Once, many score years ago, a village, all that is
left of it is their old inn,” Boromir said, puzzled, “Fenekor
may have stopped for rest.”
“Aye, let us go there.”
Faramir awoke slowly to the sound of a soft voice in his
ear, his head feeling cloudy, a distant memory of pain, and a closer
memory of a sweet elvish lilt. But then as he regained his senses he
realised the soft voice in his ear was actually a coarse low voice that
was mocking him. His eyes flew open and met the dark eyes that had been
haunting his nightmares ever since he’d first seen them. Gasping
he tried to sit up, but found himself held down by strong hands, hands
that held him tightly in place bruising him. He was lying naked on a
hard stone bench and all was dark around him, except for a small glimmer
of light from afar, barely enough to help him make out the features
of the one leaning over him. His hands were manacled by steel chains
attached to the stone wall. Pain flooded back into his sense and when
he gasped again, his voice was edged with it. He tugged desperately
at his manacled hands, but found himself unable to budge, and his tired
muscles protested at the smallest movement. His legs were free but felt
leaden, and pain shot through his right ankle when he tried to move
his foot.
“Does it hurt, beautiful one?” Fenekor mocked,
and grasped him even tighter, burying his fingers into the soft pliant
flesh underneath, “So young, so soft,” he murmured letting
go of one shoulder, and tracing rough callused hands over the flesh
of the chest and stomach.
Faramir wriggled panic-stricken as the hand traced circles
around his bruised stomach. A finger was run lightly, almost lovingly
over one of the welts, and he realised his bandages had been removed
leaving his wounds exposed, raw, angry and red. Pain clouded his senses
again as Fenekor deliberately pressed the finger down on one of the
marks. Then the hand began moving again, running over the abused body
causing the young man to squirm in pain. Tears were lining Faramir’s
eyes now, and Fenekor soon brought his hand towards his crotch.
“So beautiful,” Fenekor said silkily, parting
Faramir’s legs, causing him to catch his breath.
He parted the legs even further, and lightly began to finger
Faramir’s entrance, pressing his fingers down upon the torn flesh,
causing more pain.
“What does the elf do in return for your services,”
he asked, his fingers still circling the skin near the entrance.
Faramir stared back, pain and confusion riddling his senses.
Fenekor removed his finger and leant forward to stroke Faramir’s
face instead, once again fingering the livid bruises.
“Tell me, what does the elf do in return?”
“Elf?” Faramir managed to rasp out confused.
Fenekor lowered his hand and began fingering Faramir’s entrance
again.
“Yes, my little pretty one, the elf, I saw him in your
room, and for so long, and such a delicate blush on his face when he
left. What does he give in return for your body, my little whore?”
Faramir gasped harshly, shaking his head, “No, he never
–“
Fenekor simply plunged his finger into Faramir mercilessly,
causing him to scream in pain. He twisted it further in ruthlessly.
“And you were smiling in your sleep. So you like it
when he makes love to you, but not when I do, is it? Whore!” One
more thrust, and a tiny trickle of blood began to seep out as healing
muscles were torn yet again.
He pulled out his finger and slapped Faramir across the face.
The younger man moaned in pain, “Did you tell him you lost your
virginity to me, my filthy little prostitute?”
Faramir was sobbing openly now. Fenekor slapped him again.
“You are mine you hear,” he said softly, “all
mine!” Kneeling between Faramir’s legs, he ran rough hands
over his thighs, kneading them ruthlessly, “I will take you with
me wherever I go, and you will satisfy my needs.”
Faramir cried out in pain as Fenekor’s hands continued
their violent manhandling, “And if I find you with anyone else
without my leave, I will thrash you like I am going to do now.”
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, for Faramir had
long since shut his grey orbs tight from pain and fear. They flew open
now, scared by the anger in the captain’s voice.
“Look at me,” he commanded, “I want to
see what goes in your eyes, when I take you. Perhaps when we return
to my camp, I will let my men take you one by one, and watch. You look
so nice when you scream like that.“
“Why?” Faramir managed to rasp out, as the hand
began to pinch and knead the sensitive flesh around his upper thighs,
causing him to gasp harshly. He could feel himself getting aroused purely
from the pain despite his unwillingness, and it only made him sob louder.
“Why? Why? You ask why? After seductively swinging
past men who have ridden hard and fast for the last many weeks, with
none to satisfy them, you ask why? Did you not see the lust in the eyes
of all around when you first entered your citadel, my pretty? Even the
elves were taken in by the sight of your hips swinging off your horse.”
“And such a smooth face, and then your shirt hanging
open displaying your chest to all who wished to see it, and your waist
as pretty and slim as a young girl’s. And your voice, so soft,
so gentle. And your hands, such long beautiful fingers, how does their
touch feel, they wonder. Aye, such a comely youth you look, so young,
so innocent– just asking to be deflowered. To sleep with a pretty
young virgin is a conquest indeed for us battle-hardened men.”
The finger probed near his now defiled entrance again, drawing
out more blood, “Yes, it is such a conquest, to take for the first
time.”
“And such submissiveness. Tell me, my pretty, do you
never stand up for yourself? Do you never go against your father’s
word? Tell me,” came the mocking voice slowly, softly filling
the unhappy youth’s voice with all the words he wished not to
hear, “How does it feel to be asked by your own father to give
your body in to me?”
Once again, his shaft was gripped by the rough hands and
squeezed. Nails dug into the skin, sending a mixture of pain and unwanted
ecstasy through the writhing body. He flailed his legs trying to kick
out, but that only earned him more violent slaps.
Fenekor’s temper grew progressively foul, as Faramir
continued to writhe in pain under him, eyes half-lidded.
“I said keep your eyes open!” another slap across
his face. He could feel his lips swelling from the blows. And he wished
and wished for consciousness to forsake him, as Fenekor began telling
him what he planned to do to him, and how many men he would set on him
when they reached his camp, all the while either twisting his inflamed
shaft ruthlessly, hurting him even more or running roughs hands all
over his bruised aching body, pinching and scratching.
He did not know which was worse, the words or the blows,
both hit him hard. Especially when talk kept going back to his father.
Faramir kept telling himself through the clouds of pain, that his father
had been forced into a decision, that he did what he did out of concern
for a greater good- the good of Gondor. They expected soldiers to sacrifice
their lives for the land; surely what he had been asked was a small
price to pay. If by demeaning himself like this he was helping his land,
so be it. But it hurt, it hurt so much. He was still young and relatively
inexperienced in the ways of the world, being the younger and neglected
son of the steward, and such a brutal introduction was not what he had
expected. And Fenekor kept talking of what he would do, and it scared
him, so much.
The narration was interrupted by a loud crash from somewhere
in the distance. Fenekor cursed and got up indecisively, reaching for
his weapons from near a small staircase that Faramir noticed for the
first time.
Boromir barged into the inn swinging aside the rotting wooden
door, leading into the crumbling structure, to find it completely empty.
Having seen tracks of a horse nearby, they had been sure, Fenekor was
using this as his hideout.
“They are not here,” he raged, having quickly
gone through the crumbling building. Picking up a huge earthen pot that
seemed wondrously to have withstood the travails of time, he flung it
at the wall, where it landed with a resounding crash before smashing
into fragments.
“They are here,” Haldir cautioned, “I see
sign of someone, and they lead – would there not be a cellar here?”
he asked pointing towards an iron door Boromir had noticed. Before he
could stop him, the distraught man had rushed at the door. It flew open,
and he suddenly found himself falling through air.
*Steps* his mind told him as he rolled down bumping himself
all the way, cursing his thoughtlessness and lack of caution.
He reached the bottom with a resounding thud, dazed and aching
all over. But the moment he made to stand up, he felt something crash
down on his head and all was darkness, as a voice cried out in distress,
Faramir, followed by a shout of alarm – Haldir.
Haldir raced after his falling friend, down the stairs stopping
midway when he saw the hilt of Fenekor’s sword come down on the
fallen man. Faramir cried out, and then Fenekor readied to plunge the
blade in, and he found himself screaming too.
The Haradrim looked up, eyes gleaming as he beheld the elf
in the faint light pouring out of a small lamp in the far corner.
“Welcome master elf,” he said mockingly, “If
you would just leave your weapons and walk down, I might spare your
friends.”
Haldir had no choice but to obey.
When he reached the bottom, Fenekor grabbed him painfully
by his hair and pushed him where Faramir lay. The elf fell heavily onto
the bare front of the young man causing him to cry out in pain. Haldir
raised his eyes and looked into the suffering face of his young friend,
his heart wrenching at the sight.
“Faramir,” he whispered, horrified.
“You elf!” Fenekor shouted, grabbing Haldir by
his tunic, “I saw you come out of his room at night. Isn’t
he beautiful?”
Haldir simply gaped at him. Fenekor stared down at his captive
and then slapped Faramir with his free hand. Haldir struggled angrily,
“Stop it, leave him be!”
“Why? So you can have him again. Nay, master elf, he
is mine. To have him, you need my permission.”
“Leave him be,” Haldir repeated angrily.
“Such love,” Fenekor mocked him, “How does
he feel? Was he under or were you?”
“I did no such thing!” Haldir shouted, his face
turning red as he realised that he might actually have liked to do it.
“Is he not delightfully tight? I have taken him thrice
already,” Fenekor added conversationally, “And twice in
the same morning. He is always tight. Tight as a virgin!” he laughed.
On the bench Faramir’s distress continued. He pulled at the chain,
and then howled in pain as Fenekor suddenly brought his fist crashing
down on his crotch.
“Stop it,” Haldir screamed fighting at pushing
Fenekor away.
“Take him now!” Fenekor ordered, “I want
to watch what it is you do that he smiles so when he beholds you.”
“No!” Haldir shouted.
“Take him now or I will kill master Boromir,”
Fenekor said pleasantly.
Faramir cried again. Haldir stood rooted to his spot in disgust
and anger. Fenekor pulled out his knife and going to Boromir’s
semi-conscious body, yanked his head back and poised a sharp knife over
the vein in the exposed neck.
Chapter 6
“Stop,” Faramir wailed out, grey eyes
tinged with untold fear, “Please, I will do anything you like,
leave Boromir alone, please…”
“Tell your elf friend,” Fenekor said, pressing
the blade in slightly inducing a small drop of blood that sent Faramir
panicking.
“No! Stop!”
“It is a pity, your brother is quite good looking.
I might have liked him myself.”
“Haldir,” Faramir screamed out, “Stop him!”
“He can’t,” Fenekor retorted, “He
will not actually, he seems coy, ask him nicely, nay, grovel before
him, show him how sweet you look, unless he enters your sweet tight
little ass, I will not leave your brother.”
“Haldir,” Faramir screamed, as Fenekor pressed
the blade tighter.
Haldir watched despairingly from where he lay half sitting
beside Faramir’s bench. He had no weaponry left on him, even the
knife in his boot was gone.
Dropping Boromir to the ground, Fenekor walked across to
Faramir, snapped off the manacles holding him in place, and grabbed
him up by his hair. Haldir growled in anger as he heard a painful sob
wrack his young friend’s body.
“Is he not beautiful?” Fenekor purred, running
his free hand over the trembling body, inducing more tremors. The hand
came to rest over his lower back, threatening to defile the sore and
bleeding entrance once again.
“Tell him you want him,” Fenekor ordered, fingering
the much abused area roughly, eliciting hisses of pain, “Tell
him how it feels to have another inside you, tell him how much you love
it, that you smile in your sleep, when you think of it, that you may
cry now, but you love it, you crave it.”
The young man cowered in fright eliciting a contemptuous
burst of laughter from the Harad captain, “Sniveling little coward,
I do not wonder why your father gave you up so easily, with nary a protest,”
he scorned, throwing him back onto the bench.
Faramir fell curling into himself, sobbing softly now, the
very pain and humiliation that threatened to send him into oblivion,
was perversely keeping him awake. He could hear Haldir shouting angrily,
a rage in the elf’s voice that he would otherwise have thought
impossible.
“Kiss him!” Fenekor ordered, and yanking Faramir’s
head back, he stared into the grey fear filled eyes, with a gloating
expression on his face.
Haldir glared at him, and stood up, his expression murderous,
“Leave him alone!”
Fenekor stroked Faramir’s bruised face and let the
hands rove all the way down his back, across his stomach, and down his
lower belly till he was lightly stroking his member, “Kiss the
elf,” he repeated, bringing his mouth close to the trembling man’s
ear. Then he let Faramir drop forward.
Faramir struggled up, and lurched towards Haldir, who caught
up the beaten, naked body in his arms and once again looked in horror
at the state he was in. Then he felt himself being gathered in his loving
arms, and spoken soothingly to.
“Oh, Faramir,” Haldir whispered, his distress
evident in his voice. “Do not worry, I will not force myself on
you. I will not do as he asks.”
“He will hurt Boromir, please, father will never forgive
me,” Faramir sobbed out.
The Gondorian pulled himself up, and silenced Haldir by placing
his mouth on his, and immediately removing it.
“That’s not a kiss,” Fenekor shouted, and
he felt something flay his back, bringing tears to his eyes, and more
pain.
Haldir hissed in anger as Fenekor stood belt in hand behind
them, “Kiss him,” he ordered again.
This time Faramir obeyed implicitly, he let his tongue rove
inside Haldir’s mouth, and the elf found himself being sucked
into a contented vortex he never wanted to come out of. Faramir seemed
in a state of semi-oblivion now, and so he took the lead. He held him
comfortingly, probed the mouth with his tongue, and stroked his hair,
in a loving manner, sucking at the finely chiseled mouth until he felt
he had to come up for air. Faramir lay spent in his arms, tears flowing
copiously, clutching him as though he were all he had.
“Take off the elf’s clothes,” Fenekor ordered,
he was now sitting on the bench, and watching them licking his lips
in anticipation. Boromir’s prone body was at his feet, the head
placed over his knees so that his blade still remained at the exposed
throat.
Faramir obeyed, but his eyes were downcast, and his face
was very, very pale. He pulled off Haldir’s cloak and tunic, and
then his leggings, and stared at the beautifully sculpted body in front
of him, reddening as he realised what a terrible sight he himself must
look. An audible gasp from behind told him Fenekor agreed with his assessment.
Haldir stood proudly, his neatly braided hair falling onto his shoulders,
lips set in a thin line, the muscles in his arms and legs finely developed
from years of archery and life in the forest, anger forcing each sinew
to stand out.
“Do it now, show him your pretty little ass, and tell
him you want him inside it,” Fenekor commanded, the blade pressing
down on Boromir’s skin, and Faramir looked at Haldir mutely pleading.
Haldir felt his own eyes tear up as he saw a plethora of
emotions cross the tired face in front of him, fear, shame, pain, and
worry. The face was swollen and bruised, the lips were almost double
their size, eyes and nose reddened by tears, and livid marks and traces
of blood covered the entire body. He shut his eyes in despair, he could
not possibly do to Faramir what that monster had done to him. He found
him attractive, yes, but Faramir was in neither the physical nor the
mental condition to be made love to, no matter how gentle he would be.
But if he didn’t, then Boromir stood to be harmed and Faramir
would not survive that. Faramir made the decision for him by seating
himself on the cold hard floor, and pulling him down. He was trembling
and his eyes were shut tight as he lay down on his stomach, and stretched
his legs apart.
“Turn over and open your eyes,” commanded Fenekor,
“Or the elf will not be able to see how you enjoy him.”
The command was obeyed without hesitation. Haldir sat where
he was, his clothes in a heap at his feet. He could not move. His heart
felt torn, and he wondered how heart wrenching it must be for Faramir,
if it was this bad for him. Faramir gave him a pleading glance, tears
filling up the grey eyes once again, but Haldir continued staring mutely
at him. How could he do this? He averted his eyes from the gory display
in front of him, his own orbs clouded with tears.
A cry from Faramir brought his gaze back. Boromir was awakening,
and Fenekor was trying to prevent that. He was shaking the half awake
thrashing figure in his arms.
“No!” his younger brother sobbed, curling up
in agony.
“Why not, pretty?” smirked the Haradrim, “Let
your brother too see you being humiliated.”
Boromir’s open eyes took in his brother’s abject
figure huddled on the floor, his friend kneeling in despair, and the
knife at his throat, and the man he wanted to strangle with his bare
hands holding it in place.
“It is good to see you awake, Lord Boromir, would you
too like to see Master Haldir give you brother some pleasure.”
“No,” Boromir whispered, turning an anguished
gaze from his brother to his friend.
Haldir shook his head, “I will not,” he said
resolutely.
“Very well, then, Boromir dies.”
“I would rather die than let my brother suffer any
more,” Boromir thundered, his ire now totally roused, as Faramir
began getting up, and then slumped back grimacing in pain.
“But he will suffer! After I kill you I will kill the
elf, and then your brother will continue to suffer. What do you say,
my pretty little Faramir, should I kill your brother or will you show
us what it looks like when an elf beds a man?” Taking advantage
of the fact that Fenekor’s eyes were on Boromir’s angry
face, Haldir slowly reached for his braided hair. He had almost forgotten
that he still had a weapon he could use, if only he could reach it.
Faramir straightened up and crawled towards Haldir ignoring
the muted protests from Boromir, whose mouth had been covered by Fenekor’s
free hand. Haldir grabbed at the clasp holding his braids in place,
a sharp silver implement, pushed Faramir aside, and threw himself with
every inch of speed and agility he possessed at Fenekor.
Chapter 7
Denethor sat in his study, outwardly calm but inwardly a
mix of various emotions ranging from fury to worry. Worry about the
implications of a Haradrim’s death in his house. Fury at Fenekor,
and partially at Boromir for rushing off as he had, with barely a word,
when he was needed here.
Although of course, if he thought about it, technically Dorec
had no right to be there. He was not there as an envoy, neither was
Fenekor. Which as good as made them spies. And that might deny Harad
the opportunity to declare a formal war, but it would not stop their
constant skirmishes with the forces of Gondor. And with Dorec dead,
and the likelihood a spies in his house, how did things stand with Fenekor?
If the Haradrim had sense he would have stayed put and allied himself
with Gondor. But apparently Fenekor was nothing more than a huge bully,
for the first sign of possible assassination had seen him scurrying
off. With Faramir.
He frowned slightly at the thought of his younger son, he
had not allowed himself to think about his deal with Fenekor. It was
better that way, to do it and then forget about it. And it was partially
Faramir’s fault, for attracting Fenekor’s attention with
his youthfulness. Countless times he’d told the boy, sometimes
tried to beat it into him, that books and dreams were not all. He had
watched him train with weaponry, and felt his ire build up as he realised
that the younger boy would never be as good with weapons as his brother
was. And now that he had entered manhood, he might be able to wield
a sword, but he was yet to fill out like his brother, still retaining
a kind of sensitivity about him. And now Boromir was off in search of
him!
He fumed some more until someone knocked on his door, when
he had expressly forbidden anyone from disturbing him unless it was
of utmost importance. He bade them enter, wondering what else could
possibly have happened.
Fenekor may have been quick but he was no match for a very
furious elf. The knife that was set to plunge into Boromir’s throat
was knocked off with one hand while the other used a sharp edge weapon
to dig into his shoulder. He fell back, Haldir over him, the knife hitting
the bench and falling down. Boromir lay for a moment gasping and coughing,
and then collecting his senses went to help his friend. Haldir however
needed no help. He clouted Fenekor hard on the side of his head, knocking
him senseless, and then sat back on his heels. Getting up, he picked
up his clothes, and pulled them on, while Boromir ensured that Fenekor
was indeed senseless.
“I should kill him,” Boromir growled, and probably
would have done so if the high-pitched whimpering hadn’t distracted
him.
“Faramir,” he was at his brother’s side
immediately, joined by Haldir, aghast at the state he’d found
his younger brother in. Faramir lay where he’d fallen, eyes wide
open in fear, clutching at the hard stone floor as if in search of support.
His face was covered with a fine layer of sheen and he was breathing
in short rasps. His chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly. And it
occurred to Boromir that if he’d though his brother had been in
a bad shape yesterday, there was no way he could describe him today.
He felt the anger well up even more, as he saw the swollen face, the
raw wounds, fresh bruises on the legs, and more blood.
Boromir gathered him up in his arms trying to find some place
on his body where he wasn’t bruised and not succeeding. No matter
how he held him, it would hurt, so he simply pulled him into an embrace,
laying his head against his chest, arms wrapped around the slender figure,
desperately trying to provide some sort of succour. Faramir tried to
pull away, silent sobs running through him spasmodically.
“Oh Faramir,” Boromir held his younger brother
tight, trying to stop him struggling in his arms. He rubbed an arm soothingly
on his back only to stop as he realised he was only hurting the injured
man further. Haldir meanwhile had managed to locate Faramir’s
discarded robe, and returned with it now, dusty, and torn.
“I should never have left you there, without a guard,”
Boromir murmured, evidently distressed.
There was no response from the sobbing figure in his arms.
Faramir had given up struggling, he was too weak, but he desperately
wanted to flee, anywhere. He wished he could stop thinking, stop remembering
how his last two days had been, the abuse, the humiliation. He wished
he could just enter some state of oblivion but instead, he remained
wide awake, perfectly aware of his injuries, physical and emotional,
aware that he had been shamed in front of his brother, and his friend,
that he had been shown up for a coward. Every ache, every sting that
assailed his brutalized frame kept him awake and made him aware of that.
He wanted to get away from Boromir, and curl up in some corner, all
alone, and wait for release. He didn’t know what else he could
do.
How was he to be a soldier? And soldier he must be if he
wanted his father’s love, or even acknowledgement. But soldiers
did not scare like him. For along with pain, fear coursed his veins.
Fear from events past, fear of events that almost happened, fear of
rejection, that his brother and friend would forever think of him as
a weakling, that he had failed in what his father asked him to do. And,
as he then realised, fear of what Denethor would say. Was he not to
have obeyed implicitly and done as Fenekor had asked him? And did Denethor
give the captain leave to take him away, far away from Minas Tirith,
out of his sight, somewhere where he would not have to be reminded on
a daily basis that he had another son, one who might as well not exist
for him. And would his father ever accept him now? Now that he had betrayed
Gondor? What price would Fenekor extract now, when he awoke? Whatever
would his father say? Jumbled thoughts ran through his head, as protective
arms held him, someone else covered his shivering frame with cloth.
“Father,” he whispered turning even more ashen,
and Boromir stopped crying at the sound of the pained whisper, and looked
into the dull grey eyes.
“I have left a message for him, he knows we have come
to rescue you,” he said smoothing away the dark hair plastered
over a sweat lined forehead.
Faramir looked at him in confusion, “Father will be
angry,” he said, the tremors in his voice betraying his agitation,
“you should not have come. If he sent me away with Fenekor, it
would be with reason. You should not have come.”
“He did not send you away!” Boromir exclaimed,
a cold hand clutching at his heart. How could his brother even think
like that? How could he think his father would send him off with a man
who had treated him like this? After all, he had promised Faramir he
would never have to go to Fenekor again. But Faramir would never have
expected to have to go to him in the first place, would he; a second
voice in his mind spoke up, maliciously.
“Fenekor kidnapped you,” he said quietly.
Faramir stared at him expressionlessly, “Father did
not -?”
“Of course not!”
“But what will happen now?”
“We will go back home, and you will rest, and this
time I will not leave your side.”
“Fenekor -,”
“I will handle that.”
“The alliance –“
“Is unnecessary. We can hold out against Harad on our
own as we have been doing all this while,” Boromir said.
Faramir shook his head, slightly and wearily, whatever Boromir
might say, he knew his father would be angry with him. It might be an
irrational anger, but rarely had Denethor’s ire at him displayed
any rationale behind it. The thought of facing an irate father, sent
more shudders through his already shaking body.
“Hush, young one, I am here now, and none shall ever
harm you again,” Boromir whispered, stroking the damp raven hair.
It was chilly in the cellar, and Faramir’s body was icy to touch,
but even so he was sweating, and Boromir knew it was his body’s
reaction to all the abuse it had had to endure. He was in fact surprised
Faramir was still conscious and speaking cogently. He was glad his brother
wasn’t pushing him away, that he still recognised his touch from
that of Fenekor’s and clung to him. He trusted him. Silent tears
streamed down his face, as he listened to his brother’s raspy
breathing, and felt the sight chest heave against slowly and almost
tiredly against his body. Did he really deserve to retain Faramir’s
faith and love? He had failed to protect the one who was dearest to
him. He did not deserve to call himself a soldier after this. Soldiers
protected people. And this was his own brother here.
Haldir watched irresolutely, keeping an eye constantly on
Fenekor’s prone body stretched out on the cold stone floor. Like
Boromir, he wanted to do something really terrible to that monster.
But he kept himself in control knowing the situation was delicate, and
even the smallest thing could spark off a chain of unwanted events.
But the sight of that tortured, broken body kept pushing his anger over
the edge. He felt he understood what was going through Boromir’s
head. He wondered how Boromir would be towards him after what had happened
but it was obvious that Denethor’s elder son understood the duress
all of them had been under.
Boromir finally stirred himself, “We must leave now.
I must get you home. It is cold and you are shivering,” he told
Faramir who continued to lean against him. He realised how much his
embrace meant to the younger man. Faramir needed him. To think he had
actually thought otherwise and spoken harshly to him because of that
just the day before.
Scared grey eyes looked up at him. Total exhaustion reflected
out of them. Boromir felt another pull at his heart. In all these years,
he had never seen Faramir so scared. Confused and hurt perhaps, but
such a depth of fear was a new emotion. Faramir suddenly looked much,
much younger than his twenty-one years, reminding Boromir of their childhood
days, when he had often held his weeping brother to comfort him after
their father’s rash tongue or hand had held sway.
“It hurts,” Faramir whispered softly, the first
vocal admission of pain he had made.
“Where, child?” Boromir glanced unhappily down
at the battered body, liberally dotted with signs of the suffering it
had undergone. He knew the answer even before it came out, the voice
hoarse from pain and tiredness.
“Everywhere.”
Haldir moved forward, and kneeling by the two of them, spoke
softly, “Will you be able to ride with one of us? It will not
be comfortable, though.”
Faramir nodded tiredly. He really didn’t want to go
home. He knew his father would be angry. He had failed. The Harad captain
would never – the captain!
“What of the captain?” he asked fearfully.
“I forgot about that – that – creature,”
Boromir spat out, “I would like to kill him, but I think we should
take him prisoner, and take him back to father. And have him clapped
in the worst possible dungeon and made to suffer for everything he has
done. For every time he has dared to hit you, dared to –“
he stopped when he noticed his brother’s face, and cursed himself
as he realised the very mention of the captain’s deeds made the
younger man blanch.
“He will never touch you again,” he said firmly.
“You are hurt,” Faramir exclaimed, reaching out
a quivering hand to Boromir’s forehead, where the blood had caked
around the small cut he had received when he had fallen down the stairs.
He himself had not noticed it, and listened with growing bemusement
as Faramir’s voice became high pitched in panic, “Forgive
me, Boromir, I did not see it earlier. I am sorry. Does it hurt?”
Boromir caught up the raised hand, and brought his brother
closer to him.
“You should have it tended to,” Faramir continued,
trying to pull away, “Do not worry about me, see to your injuries.”
He pointed to the tiny cut on the neck where the knife had drawn blood.
“They are naught, child,” Boromir said his voice
thick with tears. His brother did trust him, and he still loved him.
*But how can you? When I have let you down like this?*
“He said he would kill you,” the sobbing voice
came muffled, “if I, if I did not -, I was so scared. He almost
killed you; I should have listened to him. Then he would not hurt you.”
“He did not hurt me, it is naught.”
“I should have done as he said, I let you get hurt.
It was selfish of me,” Faramir sobbed, while Haldir and Boromir
exchanged glances of consternation.
“Faramir! I should be saying those words. You are not
selfish, I was not hurt. I would rather get hurt, than let anyone hurt
you.” Faramir simply continued to sob.
He stared at Haldir uncomprehendingly, his vision blurred
by the tears, and the elf stared back at him with a deep sadness in
his eyes.
“Come,” Haldir said softly, “Let us leave,
Faramir is tiring, and he has been through much.”
He reached for the man, to help him stand up. He reached
a hand for Faramir’s shoulder, and raised one dropping hand. The
fingers brushed past his bent face, and he felt the same rush he’d
felt the first time their hands had come in contact. The lightest of
touches grazed his lips, and he almost hissed, backing his face away
a little. Faramir turned his grey eyes towards him realizing he’d
just brushed Haldir’s lips with his hands, and then dropped them
in embarrassment as the elf swerved his face. He found himself blinking
back more tears as he thought back to how he had forced a kiss upon
the elf. And had almost made him make love to him. He had been about
to force Haldir to bed him, a human and a man at that. He had not thought
that Haldir might find it distasteful, and that he was forcing him to
do something he had not wanted to.
He felt Boromir and Haldir help him up, and then Boromir
slipped away to truss Fenekor up “I’m sorry,” he whispered,
as Haldir held him up, “I should not have – not have f-forced
you –“
Haldir stared at him surprised, but had no chance to reply
as he felt himself tottering unsteadily when Faramir slumped forward
into his arms, consciousness finally forsaking him. Faramir’s
last thoughts before a black fog beckoned him were that of his muscles
screaming in protest at the sudden movement, and that in Haldir’s
arms he would be safe. His arms flailed in the air for a fraction of
a second, where he once again felt the touch of the soft skin of the
other’s face, and it somehow comforted and soothed him, so he
shut his eyes, and welcomed the blackness that overtook him.
Chapter 8
Haldir steadied himself to handle the weight of Faramir’s
inert form, as the dark head fell against his chest, one arm snaked
around his shoulder, the other lying limply at his side. He caught up
the prone figure, and scooped him up in his arms, observing with growing
concern the way the beads of sweat stood up on the pale forehead. The
cheeks were discoloured with bruising, as were the swollen lips. Dark
circles were etched deep underneath the closed eyes, and the torn clothes
partly covering him up merely served to hide from the elf’s eyes,
the more grotesque signs of injury on the rest of the body. But he knew
they were there, having seen them earlier.
Faramir’s pleading eyes, and quivering body came back
into the picture as he remembered how the young man had been forced
into degrading himself. The son of the steward of Gondor, a ranger,
albeit still in training, a young man of high breeding and good blood
forced literally onto his knees begging to be made love to, to be humiliated
in order to save the life of one he loved, and this after being defiled
repeatedly and abused horrifically by one considered a sworn enemy.
The anger surged through his veins afresh, as he hugged his charge close,
noticing the shivers that had begun racking the slight frame.
Boromir came into view dragging Fenekor’s bound and
still unconscious form behind him, heedless of the thumps created by
the knocking of his head and back against the stone floor, “Faramir,”
he stopped.
“He has merely fainted, he is exhausted and cold, and
his injuries continue to plague him, I feel,” Haldir tried to
reassure his friend, “Come let us leave.”
“In our haste we have forgotten an extra horse,”
Boromir muttered, “Mine is the stronger, he will take Fenekor’s
weight. Will you carry Faramir?”
“It will hurt,” Haldir said staring down at the
sleeping man in his arms.
Boromir nodded, his eyes troubled at the thought of all his
brother was having to endure, and he suddenly gave one fast furious
kick to the trussed up form at his feet, causing the unconscious man
to grunt in his sleep. He dragged him roughly up the steps, and across
the stone floor above out into the open. Throwing the huge Harad man
over his horse, struggling a little with the bulk as he did so, he waited
for Haldir who came up at a more sedate pace so as to not jolt Faramir
and cause him more pain. The cool air outside however stirred the prone
figure, bringing out a small whimper of pain, as grey eyes opened and
stared out confusedly.
“B-Boromir,” he called out softly.
“S-sh, he is here, do not worry,” Haldir soothed
him, still holding onto him. When Faramir began to writhe in his arms,
he set him down, but continued holding him up, as Faramir seemed unable
to stand without support.
“Yes, young one, I am here,” soothed Boromir
coming up to his other side, and slinging an arm around the slender
waist, “Come we are going home.”
Faramir sighed softly, still leaning against Haldir’s
chest.
“Haldir will carry you,” Boromir told him.
“I – I can ride,” Faramir protested softly,
his eyes still seemed dazed as though he felt he was not yet fully awake.
“It would be best not to, you will not be able to sit
astride a horse for long.”
Faramir flushed at the not so subtle reminder of what he
had been through, but he knew his brother was right. Merely stretching
his leg a little sent shooting stabs of pain through his lower body.
He knew he was bleeding again, for Fenekor had been brutal with his
hands, tearing through tender skin and half torn muscle to re-open old
wounds and cause new ones. He shuddered as he remembered the intrusions;
the pain caused the first time, increasing each time after that. Fenekor’s
grubby hands, he remembered seeing them up close each time they had
landed across his unprotected face. Fat hands, with pudgy fingers, chipped
fingernails caked with dirt, touching him where none had touched him
before. Entering him forcibly over and over again, fingering him, scratching
him. He never realised when his shudders turned into sobs of agony,
and Haldir wrapped comforting arms around him, and stroked his hair
softly, while Boromir tightened his hold, and the three of them stood
there, the elf and the older man offering him support and comfort, but
it was not enough.
Memories ran a jumbled course through his head, pleasant
days under the warm sun in Ithilien, the forests, the green grass, the
river Anduin, the retreat in Henneth Annûn, returning to Minas Tirith
looking forward to seeing his brother, hoping his father would look
upon him with love now that he was a soldier, seeing the stern impassive
look on his face as he reported to him and realizing some things would
never change, receiving a summons from him and wondering if the change
he wished for had come, and then his world had fallen apart. In one
afternoon, the scales had fallen from his eyes, he was weak, his soldiering
skills had been of no aid to him, his perusal of the heavy tomes in
the vast libraries had been to no avail. For nothing could have stopped
what had happened. There was no choice. What choice could there be?
His father had commanded, and it was his lot to obey.
But did he do what he did for his father’s love or
for the sake of his land?
He felt himself being pushed towards Haldir’s mount
as she stood by patiently nibbling at grass that felt soft and fresh
to his bare feet. He was tugged onto the back of the mare, pulled up
by hands hooked under his limp armpits. The jerk caused him to nearly
cry out again, only extreme self-control made him stifle the sobs as
his injuries flared up yet again, protesting the aggravation. He found
himself pulled across a blanket on the horse’s back, being held
in place by the soft hands of Haldir, that pressed gently down on the
small of his back, setting up yet another sob, as the touch centered
on the opened wound from his whipping. His sore stomach and chest pressed
onto the rough blanket protected only by the torn tunic covering him.
He moaned in pain, stopping only when soft hands caressed
his face. Soft hands he reminded himself, not rough, dirty ones, but
soft ones. Then he was pulled up into a sitting position with Haldir’s
arms wrapped around his chest and waist, gasping with the agony that
flared through him with each movement. He was so sore, even this half-sitting
position was a trial, each time his much abused lower body came in contact
with any surface it hurt, and he found his head lolling backwards, even
as he sat atop the mare, in front of the tall elf, his legs chastely
held together, dangling over the blankets covering the equine back.
“It will hurt,” that was Boromir’s voice,
edged with distress and sorrow, “But it will hurt more to be lying
across on your back or stomach or to sit astride.” Haldir pulled
his head against his chest, one hand wrapped around the lower back and
waist, tightening around bruised skin.
Boromir was right of course. But he felt helpless there and
the cool night air swirled through his bare lower legs, sending a slight
shiver through him. Haldir quickly covered him up with a cloak, and
he found he felt even more fettered that way, but could do naught about
it. It worsened as they began moving. With each step, he was jolted,
rattling his aching bones, forcing his tired muscles to adjust to the
movement, and worst of all forcing his rear to come into constant contact
with the horse’s back. Haldir tried to make it easier, by forcing
the mare to slow down, and by attempting to make the jolts less, by
pressing him closer so as to reduce the impact of the movement, but
to no avail. It felt to him as though repeatedly, he was being sent
a new stab of pain as if to remind him of what had happened. He clawed
desperately at the soft tunic he leant against, the feeling of the rigid
muscles that farmed the other’s chest offering him solace. He
felt weak, so weak, and so tired. Haldir kept murmuring to him, soft
words he could not decipher, whether from tiredness or from his lack
of knowledge of the tongue they were spoken in, he could not say. But
he derived some comfort from the soft voice, and from the grip around
him, for they helped banish the thought of a rough, leering voice and
rough hands that held up his waist before the pain flared through his
lower body each time. The memories of the assaults refused to go away.
They kept returning. The slightest touch, the slightest movement, now
that he was awake, he remembered all clearly. But he desisted sleep,
for then he would dream those memories. In the end, all he could do
was to let the tears fall from his eyes, wetting the soft tunic his
head rested against, causing the hold on him to be tightened, and the
other’s chin came to rest on his head.
Haldir held his breath each time his mare moved too suddenly,
he felt himself being thrown up and down for the surface was uneven,
and he felt Faramir being jolted up and down, and felt the tremors that
ran through the injured frame, each time. The young man squirmed in
his position unconsciously as his much abused rear was brought into
contact with the horse’s back, and that he was in pain was obvious
as each time he gripped Haldir’s shirt and tugged at it in desperation..
He murmured a few soft words into his ears hoping to soothe him. Faramir’s
eyes were heavily lidded, but that he was awake was easily borne out
by the fact that he made no sound, controlling himself from even the
softest moan. Haldir quietly hugged him closer still, letting his arms
wrap around the small frame, and rested his chin on the soft hair wishing
that he could simply lift that face and kiss away all the worries, but
knowing that that would not be possible. That Faramir let him so close
was surprising in itself, and he was glad hat the young man held so
much trust in him. He felt the tears wet his tunic, as he sang tunelessly
in elvish, and then he bent his lips down onto the mop of now unruly
and dirty dark hair, wishing his charge would sleep so as to not endure
this pain.
Boromir rode a few paces ahead, with Fenekor still lying
unconscious in front of him. He had no qualms about making his horse
take uneven rutted paths. They were in half forest and half scrubland,
and the ground was littered with stones. The more it jolted his prisoner
the happier he was. It might hurt him a little too, but he found that
helped him focus. Every now and then he looked back to see how his brother
was doing, and the difficulty the younger man was in was so apparent
that it nearly broke his heart. He wanted desperately to hold him in
his arms to assure him he would protect him, he would never let him
get hurt. And then he would mock himself, *he is already hurt*.
“Someone is coming,” Haldir had urged his horse forward,
causing Faramir to cry out at the sudden movement.
The horses neighed irresolutely, and Boromir could almost
smell the fear that his steed felt, and he soon understood why when
he saw the cause push their way through a group of bushes.
“Orcs!”
The attack was sudden and the numbers large. Within seconds
they found themselves surrounded by a host of the gruesome creatures,
each leering at them as they inched closer and closer. Boromir found
his horse rearing up in fright, and struggled to hold him down, Haldir
fared better with his mare, keeping her calm, as they inched away backwards,
but knowing it would be of little help as the orcs began to circle them.
“We must fight!” Boromir shouted desperately,
“Faramir –” the desperation in his voice grew as he
worried for his brother.
“Yes,” came the soft voice, as Faramir straightened
up and looked back at him through clear grey eyes, “We must fight.”
Whatever happened to him, he would not let Boromir get hurt, His brother
was here without escort because of him, he could not let anything happen
to him. If Boromir had not come to rescue him, he would not be in danger
like this.
Haldir nodded to Boromir as both man and elf slipped off
their respective horses.
“Stay here!’ Haldir commanded his young charge,
handing him a knife for safety, knowing that he would have no weapons
on him. He patted his horse on the rump indicating to her to flee.
“No,” Faramir whispered, “I will help you,
watch out!” the last as one of their attackers neared weapon brandished
in the air. For a while all that could be heard through the glades was
the ring of metal against metal. Faramir fond his mare rearing irresolutely
as Haldir left her side to fight. He slipped off before he could be
thrown down, and sank to his ness from the exertion face flushed and
panting. A huge shape loomed over him, a leering smile, an evil smirk,
and he automatically lunged his knife in its direction. Ugly, dark blood
spilled onto his fingers as his assailant fell, and then one more loomed
over him, to receive the same treatment, as Faramir employed the quick
reflexes his days with the rangers had polished. Out of the corner of
his eyes he could make out other fighting shapes, could hear Boromir’s
triumphant yells each time he felled one of the orcs, could see Haldir
gracefully ducking and weaving against another. Te orcs might have outnumbered
them but they were not intelligent fighters. Both horses had reared
away whinnying incessantly, too scared to stay but too loyal o go too
far, ready to spur off the moment an orc tried to touch them.
Faramir stayed in his half kneeling position fighting off
each of the fell creatures that neared him, feeling himself pushed to
the ground by one, feeling scratches from their long nails, watching
with apprehension the look in one attacker’s eyes, as his ragged
tunic tore across the front revealing his bare skin underneath. He felt
hot breath, and saw the lustful look in the eyes of the orc. He shut
his eyes to that thought and shuddered as the foul beast touched him.
He swung wildly, plunging the knife into the other’s stomach watching
as lust turned into shock and then horror in the other’s eyes,
before they turned completely unseeing. The creature fell across him,
and he struggled to move him off, but his body was weak, and he found
himself lying underneath the bulk of the creature panting heavily, pain
clouding his senses.
It did not take long for the attack to disperse, and Haldir
and Boromir soon found themselves sin command of the situation. Before
long, their attackers had become the attacked and were soon retreating
away into a clump of forests. Boromir’s horse shied away in fright
as a straggling bunch of orcs ran towards him on their way to escape,
but Boromir and Haldir had other concerns at that moment. They had seen
the small figure dwarfed underneath one of the dead orcs, and to extricate
him took some effort on their path.
“Faramir!” Boromir stared in horror at the pale
face of his brother, who lay still, his tunic now literally hanging
in rags around him, ugly black blood covering most of his body. Grey
eyes flew open, as the ragged breathing evened put a little, and Faramir
looked back into the two pairs of concern filled eyes that stared down
at him.
“Are they gone?” he asked softly.
“Aye, but you should have stayed on your horse,”
Haldir said softly.
“She threw me off,” Faramir frowned, “are
you all right, did you get hurt?”
“No,” came the replies for barring a few odd
scratches both man and elf had escaped unscathed.
“Come,” they helped him up, and headed back for
their horses, which stood together seemingly shivering.
“Fenekor –” Boromir started as he took
in the sight of his steed’s bare back, “where -?”
Haldir wordlessly pointed at something on the ground, and
Faramir gave a small soundless cry.
Etched deep into the ground were the signs of someone having
been dragged off towards the forest clump the orcs had disappeared into.
Chapter 9
Denethor sat watching the closed door, after one of his captains
had departed. The spy had been caught, but his ire was high. To have
had a spy in such inside ranks. The aide to one of the top army commanders
– a spy! He had known the man had not grown up in Minas Tirith
but his grandmother had been a native of the city. He was in fact, furious,
that so many of Gondor’s secrets had been at peril simply because
they had a mercenary in their ranks. He’d ordered him clapped
in chains. He would take a decision when he was calmer. There might
yet be some use salvaged from this terrible situation. Harad had made
no overtures over their man’s death yet, and it seemed to Denethor
that they welcomed it. He would have for sure if he’d been in
the same position. A rebel commander was no loss. But what price would
Fenekor extract. He could still use his help. He welcomed it. With Harad’s
main spy in his custody, and Fenekor’s aid, there was no better
opportunity to strike than the present.
Now, all that remained to see was what Fenekor would want.
He would have to tread carefully here. Especially if it involved Faramir.
A few nights of pleasure were nothing, but if he had long term plans
for the boy, he could not keep such doings under wraps for long. He
knew there would be little approval from his councilors or the people
if they found out the steward’s younger son was busy keeping a
Haradrim captain’s bed warm. And Boromir would probably revolt.
He could silence Boromir. But people were not easy to silence. Already
there was much gossip about Faramir’s ‘illness’. And
the citadel was rife with rumours of his kidnapping. Well, that would
explain his state when he returned, Denethor thought grimly. He had
no doubt his son would be in a worse condition than the last time he
had seen him. Fenekor’s cruelty was known. And his younger son
was a spineless wimp. A fool. The type that simply asked for Fenekor
to get progressively violent.
Denethor found that by channeling his anger towards its favourite
cause, he was actually calming himself greatly and spent much time assuring
himself that it was Faramir’s fault that he had been singled out
for special treatment by the Haradrim. After all, Minas Tirith had its
fair share of brothels. One could get what one wanted there. Fenekor’s
love for soft, pliable men, that he could watch break under him was
evident. It didn’t take more than one glance at his worthless
younger son to show he fitted the bill. The fool!
As he sat going through his reports he found himself trying
to justify the steps he’d taken. *It is not my fault, he finds
him attractive. It is not my fault. It is Faramir’s fault alone.*
But each time he saw his son’s battered face, and body and his
hands clenched the papers tightly, as he tried not to think of the fact
that his son could be going through much worse at that very moment.
He had sent a small troop of soldiers after Boromir but he
knew they might not reach in time to prevent the boy from getting hurt
worse. So he poured himself a large glass of wine hoping it would dull
his senses and banish the thought of what could be happening to Faramir
or for that matter to Boromir who had simply shot off after him without
adequate protection.
“They took him,” Boromir whispered.
“What do we do?” Faramir’s hoarse voice
came out distraught.
“What can we do?” Boromir demanded, “He
deserves it. He deserves worse!”
“I know he is a terrible man, but – but –
they are orcs,” Faramir said.
“Fenekor is no worse!” Boromir snapped.
Faramir flinched at the sharp voce, his head was pounding,
his back hurt, and he could barely stand. Boromir noticed the paling
of his already wan features, and immediately softened.
“You are worried I know, even if he has treated you
so ill. But there is nothing we can do, we cannot go after them. We
must get back now.”
Faramir never knew how he managed to make it back to Minas
Tirith. If the ride earlier had been torturous, now it was ten times
worse. His exertions against the orcs had tired him out more than he
thought, and his body made its displeasure evident by screaming in protest.
The pain kept him conscious, and permeated every fibre in his body.
Despite the cool night breeze he was sweating profusely, and the riding
motion was making him nauseous. He was on Boromir’s horse now,
that young man having decided he wanted his brother near him. He clutched
the other’s tunic with all his strength, trying his utmost not
to make the pain evident. His clothes hung in tatters about him, and
so he was wrapped up in Haldir’s thick cloak, and he took a simple
comfort from the strange mix of smells arising from it. He thought he
smelt the golden wood in it, a strange leafy, woody smell, so he concentrated
on that trying to forget the pain.
Boromir held his brother close, his heart heavy with sorrow.
He knew Faramir was hurting and was stubbornly showing no outward sign
of it. But he had known his brother all these years, and he knew that
those grey eyes would be clouded with unhappiness. He felt the damp
sweat clinging to the younger man and felt the slight stiffening motions
his body made every few seconds, each time their horse moved too quickly.
They were going at a slow trot, and the ground was relatively smooth,
but it did nothing to ease the discomfort.
They entered the city quietly, the disarray in the citadel
not having been allowed to permeate to the remaining levels of the city.
The horses were left in the stables, and Boromir swung Faramir down
and held him in his arms, refusing to set him down, despite his entreaties.
“Hush, we are almost there. I am taking you to my room.
You must sleep. I will look after you, do not worry,” he said
hurriedly, relieved at being able to return home with no further incident.
Surprisingly they encountered no one along the way, and Boromir
correctly deduced that the commotion must have died down somewhat. When
they neared the citadel entrance, Faramir entreated him to let him down
again, and this time Boromir complied. He knew Faramir was afraid they
would encounter Denethor. Entering the citadel by a side door, holding
Faramir up, with Haldir’s help, he called out to the servant who
stared at him wide-eyed.
“Please tell my father we have returned.” Faramir
stiffened slightly, his grey eyes filling with fear and worry.
“Yes, my lord, lord Faramir -?”
“He is fine. A little injured that is all,” Boromir
snapped back, “Please let my father know we will be in my room.”
“Shall I send a healer up?”
“Nay,” Faramir said, keeping his voice as close
to normal as he could, “I have merely hurt my foot.” Which
was true, Fenekor had ruthlessly twisted his ankle, while dragging him
into the inn, the finger marks bruising his skin deeply, and the fight
with the orcs had worsened it.
The servant nodded and hurried away, while the other three
progressed slowly, as Faramir began stumbling. The long ride had cramped
his muscles, and he was cold, despite the fact that he had wrapped on
the cloak tight so as to hide the state of his clothes.
Once upstairs, the cloak came off, and Boromir tried to help
him remove the tattered clothes.
“I need a bath,” Faramir muttered.
“There is water drawn out for me, it will still be
warm if I know the servants,” Boromir said, “There will
be enough for you to clean up a little.” He led him to a small
chamber where a bowl of warm water had been left, and some towels. When
Faramir returned he looked a little better, but still quite terrible.
They helped him into bed, and then went about tending to his injuries.
In the light of the lamps, he looked even worse than he had in the dimly
lit inn.
Haldir could clearly see each and every bruise and welt standing
out as he helped Boromir tend to the injuries for the second time in
a day. Faramir had pulled on an old robe he’d found, and when
Boromir tried to remove it the young man’s first reaction had
been to stop it. Then he’d taken it off himself, and lain back
against the pillows, Haldir holding him up so as to ensure his back
wouldn’t hurt. Boromir cleaned up the re-opened wounds, and wrapped
bandages wherever necessary. He covered the bruises with a salve to
reduce pain, then motioned for Faramir to turn around, giving his sore
back the same treatment. Then he reached for his rear, and gently rubbed
the salve in, over the torn flesh, his expression a mix of anger and
sorrow causing Faramir to cry out in distress.
“It is bleeding,” Boromir said softly, his eyes
tearing up at his brother’s reaction. Faramir sobbed into Haldir’s
shoulder and the elf found himself stroking the young man’s hair
and kissing it lightly, hoping that would give him peace. He realised
Faramir was feeling embarrassed, and wished the drugs they had given
him would take effect soon.
But Faramir didn’t fall asleep even after Boromir had
finished his ministrations. He lay on his side, curling up as he felt
the heat caused by the salve spread through his body like a fire. It
was comforting but hurt him a lot. A loud moan escaped from his lips
as Boromir’s hands flew over a particularly nasty bruise, and
he felt Haldir pull him closer. He snuggled into the embrace, resting
his battered face against the other’s chest, feeling the well-developed
but lithe body underneath, taking in the same woody scent he had smelt
in his cloak. Haldir’s lips were resting on his head, and he found
himself remembering the moment when he had rested his lips on the elf’s.
He had been scared and at first he had thought he had been
scared of kissing another man after Fenekor had brutalized him, but
then he had realised he had been scared of being pushed away. When Haldir
had kissed back, he had joyously accepted it, reveling in the tender
feeling that had acted as a balm after what he had been through. He
felt himself redden as he remembered how easily he had offered himself
up to Haldir. What would the elf think of him? Somewhere deep inside
he had liked the idea of being with Haldir, but his recent experiences
with Fenekor had still been fresh in his mind, and he had been scared.
And Haldir had looked away when he had silently pleaded with him to
do as Fenekor asked. And much as he had wanted Haldir to make love to
him, he had not wanted to have that happen because Fenekor had ordered
it for his voyeuristic pleasure. But he had still done it, he had submitted.
Because of Boromir. He hoped Haldir would understand that. He did not
want to be seen as cowardly and weak.
*But you are* his mind spoke up, and the tears continued
to fall unchecked.
Boromir finished his ministrations and then came and sat
on the other side of his brother.
“There, you can sleep now,” he said soothingly,
“I will be right here, so will Haldir.”
Faramir turned his face to him, tears still staining his
swollen face ”N- no, you must get some rest, you have to be at
the council in the morning, it is almost dawn now.”
“I will not attend the council,” Boromir said
firmly, “Haldir must, I know, so I will be here with you, all
day and night and the next day too, till you are well.” He bent
and lightly kissed a scratch on the worried forehead that was turned
towards him.
“No, you must not do that. Father will be angry. And
I will be fine. I can return to my room.”
“No! You will stay here. Your room is too isolated,
that is why no one saw Fenekor carry you away.”
Faramir winced at hearing that, but still continued, “Fenekor
will not return now, he cannot. The orcs –“
“I hope the orcs do to him what he did to you!”
Boromir said his eyes flashing with anger. Haldir felt Faramir stiffen
in his arms, and then start shivering as the memories assaulted him.
Was it only the day before that Fenekor had kissed him in front of his
father, and then given him his brutal introduction to the seamier side
of life? Was it only the last morning that Fenekor had forced himself
on him not once but twice, and he had been powerless to prevent it?
Was it merely a few hours since he had been kidnapped and been humiliated
yet again?
“I am sorry, Faramir,” Boromir said immediately,
“I keep talking, I should not – oh Faramir, I am so sorry,
my little one. I know he hurt you, child, I will never let anyone –“
“You don’t know anything,” Faramir sobbed,
his sheer exhaustion getting the better of him, “You don’t
know – he – he –“ Faramir pushed himself away
from Haldir and Boromir, and tried to sit up, tears flowing down his
cheeks. He pushed the sheets off, unmindful of the cold air biting at
his body through the thin cloth of his robe. He stumbled out of the
bed, pushing away the outstretched arms that were put out to hold him
back. What would Boromir understand? He would never be forced to become
a pawn in his father’s machinations. Fenekor had said his father
had not protested. And Denethor himself said he’d let the orcs
have him. So what if Fenekor was gone, there would be others. He nearly
fell out of the bed, his mind in complete disarray, the sheets tangling
around his legs, and landed on the hard floor in an ungainly heap, as
his weary body refused to obey him. Pain assailed his cramped muscles,
and he found himself sprawled out on the floor, unable to get up, silent
tears still streaming down his face. Haldir and Boromir were at his
side in a trice. He tried to pull away from them but could not. His
sobs came out in racking gasps as the horrific images of his trauma
went rushing through his head. The leering face, groping hands, the
whip flying through the air, the sneering expression of the Haradrim
as he rendered the gory descriptions of what he’d face in his
camp, and worst of all his father’s calm face as he shut the door
to Fenekor’s room before Faramir found his entire life turned
on its head forever.
He lay curled into himself, feeling totally pathetic as his
chest heaved up and down, ignoring the chill of the cold stone on his
flesh. Boromir was frantically saying something to him, his face bent
towards his, he was shaking him by the shoulder, not roughly but all
the same it hurt him. Then Haldir said something, very quietly, and
Boromir moved away, got up and walked out of the view. Someone’s
arms wrapped around him, ignoring his feeble attempts to ward them off,
strong arms, a smell of the forest, and he knew it was the elf. He wanted
to get away, to crawl away somewhere and drown in his misery, but he
had no strength, he could not even lift a finger. He was picked up,
and placed on the bed once more. He was placed on his side as before,
but all he could see was those same images over and over again. Then
someone placed something against his lips, and forced something wet
down his throat, while the strong hands continued to hold him, stroking
his arm careful to avoid touching the bruised spots. It was the last
thing he remembered, as he leant against something, no, someone, and
let a blackness descend upon him.
“He is asleep now,” Haldir whispered, trying
to ease himself down onto the bed. He was half sitting, half lying with
his arms around the young man. Faramir had unconsciously snaked an arm
around him, and his head leant against Haldir’s chest, as he slept.
“Let me help you lay him down,” Boromir offered,
his face still troubled by his brother’s outburst. But trying
to move Faramir only made him moan in his sleep, and afraid that he’d
wake up, the two friends decided to let him stay as he was. Instead
Haldir slid onto the bed, and continued to hold the sleeping figure
close, motioning to Boromir to draw the blankets up around them.
“Leave him be like this, it helps him sleep,”
he told Boromir, and then observing the distraught face of the other,
quietly said, “He was tired, and I think overcome by everything
that has happened. You cannot expect him to learn to cope with it overnight.
He has already borne up admirably. It is too much of a strain on one
so young.”
“I know,” Boromir whispered softly, stroking
his younger brother’s cheek, taking care not to hurt him, “I
wish it had never happened. But he is correct; I will never comprehend
what all he has gone through. When I saw him lying on the ground there,
it was terrible. And he would have been through worse. And when that
monster talked of forcing me to watch, oh Haldir, what he must have
gone through!” Boromir sank his head in his hands and his shoulders
shook.
“He will need you, my friend, and he will need your
strength,” Haldir said softly, “now I think you should get
some sleep too. You are very tired, even if you do not plan to attend
the council tomorrow.”
“No, I will stay up,” Boromir said resolutely,
“I know you will attend tomorrow, so you must rest.”
“I shall be fine, I have spent more hours awake than
this in my patrols. I wish I could do without, but attend the council
I must, for I do after all represent Lórien here,” Haldir replied
sighing, as he looked upon the figure in his arms. Faramir looked so
young, with his slight frame, and the sudden gauntness to his face added
by the tribulations he’d been through, made him look like a sick
child.
A knock on the door prevented Boromir from replying, and
when he went to the door to open it, he found a servant outside, with
a message from his father, summoning him to his study. Sending the servant
off he turned back to the bed.
“Go, I am here. This time I will not leave him alone,
no matter what,” Haldir said with a firmness that surprised even
him.
Boromir nodded “I will tell him we are back and return,
immediately. If he wants anything else it can wait till later.”
He walked wearily out, shoulders slumped in despair, leaving
the elf and his brother alone. When he returned, as promised after telling
his father they were back, both were sound asleep, Haldir leaning against
the raised pillows and Faramir leaning sideways against the elf, a blanket
tucked under his chin. Haldir’s eyes were open, but the straight
unseeing look told Boromir that the elf was asleep. Faramir still lay
wrapped in his arms, sleeping peacefully, so Boromir picked a spare
blanket and settled down on a chair for the night. He had told his father
that they had found Faramir that Fenekor had been taken by orcs, and
that they were all back.
His slurred voice and bleary eyes had been enough for Denethor
to know he could get no more useful information from him so he had dismissed
him to mull over what he had learnt. Denethor decided he could not do
much immediately given that it was not even daybreak yet.
Haldir awoke as the sun crossed the horizon, having slept
barely an hour, but still feeling sufficiently refreshed. He looked
around the room and saw Boromir sleeping curled up on a huge chair,
and then realised that Faramir was still in his arms, securely snuggled
up against him. The young man had curled his body up as if to fight
a stomach cramp, and one leg now lay sprawled over Haldir’s thigh,
while his groin pressed into the elf’s stomach underneath the
blanket. Haldir suddenly realised his arms had slid down and now rested
on Faramir’s thigh and behind, while the man’s arms clutched
at his chest, and. He could feel the other’s warm breath on his
left nipple, and he hurriedly removed his hands, and tried to shift
the man away, surprisingly succeeding in doing so without waking him
up. He found himself slightly flushed as he suddenly touched his stomach
finding it to be warm, savouring the lingering touch of the other upon
him, and then blinked angrily as he found himself dreaming of Faramir’s
warm breaths against his neck, of kissing the other on his mouth. A
sensuous mouth that currently looked swollen and mangled.
*Ai, what thoughts, has he not been through enough, that
I start thinking such of him?* he berated himself, but he still
could not stop feeling the touch of the leg over his thigh, of the other’s
maleness against his stomach, the kiss they had shared under duress.
He shook himself angrily; he must stop thinking like this.
Faramir trusted him! If he were to think of him like this, why he was
no better than Fenekor. The thought of Fenekor made his blood boil,
and he hissed angrily. Boromir awoke at the sound, blinking as he tired
to make out his surroundings.
“Haldir, you are awake?” he inquired softly,
“Thank you my friend, for helping my brother sleep peacefully.”
“Aye, he needs it,” Haldir said softly.
“The council will begin soon, you should get ready,”
Boromir said.
“You will be here?” it was as much a statement
as a question.
“Yes, I will not leave, I am not really required there,”
Boromir said lamely.
“My lord steward knows?”
“I will have a message sent to him,” Boromir
said quietly, sliding onto the bed beside Faramir, and tucking the blanket
securely around the prone figure.
Haldir nodded, it was pointless asking Boromir what his father
would think. He just hoped Denethor would not create a problem. He said
nothing however but simply squeezed Boromir’s shoulder in encouragement
and left the room. He decided he needed a cold bath, a very cold bath.
It might bring his senses back on track. And prevent him seeing the
solemn face of a young man, grey eyes radiating an intense sadness,
an unmarked face at close quarters, as close as though they were kissing.
He shook his head angrily once again as he passed down the corridor
angrily muttering to himself, much to the amazement and almost fright
of one of the servants passing by.
Boromir sent off a servant with a message to his father and
then sat by Faramir’s curled up body, watching the sleeping face,
noting how it had changed. How weary and sad his brother looked. He
had always had an unhappiness in his eyes, but now his very face radiated
a deep-rooted sadness, the lines, the dark circles, the shadows. He
was stroking the stray hair away from his face when a knock sounded,
and the door opened simultaneously to reveal his father’s stern
countenance.
Chapter 10
Boromir sat up straight immediately.
“Father,” he said politely in greeting, without
getting up. He stroked his sleeping brother’s dark hair gently,
pushing a few wayward strands of hair away from his face.
“Is he awake yet?” Denethor’s voice was
as calm as his expression, as he came towards the bed.
“No, he sleeps still, and I did not wake him. We had
to give him sleeping herbs last night,” his son replied softly,
getting up.
“Have you eaten yet?” Denethor asked him.
“Nay, I did not want to leave him here alone,”
Boromir said steadily. He knew his father would have received his message,
and he could not help but wonder if Denethor had come there to force
him to attend the Council. He was very afraid that that might be the
case, and he was too weary to argue it out with the older man. Suddenly
he knew exactly how Faramir felt almost each day of his life, when their
father constantly either contradicted him or silenced him. He was sure
that his face contained the same apprehensive expression that Faramir’s
face would always contain before he opened his mouth to speak to Denethor.
“He will need to eat, too. Go down to the kitchen and
bring some food up for both of you. I will stay with him in the meantime.”
Boromir stared back at his father’s calm and collected
countenance. Denethor wanted to spend time with Faramir? But of course
he would, he told himself.
“Yes, father,” he said immediately, as his mood
lightened perceptibly. He had been annoyed when Denethor had not come
to visit Faramir last night, but now he realised it would have been
of no help as Faramir had been sleeping. It would do his younger brother
much good if, upon awakening, he found Denethor there. He would know
he cared. It was as he slipped out of the door and walked down the corridor
that he wondered if his father cared enough. After all, he was in a
way responsible for all this in the first place. But Faramir did not
seem angry with him, he told himself. But then Faramir never did get
angry with their father, no matter what. He sighed as he picked his
way down the long winding staircase going towards the kitchen.
Denethor continued staring impassively at his younger son’s
prone figure and then finally moving to the side of the bed, knelt down
and pulled the blanket away gently. Then he reached for the bindings
of the robe his son wore to inspect his condition, untying them to expose
the damage underneath. He observed the bandages and bruises on the torso
and stomach without twitching even an eyebrow. Then he gently pulled
the sleeping figure over, and tugging the robe off, inspected his back.
Despite Boromir’s ministrations the signs of Fenekor’s lust
were only too evident. Faramir murmured something in his sleep as the
cold air hit his exposed flesh.
Denethor finally moved towards the window, and pulled the
curtains open allowing bright sunlight to stream into the room. Every
bruise and cut on his son’s face and body stood out sharply against
the extra pale skin. It was a worse sight in the light, for the skin
now looked sickly where it was not covered in a myriad pattern of colours
ranging from livid red to dulling black. Even the dark circles under
the now twitching eyes looked deeper and darker than ever before.
Faramir found himself waking up when the sun hit his sleeping
form. He kept his eyes closed as he felt the sudden warmth descend upon
him, and savoured it happily. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, not
wanting to get up from his comfortable position and tried to stretch
himself, eyes still closed. The movement brought back to him what he
had been through for his muscles immediately screamed in protest. His
eyes flew open and fell upon the tall figure standing by.
He felt an irrational fear course through is veins as their
eyes came in contact. Denethor stared back at him unmoving. Faramir
gaped back at him for a few seconds before realizing his robe had been
pulled off. Blushing a little, for he was never at ease around his father,
he pulled it back on, pushed the blankets away, and tried to sit up.
It was not easy. His body didn’t want to get up, and he was soon
heaving from the effort, as he pressed his hand down on the bed and
pulled himself up into a semi-sitting position. His backside came in
contact with the bed, and he had to choke off the cry that almost escaped
from his lips, as a shooting pain traveled all the way up his body.
“F-fath – My Lord,” he said finally, as
he managed to wrap the blankets around himself. The excessive formality
between father and son had held for many years now, and Faramir had
never let it slip, until the past few days. It had not however achieved
anything, he decided.
Denethor nodded his head in greeting, but said nothing. Faramir
waited. He found the fear had still not left his heart. Any minute now
he expected to see Denethor’s wrath descend upon him, and he tried
to reconcile himself to that. He rarely ever replied to his father in
his angry moods nowadays, preferring instead to stay in silence until
the mood had worked itself out. In his younger days, Denethor usually
worked it out by striking his less favoured son. And the more Faramir
did to anger him, the harder the blows would get. So, he’d stopped
inciting his father further, preferring to take the angry words in silence.
But he still feared the words, for they always cut through
him. Words designed to put him down, to show him his place.
Now, however there were no words, merely an appraising look,
and Faramir still found himself scared, in anticipation of what his
father might say, or do. Denethor moved forward, and reached for his
face. He flinched violently. It was an automatic reaction that surprised
even Denethor. He realised his untoward move not only hurt him further,
it had also angered his father, whose face had become even more set.
Once again, Denethor reached out, and snaking a finger under Faramir’s
chin he pushed the face up so that two pairs of grey eyes came in close
contact. Faramir found himself almost holding his breath. He sat very,
very still, not even daring to cry out as his father’s finger
brushed against the bruises on his chin. Then the hand came away.
“They will heal soon,” his father said calmly.
Faramir found himself shivering under the blanket. He wrapped himself
tighter, feeling very lightheaded, wishing he could lie back down.
Father and son stayed in silence for a few seconds until
they were interrupted by Boromir’s return with a tray laden with
food.
“You are awake,” he said smiling at the younger
man. His voice held immense relief and happiness in it. Placing the
tray on a table, he came and sat by Faramir.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly, gently putting
an arm around his shoulders. Faramir stiffened imperceptibly. His father
continued to watch on solemnly.
“I feel fine,” he replied in a low voice, clenching
his hands together tightly in his lap.
“I am glad to hear that,” Boromir said, “I
have brought you something to eat, and then you can go back to sleep.
You look very tired.”
Faramir looked up at his father briefly and then glanced
down at his hands, “I am fine,” he repeated, “Do not
worry.”
“I hear you refused to see a healer,” Denethor’s
cold voice came across.
Faramir jerked up, fear clenching his heart once again. Surely
his father could realise how humiliated he would feel to let anyone
else at see him in this state. Already Denethor, Boromir and even Haldir
had seen him. That was shame enough without adding another person to
the list.
Before he could say anything, Boromir spoke up.
“None of the wounds are serious, father. They are merely
small scrapes and bruises. I’m sure a few days in bed will take
care of them.”
Denethor did not reply. He turned around to look out of the
window at the city coming to life beneath them. Faramir continued to
stare at his hands, and Boromir continued to hold onto him.
*Those are his physical wounds I talk of father, what
about the wounds you cannot see, that he will not show?* He tightened
his hold around the slender body, and realised how relieved he was that
Faramir was here in his hands, back home with him, safe.
Denethor turned around slowly, “You will be in the
council in the afternoon. I will need your presence after luncheon.”
Boromir blinked, and then found himself getting angry, “I
sent a message to you, my lord,” he said quietly, “I will
be here all day.”
“You may be here in the morning and in the evening.
In the afternoon, you will come to the council,” Denethor repeated,
and turned to the door.
“Father, I cannot leave Faramir here alone.”
“Boromir,” Denethor turned around wearily, his
voice sounding tired as it acquired an edge, “I need you to tell
the council of the situation on the ground. They will need to hear reports
from men who have been out there fighting the dark forces, not from
men like myself who sit out here and hear secondhand reports. Before
they even think of offering us, they will want to hear all that. I am
sure your brother can understand that,” he added sarcastically.
Boromir stood up suddenly, angry with his father for dragging
Faramir in like this. But the ploy worked. Faramir spoke up immediately,
“I understand,” he said quietly, “And I am fine. You
do not have to stay with me all the while Boromir. I will go back to
my room after breakfast.”
“You may stay here,” Denethor told him, “It
will be easier for the servants to bring your meals here than to your
room.”
Boromir gritted his teeth. Every time he thought his father
was making some effort at being concerned, pat would follow a remark
exactly opposite in nature.
“I will not -,” he began, but Faramir interrupted
him.
“Yes sir,” he said tiredly.
Denethor nodded and then walked away before Boromir could
speak up again.
“I will not go!” Boromir shouted.
“Don’t be impractical, Boromir,” Faramir
said wearily.
“Impractical! Do you not remember what happened?”
“You cannot be with me forever, Boromir, and father
is correct. It is important that you be there in person. I do not need
you to play nursemaid to me all the while.”
“You do not? Very well, perhaps you can get up and
get your food on your own!” Boromir shouted out, and stomped out
of the room.
He was back in seconds however, ashamed with himself for
lashing out at his brother like that, when his anger was actually with
Denethor. Entering the room he found Faramir trying to rise from the
bed, only to fall onto the floor like a limp rag. Tears streamed down
the young man’s face, and Boromir rushed forward to gather him
up in his arms. The sudden movement made Faramir cry out in pain.
“I’m sorry, Faramir, please forgive me, I should
not have shouted at you,” Boromir said helping his brother up,
“Do you want to eat? Sit back. I will get you food.”
“No, just water,” Faramir said softly.
“You must eat child,” Boromir said helping him
back into bed.
“No, I just want to lie down,” the younger man
said.
Boromir gently laid him on the bed, and pulled up the blanket
over him as he curled up on his side. Then he went to get the tray.
Sitting on the bed, he pulled Faramir into his arms ignoring his protests,
and held a mug of water to his mouth.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Faramir drank the water slowly, and then tried to lie back
down but found Boromir thrusting a slice of bread at his mouth. Too
tired to argue he ate it, chewing slowly. Then he was made to have some
broth. He was surprised the food stayed down, he hadn’t thought
it would have. But even then, it did nothing to improve his headache
or his tiredness, so he lay back to sleep. Boromir had not finished
however, he made Faramir drink a herbal tea to soothe the pain. As it
also worked as a sleep inducer, Faramir soon found himself nodding off.
He felt his brother sitting beside him quietly stroking his hair. He
opened his eyes, and looked up at the handsome face that was looking
upon him with concern and sadness, and reached for the hand on his head.
Boromir gave him a small smile as they stayed that way for a while,
Faramir clutching his brother’s hand tightly feeling strangely
reassured by the close presence of the other.
He never knew when he fell asleep, just that his mind seemed
strangely foggy, and he could not even think much. So he shut his eyes,
and slept all day. Boromir sat by all morning, frowning a little as
he felt the skin warm to touch. He hoped Faramir wasn’t going
to fall ill, although it was quite conceivable given that they’d
spent most of last night outdoors in the cold, and Faramir had not been
dressed for it. He ensured the blankets were warm enough, and continued
his vigil while the younger one slept a deep sleep, the herbs giving
him peace. Boromir realised how truly exhausted Faramir must have been
as he watched over him.
He ate his luncheon alone, and then left for the council
as ordered. He realised he could not get himself to disobey his father’s
order. He knew the anger would be taken out not on him, but on someone
else who was already wanting in strength. He left orders with the palace
guard to keep an eye on his room. News of Faramir’s ill health
had spread, so his orders were accepted easily. He sat through the council
chaffing at the length of discussion, spoke when he was called to, and
then fumed as he found he was expected to stay on, for other members
kept asking questions. Across the table he saw Haldir looking at him
worry and concern lacing his face. He tried to smile back but found
he couldn’t. They did not meet until after the council had ended,
and Boromir found out he still had a little work to do.
Faramir sighed in his sleep, waking up feeling stiff, and
bone-tired. Once the effect of the herbs had worn off he had been plagues
by terrible dreams, all involving Fenekor. He had dreamt badly, and
each nightmare had been more horrifying than the previous one. Lying
on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest he heard the door open,
as someone entered, but did not attempt getting up immediately. Instead
he took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes to gaze upon the face
of Haldir.
“Haldir?” he found his voice sounded scratchy.
Haldir entered and then placing a pile of books on a table,
smiled and came and sat by him.
“Your brother was detained with some work, so I have
come to spend the evening with you. I have even brought you your books
to read, Boromir said you would welcome them,” Haldir waved a
hand towards the pile, “Or would you rather sleep some more?”
“No!” the force with which the word came out
surprised even Faramir. Tears sprang up in his troubled grey eyes, and
trailed down his cheeks. Haldir was at his side immediately.
“You are not able to sleep well, are you?” he
asked, stroking Faramir’s hair gently, helping him clam down.
Faramir was completely shaken by the vivid images that had
been assaulting his mind for the last hour or so. He sobbed louder now.
“It is all right, I’m here,” Haldir crooned
softly. Finally, he pulled Faramir into his arms, as he had done the
night before, holding him gently, whispering comforting words into his
ears. Faramir clung to him desperately. He felt wretched for doing so,
but he had no strength. He was very tired, and his body was riddled
with aches and pains, and felt feverish. Haldir could feel his warm
breath on his chest, where Faramir’s head now rested. He lifted
a free hand to Faramir’s brow, and sighed as he felt the clammy
feel of the skin.
“You are unwell, you must try and get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” the voice came out soft, and as
Haldir suddenly realised had a beautiful lyrical quality to it.
“For what?” he asked looking at the young man
confusedly.
“For – for – at the inn,” Faramir’s
eyes were clouding over but he went on, “You were very kind to
me, and very gentle, thank you. I was afraid,” he paused irresolutely,
almost ashamed to confess what seemed to him to be cowardice.
Haldir leaned forward, sighing softly, “I am sorry,
I did not move earlier, I should have never let him put you through
that.”
Faramir averted his eyes away from the beautiful face of
the elf, “No, it is not your fault, I was too cowardly to do aught
about it. And he would have hurt Boromir. I cannot bear to see Boromir
hurt.”
“I understand, but you were not cowardly,” Haldir
said softly thinking back to his own brothers, and how close they were.
He reached out for the young man’s hand to squeeze it, “You
were hurt and tired. And I did not want to hurt you further. But you
should not think you are cowardly. I saw you fight the orcs, you were
very brave.”
Faramir stared up at him, an unreadable expression in his
grey eyes.
“Sleep now,” Haldir said softly.
But the grey eyes remained open, they were still staring
back at him. Then Faramir’s hand reached for his face, and caressed
it slowly, “You would never have hurt me,” he said quietly,
“You are too good for that.” His fingers stilled on Haldir’s
lips, “Thank you.”
Haldir had almost frozen when the slender fingers had caressed
his face. Now they were on his lips, and it was all he could do to not
take them into his mouth and lick them one by one. Suppressing a shudder
of desire, he ran his own hand lightly over the untouched portions of
Faramir’s face.
“You are very brave,” he repeated, not knowing
what else to say. Faramir pulled himself up slightly, and as he bent
forward to help the man, Haldir found their lips touching each other.
Then Faramir was kissing him.
Chapter 11
Haldir felt he could hear his heart beating in his ears
when Faramir’s lips touched his. Arms still wrapped around the
other’s slender figure he closed his eyes and let himself be swept
into a state of complete bliss. The same bliss he had almost let himself
into a day ago. When Faramir moved away, he still kept his eyes closed
feeling the lingering touch of his lips on his. They had been swollen
and rough but in better condition than the day before.
Faramir gave a small gasp that quickly turned into a sob.
“I – I am sorry,” he whispered his voice
shaking with the unshed tears that glimmered in his eyes, “I did
not mean to –“
Haldir opened his eyes slowly, and stared back at Faramir’s
distraught face. The grey eyes were once again filling up, and the mouth
that had just been kissing him was quivering. Faramir clasped his shaking
hands together in his lap, and averted his eyes from Haldir’s
scrutiny, his face reddening under the bruises.
“Please forgive me,” the soft voice could barely
be heard.
Haldir put out a graceful hand, and hooking it carefully
under the young man’s chin, raised up his face. The tears had
spilled over now, tracing their way down the still swollen cheeks. He
was about to tell him it did not matter, that there was nothing to forgive.
Faramir’s kiss had been everything he had dreamt it would be,
if not more. What they had shared in the cellar had had an element of
duress in it, with each feeling the other was submitting under compulsion,
and at the same time being ashamed of their own selves for deriving
fulfillment from it.
But the sight of Faramir’s forlorn face, with the immense
unhappiness lurking in the eyes, made him forget all that. Raising his
other hand, he gently wiped the tears away, and drawing the man’s
head close to his, gently kissed him on the forehead.
“Do not apologise,” he whispered softly. Faramir
stared back at him mutely, eyes still glistening, his expression reduced
to one of such vulnerability, that Haldir suddenly enveloped his arms
around him, and drew his head against his chest. Careful to avoid causing
the injured man any discomfort, he ran a hand lovingly through the raven
locks, and kissed the top of Faramir’s head gently. Feeling the
other’s hand clutch uncertainly at his tunic, a desperate vice-like
grip, he wrapped his own hand around it, and squeezed tightly, feeling
the racing pulse underneath. Lifting the bunched fist, he interlocked
his own graceful fingers with the slender ones and bringing the hand
up to his mouth, he gently kissed it. Faramir raised his head and gazed
up at him in surprise.
They stayed that way, gazes interlocking, hand in hand, with
no words exchanged each trying to discern the unreadable expression
of the other. Faramir found his heart mired in confusion. After the
events he had been through, he felt he was losing his grip on clarity.
His mind sent him confusing signals. After Fenekor’s mauling,
he had thought he would never be comfortable even near another person’s
presence ever again, but Haldir had turned that theory on its head.
Not only had he felt a warmth and comfort in his sinewy arms, he found
himself desiring it even more. The sight of Haldir made him remember
their kiss together, made him remember that his heart had raced wildly
at the prospect. In Boromir’s arms he could find security and
affection and love, but in Haldir’s arms he found something greater
than that, he could not even describe what it was. He just found himself
desiring more of it, whatever it was. And now he found the elf kissing
his fingers, sending a tingling sensation through his body, a feeling
of arousal. One that made him forget what he had been through, one that
made him forget the pain that coursed through is muscles every time
he even so much as moved an inch. He felt himself being transported
to an entirely different plane of existence, one where he and Haldir
were all that mattered, and nothing else.
Haldir in turn was horrified with himself. He felt he had
taken advantage of Faramir’s battered state of mind. Faramir was
emotionally very weak and probably in his mind searching for any source
of true affection. Haldir wondered if Faramir felt betrayed by Denethor.
He had seen enough of the young man to know that he would deny it upfront,
not just to anyone else, but even to himself. Whatever Denethor thought
of his younger son, his son did not reciprocate in kind. That he still
strove for the father’s love was as clear as day and that this
love was still not forthcoming was just as clear. It angered Haldir
that despite all that had occurred Denethor’s attitude towards
Faramir had undergone merely a tiny improvement. He simply displayed
a small degree of concern that had been absent earlier, that was all.
He supposed it was difficult to change years of reasoning,
even though to him, Denethor’s years were a miniscule number.
In such a situation, he reasoned to himself, Faramir would jump for
affection of any kind. He wondered whether, had Fenekor been a little
kinder, would Faramir have willingly submitted to him, merely to gain
a feeling of being wanted? Haldir was after all, the only other person
who had contact with Faramir now. Boromir’s affection was assured,
and that left him. Faramir was crying to be loved, and he was taking
advantage of the situation by lusting after the boy, for what else could
he call one so young?
He slowly disentangled their fingers and placed Faramir’s
hand down gently. Lowering his hand from the head, he placed it on the
other’s shoulders, loosening the grip, and schooled his features
into what he hoped was a look of detachment.
“Do not apologise,” he repeated, ignoring the
disappointed expression on Faramir’s face, “you are –”
Faramir promptly clutched his hand again, gripping it tightly
unwilling to relinquish the hold. He had thought when Haldir was kissing
him that his feelings were being reciprocated, something he had never
imagined. Haldir sighed, and loosened the grip with ease, Faramir being
too weak to clutch really tightly. He gently placed the young man’s
hand down, and stared back at him. Faramir’s face fell immediately,
and Haldir felt his heart tug at the sight.
“You are angry with me,” the man said softly,
his eyes reflecting a strange despair.
“No!” Haldir said forcefully, and then softened
his voice, as the distress on the other’s face grew larger.
“I do not want to hurt you,” Haldir said quietly.
“You could never hurt me,” Faramir said with
surprising fervour. His voice was still soft, but there was a strength
to it that had not been there earlier.
“Please do not leave me,” he continued his voice
laced with the same desperation his eyes reflected, “I will not
will not – force my attentions on you if you do not desire it,
but please – stay a while.”
Haldir sighed, “You would not be forcing yourself,”
he said honestly, “But you do not know what you want. You are
unwell, and I suspect being alone here all day, has not been of aid.
Much as I find myself attracted to you, I will not take advantage of
your fragile state.”
Faramir gaped at him, “Fragile?” he questioned
his voice taking on a high-pitched note.
“Yes, you need support and love, and not another man’s
lust,” Haldir continued, “Fenekor gave you enough of that.”
He felt Faramir stiffening and cursed his own hasty words. Any mention
of that monster seemed to affect the young man in his arms.
“I understand,” Faramir said brokenly, lowering
his eyes, “I know I cannot ask you to reciprocate what I find
myself feeling towards you, you are one of the Eldar. ”
“What you feel towards me?” Haldir stared back
at the unhappy face bent down in front of him.
“Yes, when we kissed in the cellar. I have - I have
never felt anything like that.” Faramir said without looking up.
“Merely a change from that brute’s assault,”
Haldir told him firmly, resisting the urge to brush the swollen lips
with his fingers hoping to give them succour.
“You think I have feelings towards you, because of
what Fenekor did to me?” Faramir asked softly, glancing up into
Haldir‘s face finally understanding what Haldir was trying to
say.
“Yes, you do, you are vulnerable right now, and I do
not blame you. What he did to you -”
“What he did to me?” Faramir’s voice became
raised, “What he did to me? Would you like to know what he did
to me? He – he -,” Faramir found himself choking, the words
coming out brokenly, unable to even speak clearly, “So many times,
it hurt so much, and he beat me, and he whipped me, and – and
he used his hands on me,” he closed his eyes, shuddering as he
spoke, the terrible memories assailing his overwrought mind over and
over again. He could still see Fenekor’s leering face in front
of him and the hands reaching for him, he could hear the derisory voice,
feel the hands groping him, feel the unbearable pain ripping through
his very being over and over again, with each renewed assault on his
battered body. He was breathing raggedly now, causing Haldir to look
at him in concern.
Faramir opened his eyes, still breathing rapidly, blinking
to dissipate the horrific images and memories, and ignoring Haldir’s
worried expression, spoke again, his eyes set on his hands, “I
thought I would never be able to stand anyone even come anywhere near
me. When he said that he would give me to his soldiers for their entertainment,
and stand there watching the fun, I thought I would like to die right
then. He – he said he would - he would keep me, for his use as
he pleased.” Haldir listened with horror to Fenekor’s plans
The derisive words tripped out of the young man’s mouth
bitterly, “That I was merely a prostitute, up for offer to whoever
it pleased, sold by my father for the sake of a few companies of war.”
“When he told me to give myself to you,” Faramir
continued unheeding of the growing shock on the elf’s face, “I
wanted to die right then rather than have you see me in such a position.
And then I thought of the pain, and it scared me even further that one
more time I would have to go through that. I thought I would have to
force myself to even stand near you. But when you kissed me, all that
was forgotten. I knew I would never be scared of being near you. I wanted
you, Haldir, how much I wanted you! I wanted you to take me, to make
love to me, I knew you would never hurt me.”
“You do not know what you are saying,” Haldir
insisted softly, still in shock over everything he had heard.
Faramir shook his lowered head, “I do. You think all
this has made me weaker. It has not. It has made me stronger. After
what Fenekor put me through, I can go through anything else. After that,
even death was not a scary prospect. There is no worse that can be done
to me.”
“That is what I’m saying,” Haldir said,
“Any feelings you have are merely because –”
“No! I desire you, Haldir, I need you, I love you,”
Faramir said raising his head and gazing straight back at Haldir’s
eyes, “And I know you will not return the sentiment, but I do
not mind.”
“You love me?” Haldir whispered softly, ignoring
the warning signals his brain sent out. He didn’t care any more.
Suddenly, he did not mind even taking advantage of this luscious youth
in front of him.
Ignoring the protests his mind sent out, he suddenly closed
his mouth on Faramir’s gently kissing him, a long loving kiss,
as their tongues explored each other’s mouths, he ran his hand
slightly over the other’s body, down the back, over the legs,
all over him.
Faramir was similarly feeling Haldir’s body, sending
sparks of desire racing through him.
They came apart flushed and breathing raggedly.
“I should not,” Haldir breathed, “you are
weak. You have been through much. I will not add to your misery.”
“You cannot,” Faramir said raggedly, “Do
you not understand, you cannot make me more miserable. I was defiled
by another man. One who had my father’s consent to do so. And
I did not protest. What could be worse than that?”
Faramir’s bluntness made Haldir wince. The man’s
face was laced with unhappiness and desperation and pain.
“I want you,” Faramir said simply, the desperation
having left his voice to be replaced by a quiet calmness, “You
said I would not be forcing myself. If you desire me too, Haldir, take
me. While there is the time, Haldir.”
The lips closed in on Haldir’s again, submitting completely
to him. Haldir moved his arms along the supple slim body in his arms,
rubbing gently, feeling the other buck under him in pleasure as his
tongue roved inside the mouth, and his hands slipped under the robe
to touch the soft skin it covered. Faramir stiffened when the fingers
encountered the welts on his back forcing Haldir to pull away. He stared
into the grey eyes and sighed.
Faramir’s face was flushed, “Why do you stop?”
he breathed out roughly, hands still wrapped around Haldir’s body.
He ran his fingers lightly over the elf’s chest, tracing a path
slowly down his lower belly, and then coming to a stop. Haldir sighed
yet again, still holding onto the young man, ensuring that he moved
as little as possible to avoid feeling his aches. He removed Faramir’s
hand that had now moved lower to where his erection was fast making
its presence felt.
“Do you not like it? Will you not make love to me?”
the young man whispered softly, his eyes taking on the same unhappy
look again.
“We can share no more than kisses,” Haldir said
firmly, “I could not possibly take you to bed with me, while you
are in such a state as this.”
“I own I could not do that right now,” Faramir
admitted, “I fear I can barely move without help. But at least
we may sit together. At least we may know that we feel for each other.
You will return to Lórien soon, will you not? In what little
time we have, may we not take pleasure in each other’s company?
Will you not derive enjoyment from the kisses we share, as I derive
enjoyment from your very caress, your very touch? It is all I ask, and
I grieve I can offer you no more, for while my heart wills it, my body
betrays me.”
*Lórien* Faramir was right, he would have to return
soon. What was he doing? Giving in to Faramir and then discarding him.
How could he do that to the boy?
“The council was fruitful today?” Faramir asked
suddenly. He shifted slightly, trying to get into a comfortable position
against Haldir’s chest, only to gasp, as the pain hit him.
“Do not move!” Haldir said immediately, “you
exert yourself too much.”
“The council?” Faramir gritted his teeth as a
fresh wave of pain swept over him
“It is too early to tell,” Haldir muttered.
“Your face tells all.”
“What do you mean?” Haldir frowned a little.
The council for the day, had not ended on terms favourable to Gondor,
but then Denethor had asked for too much. An alliance against the darkness
rising from Mordor, but few were the takers for all had their own lands
to defend against it.
“You look tired,” Faramir replied, settling his
head down against Haldir’s chest, wrapping one arm loosely around
his waist. Haldir looked down at him. The robe was in disarray, and
he could make out the injuries across Faramir’s back. He frowned
slightly, “Have your injuries been tended to today?”
“I think Boromir checked them in the morning, or perhaps
that was a dream?” Faramir muttered, his voice suddenly sounding
exhausted and laced with pain.
“I will see them now,” Haldir offered, and gently
lifting the young msn up, carefully to avoid hurting him further.
Faramir curled up on his side, while Haldir fetched some
water and herbs. Loosening the rove, he observed the bruises and marks,
and applied salves wherever required. Faramir’s face remained
set throughout except a few times when a faint hiss seemed to emanate
from his lips. Haldir tried his best not to add to the pain, but the
wounds were still tender, and merely brushing them caused pain. He could
see a wetness glistening against the dark eyelashes fringing the closed
eyes. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered upon the quiet face.
“The council ends in two days, does it not? When do
you leave for Lórien?” Faramir’s voice broke through his
reverie.
Chapter 12
“When do you leave for Lórien?” the question
snapped Haldir out of his reverie. He stared back at Faramir’s
wan but composed face, eyes still closed.
He wondered what to answer. He should never have started
this. Should never have succumbed to the temptation. He laid down the
bowl of salve he had been holding, and re-tied the robe around Faramir’s
slender body.
The scraping of the door made him look up. Boromir had entered
with a tray of food in his hands.
“Is he sleeping?” he asked Haldir softly, taking
in the sight of his brother lying on his side.
“Boromir,” the younger man’s voice reflected
the smile that shone on his face, as he attempted to turn over and sit
up, ignoring his stiff muscles.
“Lie still,” Haldir commanded immediately. Boromir
placed the tray down and came and sat on the bed. Leaning down, he brushed
Faramir’s forehead with a light kiss.
“I have brought you some food.”
Faramir made a grunting noise of some kind, and turned his
face towards his pillow.
“You must eat, you are thinning,” Haldir added
to the coaxing.
So he ate, and allowed them to fuss over him after that,
change his robe for a fresh one, brush out the tangles in his hair,
and fluff up his pillows. Sleep came soon, almost without realization.
He had sagged against someone yet again. And this time the nightmares
were kept at bay. Each time the horror arose it was driven away by a
loving caress, and by gentle words. When he woke with the sun, Haldir
was holding him in his arms, watching him. He straightened himself slowly,
annoyed to find that the pain had still not left his body, and stiffly
leant forward.
“Where is Boromir?”
“I sent him to sleep in my chambers. The couch can
be very uncomfortable.”
“And he was loathe to pull me out of your arms?”
Faramir’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he spoke, “Did
you sleep well?” he inquired, leaning into the elf’s face,
bringing his lips close to his, and then pouncing on them hungrily before
the other could reply.
Any hesitation Haldir might have felt about their intimacy
was promptly dispelled, and he kissed back fervently. Faramir’s
intimate caresses across his body, down his back, over his thighs, feathery
touches on his groin, all sent shudders through Haldir’s aroused
body. He slipped a hand through what he felt was a totally unnecessary
robe, and explored the by now completely familiar body in his arms,
carefully and gently, running his soft hands over the skin underneath,
taking delight in simple pleasures that were all that could be afforded.
Drawing back gasping for air, he looked back at the disheveled
face, and then frowned slightly, “You have a fever,” he
said quietly, “it did not increase during the night so we thought
we would let you sleep over it, but I see it has not left you yet. “
“It is naught,” Faramir whispered.
The fever did not worsen but it did not abate greatly either,
and indeed added to the young man’s discomfort greatly. For now
he found he had a headache to add to his woes. Neither did it make for
speedy healing. Faramir was no closer to getting out of bed, his body
still suffering much. As the day before, Boromir stayed with him a while,
and then left for the council, but refused to speak of it to him, telling
him they would discuss it when he got better. Denethor did not visit
him all day.
Haldir came during the noon hour with food, kisses, and more
gentle caresses. Both were left feeling an aching fire in their insides
that they knew would be impossible to quench or to satisfy at that moment.
The afternoon passed by in sleep, and as the evening hours
neared Boromir arrived, his face tired and drawn, sighing deeply as
he seated himself by his brother.
“How goes the council?” Faramir asked softly.
“Not as hoped,” Boromir admitted.
“Father requests an alliance to fight the foes to our
east, does he not?”
“Aye.”
“And it is not forthcoming?”
“We are told we are not alone in fighting the fell
forces. But we bear their largest brunt and none will see that. Rohan
offers help but not much they say for they face dangers closer to their
own land. The elves say their might is concentrated on the growing evil
over their own lands. As do the dwarfs.”
“What does father say?”
“Naught, but he despairs. We at Gondor must face our
travails alone, it appears, and so he despairs.”
“If we must, we must,” Faramir said softly, “You
must not let him despair, Boromir. Show him that there is still hope.
Even if we must do so alone, we must fight.”
Boromir smiled softly, and then reached out to hug his younger
brother gently, “Brave words, young one, and they bring much succour
to me. Aye, now is no time to give into despair. While we can fight
it we must.”
“What says Haldir to all this,” Faramir asked
quietly.
“What can he say?” Boromir sighed once again,
“I know myself that Lothlórien faces many a grave danger. They
will not commit to an alliance. Their folk remain few, and what they
have they require to fight off the forces of Dol Guldur. But father
is much angered. He harks back to the days of Cirion when their aid
was requested from the far north but was not forthcoming. Haldir brings
tidings from the Lady of the Golden Wood that now is not the time they
can offer help.”
“Now is not the time?” Faramir pondered curiously,
“Then when is the time?”
“Father deems it akin to wizard talk. As Mithrandir
would speak, he says.”
“Which may be why he did not invite him to the council,”
Faramir pointed out.
“He will try once again on the morrow, he says, if
even the dwarf folk agree, he feels there is hope.”
“And now he no longer has Fenekor’s promise of
help either,” Faramir whispered.
The brotherly hug tightened, “Do not talk of that again!
Not for anything would I have agreed to such help. Oh Faramir!”
“All this for naught,” his younger brother muttered
bitterly, “Neither the forces nor the intelligence on their troops
have we now. All for naught!” A single tear rolled down one cheek,
as the embrace tightened further, and the two brothers sat together,
supporting each other against what seemed to be a future of unending
despair.
Haldir joined them a while later, gazing at Boromir when
he entered, wondering how Denethor’s elder son would behave towards
him, after the events of the day. When he received a small smile of
welcome, he sighed inwardly in relief, and joined the two brothers.
“How do you fare?” he asked the younger man.
“Quite well,” Faramir said, resulting in the
other two shaking their heads. The fine glimmer of sweat on his face
told them the truth.
“Do you leave soon?” Faramir asked softly.
Haldir bit his lip irresolutely, “I understand Gondor’s
need for help, and I realise there is much good in Denethor’s
proposal, but we of Lothlórien are badly pressed ourselves.”
“I understand,” Boromir interjected sadly, “We
spoke long of such matters at our last meeting. Things have not changed
in either of our lands in that span of time.”
“No. If they have changed they have done so for the
worse,” Haldir said, “And while I would personally like
to stay on here and help my two friends, my duty to Lothlórien compels
me to return soon.” He evaded Faramir’s glance as he spoke,
picturing in his own mind the young man’s face, a smiling face,
not the unhappy face he knew he would see if he looked at him.
“That is understandable,” Faramir’s voice
came through softly, “We all have a duty we were born to serve.
‘Tis the times we dwell in. They dictate that that duty come first
and all else be laid aside. You have the Golden Wood to render your
services to, and Boromir and I have Gondor.“
Haldir looked up into the face of the one he loved. Sadness
tinged it, and so did resignation, “But a time will come when
we can pick up what we lay aside now,” he said softly but firmly,
gazing into the very depths of the grey eyes resting on him, watching
the spark of hope his words kindled in them for the veriest second.
“Perhaps,” Faramir whispered, a small smile playing
on his lips.
“I would look forward to such a day,” Boromir
added heavily.
“Will you not sit, Haldir?” Faramir asked courteously.
Haldir’s returned him a troubled gaze, “I need
to look into our preparations for departure,” he found his voice
cracking a little much to his surprise, and with great effort continued,
“But I will rejoin you shortly.”
Faramir nodded about to say something but then found his
mouth widening into a yawn.
“Sleep now young one, so much talk will tire you out,”
Boromir rose, “I will leave you in solitude for a while, and see
to some chores. Will you need any help, Haldir? It will give us time
to talk of the old days, and whatever else it is old friends who meet
but rarely talk over.”
They left shutting the door gently behind them.
“What news of Fenekor and of Dorec’s assassin?”
Haldir asked.
“The assassin was a spy, he killed Dorec to avoid being
exposed when they suddenly came upon each other in the citadel. He must
have managed to get the news about Fenekor’s betrayal through
however, for our rangers report that his company near the southern borders
was escorted back to Harad. They have made no move yet over Dorec’s
death, and we do not think they will as he was killed by their own agent.
Of Fenekor there has been no word. All that could be found were traces
of his clothes, and his discarded weapons. It is strange, is it not,
that we find one enemy getting rid of another for us?”
When Faramir awoke two hours later from a deep sleep happily
bereft of dreams, they had both returned, and sat bent over a chessboard
in the pale late evening light, fast fading into night. They turned
towards him as the sheets rustled with his waking movements.
“We have just supped early,” Boromir told him,
“and your food awaits you too. How do you feel?” He placed
a hand against Faramir’s forehead, finding it still a little clammy,
but cooler than earlier.
Faramir ate the food slowly, but refused the tea, saying
he wished to stay up awhile, having just awoken. Boromir smiled, “Very
well, but do not stay up for too long. I shall retire for the day now
for I am required early in the morning at a meeting with father. Haldir,
would you like to spend some more time with Faramir?”
Haldir rose from his chair, “If he will like to,”
he said.
“I am sure he will,” Boromir said softly, gazing
from brother to friend, “I will be in the chamber two doors away,
if you require anything. Sleep well.”
Faramir searched his brother’s face as he heard his
words and noticed his gaze shift across them, wondering if he had guessed
his feelings for Haldir. He never hid anything from him, but this was
something he had not had the time to talk over, and as he found out
now, did not have the inclination to do so either. He bid Boromir a
good night in return and after his brother had left cocked an eyebrow
at Haldir who had also turned a thoughtful gaze on the older man’s
retreating back. He now turned towards Faramir, and seeing the question
in his eyes, replied, “Nay he asked me naught, and I mentioned
nothing to him.”
“Then he is more astute than I give him credit for,”
Faramir said calmly, making the elf smile. He was beginning to get glimpses
of the real young man hidden behind the broken body.
“Where it concerns you, I fear he will always be astute,”
he replied, making Faramir smile now.
“We have very little time,” the man murmured.
“Too little,” Haldir said raggedly, coming and
sitting on the bed, but not coming any closer. Faramir put out his hand,
but he did not take it. The young man did not draw back. Instead the
hand remained where it was.
“You are afraid that what you experience will leave
you yearning for more when you cannot have it,” Faramir said softly,
“But are you not afraid of wondering in the future about what
may have been?”
“You are much too astute yourself,” Haldir sighed
and reached out, grasping the slender hand, intertwining their fingers
together, and then moved himself closer, giving in to demands of heart
and body. Soft kisses and gentle touches were shared, both satiating
their desires in the very presence of the other. Lying in each other’s
arms all night, the intimacy was enough for them. No words were spoken,
for none were required. Their love surrounded them unsaid, undeclared
but not unknown to either. It was enough. The inability to consummate
their relationship was no barrier as long as the thrall of their love
held them in its sway.
Just holding Faramir in his hands gave Haldir a satisfaction
that he had never felt before, not with anyone. They were up all night,
each reveling in the touch of the other’s body, in the feel of
his lips on the other’s, in their locked hands.
When the sun peeped over the horizon, filling the sky with
a golden colour, Haldir entangled himself, and looked upon Faramir’s
face with remorse, “You should not have stayed up all night! What
was I thinking? You are unwell!”
“I have never felt better ever before. You should consider
becoming a healer,” Faramir replied lazily, trying not to yawn
as the effects of a sleepless night made their presence felt. He tried
stretching himself, then gave up the effort and lay back tiredly instead.
“Flippancy will not mask the seriousness of this situation,”
Haldir grumbled straightening out his mussed up clothes.
Faramir shrugged, and merely leaned over to give him a kiss
on the cheek, “At least I can sleep now. You will have to attend
the council, and I can guarantee it will not be without acrimony.”
“I am an elf. We have far better endurance than men,”
Haldir retorted pertly, trying to hide the sudden blush he felt creeping
up when he received that peck on his cheek from Faramir. It somehow
felt very domestic to him. Their kisses had reeked of passion, but that
one simple peck spoke to him of the love Faramir felt for him.
“I must leave now,” Haldir mumbled, getting up.
He could feel a strange pricking in his eyes, and he realised he felt
like crying, and he did not want Faramir to see that. The fact that
they would part soon had finally hit him with a force like never before.
He composed his features as best as he could and turned to the man.
“I will see you before I leave,” he promised.
The council broke up that day, it’s results amounting
to nothing but a widening of differences among everyone there. Finally
the visitors prepared to depart. Haldir packed away a few remaining
things, and then prepared to go through what he had been dreading all
the while - bidding Faramir farewell. He turned to the door, and gasped
to see Faramir standing there against the door for support.
“How did you reach here?” he exclaimed, seeing
the man alone.
“Boromir’s chamber is in the same passageway,
surely you knew that?” Faramir said.
“Yes, but you should not be out of bed!”
“I am no invalid, Haldir. I would not be content with
myself if I do not bid you farewell properly,” He moved forward
haltingly into Haldir’s embrace, and they stood in each other’s
arms contentedly, deriving warmth and love, and shared a long, lingering
kiss to have a memory to hold on to, separating only upon hearing the
knock on the door.
“Haldir,” Faramir noticed one of the elves that
had accompanied Haldir standing at the door, “The horses are ready.”
The moment had come. And even if anticipated, it still tore
at the hearts of both. They exchanged silent glances, and when the other
elf had left, shared a brief embrace. Looking into each other’s
eyes, they saw sadness and love.
“I am grateful to have met you, Haldir, even if we
must part now,” Faramir said quietly, resting his cheek against
the elf’s shoulder. It took him everything he had to remain composed
but he did it, not wishing to add to Haldir’s sorrow. All morning
he had coached himself to do so, holding back his sadness, burying it
away into a far corner.
“And I to have met you, Faramir.”
“And someday I hope we meet again, once these troubles
have been negotiated,” Faramir murmured.
Haldir closed his eyes. Faramir was so young. And so full
of hope. All these years, all these millennia, he himself had been fighting
the very foes that deemed their need to separate, wondering when they
would dissipate. Wondering if they would ever dissipate. But Faramir’s
words awoke a faint stirring of hope in him for better times, for a
future not as bleak as had seemed earlier.
“Someday we will,” he promised him firmly, “We
will meet again.”
“And continue where we left off,” the young man
muttered, lifting his head up, and lightly brushing Haldir’s lips
with is own.
They left for the stables together, Faramir insisting on
coming along.
Boromir joined them on the way to the stables, and glared
at his brother, “I went to get you, thinking you could make it
out with my help. And find you have already left, and that on your own,
when you are ailing!”
“I am well, Boromir, quite well,” his brother
replied. He was literally being held up by Haldir’s strong arm
wrapped around his shoulders helping him walk slowly down.
They bid sedate farewells to Haldir and his friend and exchanged
brief hugs. But even the brief hug held a depth of meaning when it was
exchanged between Faramir and Haldir. They were composed and calm now,
even smiling gently to allay each other, a façade for the sake
of onlookers, and for their own sake.
Later, Faramir would cry in the privacy of his chamber at
night, cry more than he ever had, cry more than he had even through
the worst moments of his terrible ordeal, and Boromir would sit by and
offer him silent solace. He would cry each night for many nights in
memory of a lost love, in his chambers, and in Ithilien under the stars,
clinging desperately to the hope of another meeting for many years as
bad times turned worse, and hope seemed nothing but a long forgotten
memory.
And Haldir would ride home in silence and gloom, shedding
his tears when alone, and return to patrolling the borders of Lothlórien,
grimmer and quieter than before. And his companions would note the change
and wonder about it for a short while but then find other more pressing
matters to occupy their attention. And he too would search for a glimmer
of hope over the horizon, and seemingly find none.
But for now, they smiled as they bid farewell to each other,
so as to not part in sorrow. Smiles that fooled not the other. And when
the elven party had left, Faramir slowly returned to the higher levels
of the city, with Boromir’s help, restraining his feelings, and
finally stood on one of the tall ramparts leaning against his brother
for he was exhausted from his exertions, and watched the horses speed
away across the Pelennor and beyond until they were mere specks to his
eyes, and stayed until he could see them no longer.
Then he returned inside.
Epilogue
It was the Eve of Midsummer. Barely two months had passed
since the enemy had been overthrown. Gondor had its king now. Much had
happened, many a battle fought, many a life lost, sorrow and despair
had clung about the land and its people for many years. But now, joy
and good tidings had returned to the once grim lands of the south. After
all these years, finally an alliance had been forged to fight together
the might of Sauron, and it had won. After all these years. Victory
had been gained - at a cost, but victory nevertheless. Many who had
helped gain it were not around to celebrate it, and those left behind
were forced to mourn and rejoice alike.
On this eve, the city was suddenly thrown into a bustle of
activity. Preparations for a great event were underway.
Under a sapphire blue sky, riders from the north headed towards
the gates of Minas Tirith. He watched the procession from his position
on the ramparts, a calm and composed demeanour showing nothing of what
was going through inside. His heart nearly came to a standstill as he
saw two riders who could only be the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood,
upon their white steeds. And behind them, many of their folk followed,
cloaked in grey, hair adorned with white gems, to be followed by the
one for whom the preparations had been made. There was much awe among
the onlookers at their first sight of the Evenstar, the lady who was
to wed their king.
But to the dark haired grey-eyed Gondorian, standing on a
rampart watching the procession, it was not her presence that was of
interest. Instead his frantic eyes scanned the elves in front of her.
Slowly methodically, he gazed at the top of the heads of each rider,
hands clenched at his side, teeth clamped together, heart thudding steadily
against his chest.
Then he let out a long, slow breath, and sagged back slightly
against a wall. His mouth curved into a small, gentle smile. The sight
below him filled his heart with a feeling he had not known for well
nigh fourteen years now. After all these years, the promise had been
kept. Words that had been left unsaid earlier could now be spoken, and
pure love could finally be consummated.
Below him, one of the figures in grey glanced up, as though
feeling the fire of the piercing gaze on him. Their gazes met, relief,
joy, awe, remembrance all intermingling, and all underlain by a feeling
of passionate love that had stood the test of time and distance.
Reunion was a very sweet feeling.
A/N once again– As is obvious, this is definitely not
movieverse :-) Being AU, it cannot exactly be bookverse, but it is definitely
not movieverse either. Haldir can be presumed as very much alive at
the end of the book since it does not state otherwise, so he is very
much alive at the end of this fic.
Is anyone else alive? Ambiguous – put in your own interpretation
:-)
Éowyn? Who Éowyn? This is a slash fic! :-) Who went with the Fellowship?
Boromir (yes, all that stuff is assumed to have occurred) Why not Faramir
if he knew it meant meeting Haldir again? Because he knew no such thing.
The dream said to go to Imaldris. Haldir never told them about Imaldris.
Yes, my imagination works overtime :-)
The ending might not be what everyone expected, but I do hope you like
it, I could see no other ending possible. Feedback, as always will be
much appreciated.
A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed this, and to all the beautiful
mails you have all been sending. That alone was enough to stretch what
was meant to be 8 chapters into 12 + epilogue! Thank you again for liking
this crazy product of my overactive imagination!
Minx
