Faramir Fiction Archive

Family Honor (NC-17)

Written by Mcguffan

14 July 2006 | 162886 words

Chapter 19

Folding the carefully composed note, Lorel handed it to his Lieutenant with a small smile. He was pleased with his latest creative effort. After the first terse correspondence, Lorel had begun adding facts from the information he had gained from Flyn and his own close observation of the Gondorhim to the notes. He felt it gave them an extra feeling of menace and reality when he was able to name each of the men who would soon die horribly if Strider did not do the noble thing and give himself up. He wrote about the men who had wives, children or dependent parents frequently. He remembered to mention the desert rat that had somehow joined the Gondrohim. Sometimes Lorel sent two or three notes in a day and with each new missive his descriptions of the tortures those gallant soldiers would be forced to endure before finally succumbing to a humiliating death at the hands of the Variags grew increasingly graphic. As Captain Faramir and Halbarad were the two men closest to the ranger, Lorel always devoted the majority of the notes to describing the particularly nasty things he had planned for them in particular. Somewhat to Lorel’s disappointment, after the eighth note Strider stopped reading them. Whenever, one was passed to him, he took it holding it a little away from himself as though it were something dirty. Then he took it to the nearest fire without opening it. Lorel suspected that Strider would have liked to refuse to accept the note, but if he didn’t Lorel’s man would just leave it to be picked up by one of the Gondorhim. That thought made Lorel grin. If Strider wasn’t interested in what he had to say perhaps it was time all the Gondorhim understood the price they would pay for protecting their ranger-king. He would have to think more about that.

Even though the notes were not being read at present Lorel did not feel he was wasting effort creating them. The march was agonizingly slow and the notes were a very pleasant way to spend the time. Of course, most of the ideas in the notes were only fantasies. Lorel had every intention of delivering Faramir to the Capital in the condition in which he had first found him. As for the other men of Gondor, he would not be so profligate with his time and resources to give them special deaths. Lorel did intend, however, to give reality to the words in the notes to Halbarad. The Officer wondered if the ranger could somehow sense the extra sincerity that went into the passages describing the fate awaiting him. Lorel hoped so.

As Lorel grinned the Lieutenant who had taken the note tried to make his stance and body language even more submissive as he waited for further orders or to be dismissed. The man had every right to be nervous. The day before, he and another of the Lieutenants had been flogged. Their continued worries over their dwindling supplies, the unknown terrain and the other tribes’ perceptions of the Variags’ pursuit had finally, in Lorel’s unappeallable opinion, crossed into insubordination. Lorel felt, with grim satisfaction, that it would be some time before anyone came to him with problems that called for patient endurance rather than panicked hand wringing.

“Has the deserter been found, yet?” Lorel asked, watching as the man gave an involuntary flinched at the sudden sound of his voice.

“The search parties have not yet returned, sir, but he cannot have made it very far.” There were always deserters. That was a fact of army life. It couldn’t be helped. One set up sentries and made threats but a certain number of men would always run. Now, the problem seemed to be getting much worse. The Lieutenant could not even think of that, however, without his back starting to hurt so he kept his fears to himself. In any case, he was in no doubt as to which particular deserter his Officer had referred to.

“When they return with him, bring him to me.” Lorel was not the most draconian of Variag commanders. His general opinion was that the ranks of the Variag army were better off without the scum who ran from their only opportunity to make anything of their lives. Naturally, he hanged any man he caught deserting but Lorel didn’t put himself out over it. This case was different, though. The soldier who had fled had been one of the men the Officer had selected for the vitally important task of surveiling Strider. Lorel had put his trust in the man and he had run. It was a personal betrayal and a precedent that could not be allowed to stand. The troops needed to see an example of the results of such cowardice and perfidy and when the man was caught Lorel would provide it.

“Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant replied not quite able to meet his Commander’s gleaming eyes.

“Present Prince Goat Turd with my compliments and invite him to lunch with me tomorrow.” Lorel instructed. The time was more than ripe to continue priming Faramir to betray his king and paramour. “I feel he could do with some more friendly advice.” His highness was taking his sweet time convincing his conscience that cooperating was in the best interests of all concerned. Lorel had decided to have another go at him. He would remind him that all those treaties and understandings he had so painstakingly hammered out with Faramir would be worthless if the idealistic young man never made it home. He would remind him that distance and his tribe’s comparative insignificance would not shield him if he truly angered the Variags.

“Very good, sir. And if he declines?”

Lorel almost laughed except that he saw that his subordinate was in earnest. Lorel wondered for the first time if he had not been too harsh with this man. It was one thing to beat the flesh off a man’s back but it was important to leave something of the spine intact. “I would really prefer that he not decline. You’re not going to let some puffed up nobody from West of Nowhere tell you `no’ are you?”

“No, sir. I shall arrange the meeting.”

Lorel did not know if he had succeeded in pricking the man’s pride or if he simply feared the Officer more than any possible confrontation with the prince. In the end, it really didn’t matter. Suddenly weary of looking at the other man, Lorel waved his hand in dismissal. An idea for a new note had just occurred to him and he wanted to explore it in private

Come the dawn another tribe would leave them. With their departure the Gondorhim’s escort would shrink to two. Though it was inevitable, Faramir felt a stabbing sense of failure as he watched the protective force around them shrink. He struggled to hold panic and helplessness at bay as he wished the departing tribes a convivial farewell. The young Captain understood why the tribes would not stand with them until he and his men reached safety. Many of his allies had already stretched their resources to come this far and would find their journey home arduous. Several of the tribes had been lead by representatives of ruling councils who had already extended their authority passed its limit by bringing their party as far as they had. The lesser tribes could not afford to antagonize the Variags beyond a certain point. Despite the amity of the Gathering there was no history of trust and friendship between Gondor and any of the tribes and Faramir could not expect strangers to risk so much. Yes, Faramir understood. He could even bring himself to forgive.

Even so it galled the young Captain to spend the evening in apparently relaxed and amiable conversation with men who were preparing to abandon him to an overwhelming foe. It was the more annoying as Faramir felt there were more urgent uses for his time. Yet, here he sat. His face ached from the effort of keeping his features smooth and his expression pleasant. As the evening wore on Faramir began finding himself in the ridiculous position of having to reassure the Chieftain of the departing tribe. At several points the man, who in Faramir’s opinion might have had a bit too much to drink, took Faramir’s hands and staring at the young Captain with sorrowful eyes professed his sincere regret to be leaving and his heartfelt hope that all would be well with the Gondorhim. Even with the collusion of liquor the Chieftain could not bring himself to mention the Variag threat explicitly. Faramir was alternately touched and annoyed by these protestations. There was one particularly uncomfortable moment when the departing Chieftain became maudlin and Faramir feared the man might actually lapse into tears. Alarmed the Captain turned the conversation as quickly as possible. Sighing, as the Chieftain refilled his cup Faramir resigned himself to the complete loss of the evening.

The morning before bidding this awkward farewell, Faramir had come to the decision that it was time to share more facts about their situation with the men. The day’s march had not yet begun and Aragorn, Halbarad and Faramir had gathered in the Captain’s tent. Halbarad was perusing the note Aragorn had just been handed while the other ranger tried to rein in his growing anger. The notes were becoming ever more disturbing. Aragorn would have much preferred it had the threats been directed against him. He could have easily ignored them if they had been, but he found he could not so easily dismiss descriptions of pain being inflicted on others for his sake. Sharing the contents of these terrible missives with Halbarad and Faramir was still more upsetting to Aragorn and he would have preferred not to. Neither Faramir nor Halbarad would have consented to remain in ignorance, however, and as the notes devoted a great deal of space to the two men Aragorn could not deny them access. In truth, Halbarad did not seem at all bothered by descriptions of his own dismemberment and Faramir, though, appalled was rather more interested by the kind of mentality that could conjure such images than he was distressed by the images themselves. Even so, Aragorn clearly believed that he should have been able to protect his friends from the notes ever having been written in the first place. For some reason this latest note in particular had upset him.

“Oh, I would think my intestines would be far too slippery to use for that.” Halbarad commented. Faramir snorted then put his hand quickly over his moth to stifle any further sign of mirth.

“Don’t encourage him, love.” Aragorn advised, rousing himself from his black mood enough to offer his companions a small smile.

Halbarad, though, had already been sufficiently encouraged by Faramir’s amusement and the hopes Aragorn could be stirred from brooding. “For a man I have barely spoken to, this Officer seems to have an incredibly and I suggest slightly unhealthy fascination with my balls.”

Faramir had no choice but to laugh, though he did so behind his hand. Halbarad’s sang-froid was remarkable. The Captain thought that his brother would have appreciated the steel and wit of Halbarad’s response. Faramir wondered if he might be able to recount the incident to Boromir if he altered a few of the details.

“Keep reading, Barad-nin.” Aragorn’s voice was soft and sad. Faramir’s laughter drained away replaced by the need to offer some support or comfort to the older man. Had they been alone, Faramir would have almost certainly have embraced his beloved. He was shy of initiating too much intimacy in Halbarad’s presence though, so Faramir satisfied himself by putting a hand on Aragorn’s arm.

Halbarad must have come to the place that had so upset Aragorn, for his lips compressed and he looked up to meet Aragorn’s eyes over the paper. “It’s just more of the same: absurd posturing, lunatic ramblings, puerile nonsense.” Aragorn just shrugged non-committaly at his friend’s reassurance.

His curiosity understandably aroused by this exchange, Faramir moved to take the paper from Halbarad to see for himself just which bit of nastiness had Aragorn so glum. As he approached Halbarad again looked to Aragorn. With a cold sense of dread Faramir had a premonition that the note would be withheld from him, that he had suddenly been deemed unworthy of any further confidences.

Looking grim, Aragorn took the paper from Halbarad and put into Faramir’s hand. “You are not to take this to heart.” It had been a command and Faramir acknowledged it as such.

Relieved that his premonition had not come to pass, Faramir scanned the beginning paragraphs. These dealt with Halbarad and seemed fairly typical. Faramir had noticed there seemed to be a certain extra intensity about the words describing the potential fate of the ranger. Though, there was nothing in particular he could put a name to, it seemed to Faramir that the notes’ author spent more time and care on Halbarad. This observation disturbed the Captain enough to mention it to the ranger. He wanted to offer support and comfort to the man in case he was not quite as heedless of the continuing threats as he appeared in Aragorn’s presence. Halbarad, however, had not seemed upset by the suggestion. He only remarked that if it was so then the effort was wasted for he had not noticed

After quickly reading the parts concerning Halbarad, Faramir came to the references to himself. It was odd but he had grown strangely accustomed reading about his own dismemberment. He doubted the enemy would be able to say much to trouble him. Despite his confidence, reading of his own rape was a bit of a shock. The Variags threatened to tie him to two stakes in the middle of camp and let each soldier take his turn. He had to confess the image frightened him. As he continued to stare at the page, though, Faramir believed it didn’t frighten him nearly so much as it might have done. The attack was aimed at Aragorn. If they had not been lovers, Faramir doubted such a threat would even have occurred to the Varaiags. The entire point was to insult Aragorn, to hurt him and as a result Faramir felt anger rather than fear.

“It is as Halbarad has said: puerile nonsense.” Faramir spoke almost casually, meeting Aragorn’s eyes steadily. Aragorn, himself, looked deeply unhappy. Deliberately, Faramir crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fire. “They write this in hopes it will be offensive. They want to be shocking. Truly, it is nothing to me.”

“I could kill them all, man after man; the innocent with the guilty, when I think of what they have threatened.” Aragorn’s eyes blazed and his hand shook with barely controlled violence as he touched Faramir’s cheek. Aragorn feared his own rage, knowing that he must either loose it upon his enemies or turn it upon himself. Such strong emotion could not simply disappear into the ether and it could not be banished in any other way. “I- I did not want to show that to you.”

“I am glad you did for it reveals that our Enemy is in such a state that their best weapon against us is the writing of profanity. Do not think on it, my lord. Do not be provoked. It will only incite them further.” Faramir answered, taking Aragorn’s hand in both of his and trying to counter the urge to violence with the force of his own sense of calm. The note had chilled him but the prospect of being excluded from Aragorn’s confidence, of being shut away from his trust froze his bones.

“Don’t let them manipulate you. Faramir is right. If they see this bothers you they will fixate on it.” Halbarad offered, putting a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Of course, it is as you.” Turning away from both men, Aragorn admitted the reasonableness of what his friends were telling him. Even so, his heart cried out that if he were stronger then no one would dare threaten his Faramir in such a way. If Aragorn were the man he was supposed to be then no one would dare to so much as think the things that were written on page after page about those closest to him. Guiltily, Aragorn wondered if it would be different if he had not shown that first note to his friends. It had nearly broken his heart on top of his nearly overwhelming anger to watch Faramir read the horrible things that had been written about him. If he had kept the letters to himself then his friends would still be aware of the danger but they would not have to confront all the ugliness that had been poured like poison on the paper.

Eventually reason overtook the atavistic need to snarl and claw blindly at anything that threatened what Aragorn regarded as his own and he could once again approximate rational speech. “I know you are both right, but I am afraid I cannot answer for myself if I continue to give the Variags opportunities. Any more of these messages are going to go directly into the fire. I won’t look at another and neither will either of you.”

Faramir might have liked to continue monitoring the notes from the Variags. In a disturbing way it was fascinating. To him, it was mostly an intellectual problem that hardly touched his emotions. His own, perhaps morbid, interest was not enough justify the distress the messages caused Aragorn, however. Faramir understood that had the situations been reversed and messages describing horrible tortures that would befall Aragorn if he did not surrender himself to the Variags been delivered to him, he would very likely have gone mad. In the same vein, Faramir suspected that Halbarad would not have been nearly so calm had he been the recipient of the letters rather than the subject. This understanding was sometimes communicated between the ranger and the Captain in guilty, fleeting looks that seemed to admit to one another if no one else `even though he hates to see it, better either of us than him.’

“I think it may be time to talk to the men.” Faramir broke the silence after several moments. “Our escort is leaving us. The men should know more about our situation.” Aragorn turned back to Faramir and Halbarad. With business to discuss he could leave his own dark thoughts for a while.

“What exactly do you mean to say?” Halbarad inquired.

“I want to tell them why we are being followed. `Why’ very generally speaking, of course.” Faramir clarified. “The Variags are enraged because a stranger won their tournament then chose to ally with Gondor. They also hate the idea of Gondor making peace with any of the tribes. They will wait until all witnesses have departed for their own homes and then attack. We have a strategy to meet that attack but those details will remain a secret, for security’s sake, for a while longer.”

The tension among the Gondorhim continued to grow. Faramir believed the men would do better when they had a better understanding of the situation. As it was, his soldiers knew only that they were being hunted. It could not but help to stiffen their resolve to understand that those who hunted them were motivated by jealousy and malice. In addition to his genuine desire to be as forthright as the- very unique- circumstances permitted, Faramir wanted to make sure his men heard from him before the Variags decided they wanted to broaden the scope of their snide whispers and malicious letters. The Gondorhim were not under threat merely to protect Strider, though this was reason enough for Faramir. It was probably also reason enough for the soldiers for they had come to know Strider and regard him as their own. Indeed this sense of acceptance came before one considered that Strider was Aragorn and thus his protection was an urgent duty. The soldiers were not explicitly aware of their particular responsibility to the ranger but Faramir knew a bond of loyalty and allegiance had been created, even if most could only vaguely intuit its deeper significance. There was still yet another principal in play. If a man pledged himself to Gondor then Gondor would not abandon that man. There were secrets and complexities aplenty but that simple fact could not be forgotten. Faramir would not let it be forgotten.

“Unless you have a strong objection, I think this information needs to come from you and your Lieutenants rather than from me or Halbarad. Perhaps from all three of you if that can somehow be arranged. Once you’ve done that, Halbarad and I can focus on explaining as much of our final tactics as would be safe. You are quite right, Faramir. Time is short.”

Halbarad suggested that Faramir meet with his Lieutenants as soon as possible to discuss what exactly they meant to say and then the three could circulate among the men speaking to two or three at a time until everyone had been informed. Faramir agreed and the three men continued talking quietly together. It was suggested that they begin seeking high ground when it was time to camp and lighting larger fires. Gondor did not have the strength to send patrols out so far but if it appeared to the enemy that they had genuine hope of rescue it would demoralize their pursuers. When the march finally began for the day, all thoughts of the Variags’ notes had been pushed to the back of everyone’s mind as their full attention was devoted to their future plans.

To Faramir it was more of a relief than he had expected to leave off courting their tribes and spend time explaining the situation to the soldiers. He had wanted to gauge their reactions and do everything he could to convince them that though it was dangerous to oppose the Variags it was also important. He had not expected the warmth and enthusiasm with which the men would accept his words. Faramir received pledges of loyalty and determination. The trust his men placed in him moved him profoundly. As he talked, the Captain saw the steely glint of purpose kindle in the eyes of his countrymen. Nervousness and anxiety were replaces by pride and conviction. The soldiers possessed the controlled and focused tension of a drawn bowstring. Faramir was glad to see the fire in them. What had nearly brought Faramir to tears, however, had been watching the men of Gondor cluster about Strider. They watched his movements with almost maternal fretfulness. Tribesmen found it difficult to approach anywhere the ranger for there always seemed to be one or another of the Gondorhim blocking their path. The men knew their enemy wanted Strider and they did not mean to let them have him. Strider belonged to Gondor. He was theirs.

Gladly would Faramir have spent longer with his own tribe- as he sometimes caught himself thinking of the soldiers- but the latest departure of Khandrihm had claimed his attention. Though he had been forced away to exchange smiles and offer reassurances to the tribes he felt a renewed sense of energy from his own men. In the future, the Captain resolutely decided, that he would never allow himself to become estranged from the men under his command and their feelings. He was beginning to recognize a tendency within himself to fixate upon the arithmetic of a situation. He could spend endless hours estimating the number of their escort and of the Variag force, the distance from the first garrison town, the diminishing provisions of their enemies, the number of days he could cajole a tribe to remain with him. The need to perform calculations and hazard conjectures could quickly become obsessive and at such times Faramir needed others, Aragorn, Halbarad and his own soldiers to bring him back to meaning when his thoughts began to turn back upon themselves. He would remember that.

“So this is all because of you. How did I know.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aragorn fought the wave of tiredness that assailed him with Flyn’s approach. No one else had made mention of the fact that he was the one to blame for the Variags’ pursuit. The accusing stares which Aragorn had half anticipated were never aimed at him. Many of the soldiers, far from showing any antagonism, had collected loosely about him, drawing together almost like a phalanx whenever any tribesmen tried to approach.

“All this trouble, it’s your fault. The tribes are after us because they want you. And of course, the Captain- benevolent man that he is- won’t give you up.” Flyn felt better than he had for a long time. It had been draining to sense the danger without understanding its cause. And while the danger was still real and frightening at least he was here risking his life for a reason. Flyn had chosen to be a soldier. He was not particularly brave but neither was he a physical coward yet the uncertainties he had faced in Khand had shaken his understanding of the world. He was accustomed to political in-fighting and ever-shifting alliances of convenience in the officer corps in Minas Tirith. It was natural to scheme to advance yourself and your (perhaps temporary) friends and scheme to defeat or embarrass your rivals.

Flyn had in his own modest way been successful at such games. He had seen Denethor’s orders regarding the Gauntlet as another move in the game. The Steward was involved in some sort of power struggle with his son and he was using Flyn to gain a point or some other small victory. Flyn was happy to be used because he saw Denethor as the stronger player and allying with him was an excellent opportunity. Throughout everything, though, even one’s most hated rivals were not the enemy. One tried to discredit one’s opponents not kill them. In some deep inarticulable way everyone was still on the same side. You would never send a rival- no matter how hated- blind into an enemy trap. One would never make even a temporary alliance with a foreigner. Yet, there had been more danger associated with the Gauntlet than Denethor had lead him to believe. The Steward appeared to have more in mind than simply scoring a point on his son. When Flyn thought back on the scene in which he had been forced to confess Denethor’s secret orders there had been a sense of something panic? Betrayal? Fear? Whatever it had been, there was more to it than a family quarrel. Then Faramir seemed so very friendly with all those tribes. Flyn wasn’t sure that was right. His secret fear had been that Faramir plotted or had been driven by self-preservation to outright rebellion.

The former Lieutenant could not keep the tribes straight. Some were friendly others were not. To Flyn they were all an undifferentiated mass of foreigners. What kind of alliances had Faramir made with these strangers? What had he promised? Was there treason here and if so who had betrayed whom? No one else shared his fears. Of course, Denethor’s peculiar interest in procuring the Gauntlet was not generally known. Flyn had tried to ascertain Gildel’s thought but the older man seemed to have forgotten all about Denethor’s desire to obtain the Gauntlet without his son’s knowledge. He also seemed to have not reflected upon the idea that they were leading a very large number of heavily armed tribesmen back to Gondor.

These fears had haunted Flyn. So much so that when he was told that the men following them were well and truly enemies intent on doing them harm because of some perceived insult he drank it down in gulps. Denethor and Faramir were just bickering. Flyn and Gildel had caused no more harm than seriously annoying their Captain when they had sought to gain the Gauntlet without Faramir’s knowledge. Strider had been showing-off his sword skills and irked the wrong tribesmen. Faramir had been too blindly supportive and protective of his lover to fix the problem diplomatically. It wasn’t a particularly appealing way for the world to work but it was a way that Flyn understood and felt equal to participating in. And it was greatly preferable to the alternatives.

The former Lieutenant felt some of his old confidence returning. It was a relief to have something- someone to focus his emotions on, someone who could be blamed. Strider made an inviting target for blame and Flyn was eager to start. “You have to have your trophy so the rest of us are stuck protecting you.”

“It was never my intention to put anyone in danger.”

“You certainly managed it, though.” Strider did not seem to have anything to say to this. Though, it was exhilarating for Flyn to be on the offensive,. Strider’s unwillingness to argue in his own defense was robbing him of some of his enthusiasm. So, he pushed harder. “Captain Faramir is certainly risking a great deal for your sake.”

“You think he should not?” Aragorn was genuinely curious. It was a subject upon which he had already devoted much thought. He was interested to hear another opinion and Flyn, of course, could be trusted not to hide his true feelings in order to be tactful.

“Well, once he accepted your oath, I suppose he didn’t have any choice.” Flyn did not like the ranger’s question. The former Lieutenant did not like Faramir or Strider but a commander could not just abandon someone who had been accepted into service. It was much easier to criticize what had been done then to suggest what else might have been done. “Very convenient timing, by the way: You take a sudden interest in joining our ranks the moment you need us but until that moment I wouldn’t have believed you had much inclination to become one of us.”

“Perhaps I was waiting for a time when I had something to offer in return.” Strider was staring off into the distance and Flyn had the sense that the other man was talking to himself.

“And that turned out really well. Congratulations. Denethor said he was willing to pay a high price for the gauntlet but I can’t see how it can be worth the cost we still may yet pay.”

“Why speak to me of this? Do you imagine these ideas have not occurred to me?” There was no anger or defensiveness in Strider’s voice. At the most he seemed mildly curious.

Flyn had been hoping to find a little joy in the misfortune of another or failing that he would have been satisfied with verbal sparring. Strider’s attitude, however, had sapped his glee. “I just wanted to make sure you understand that, even though you have convinced the Captain and poor ignorant lads like Isu that you can do no wrong, not everyone is ready to throw themselves at your feet when you smile. Not everybody has fallen under your spell. Some people can see right through you. Some people know that you are not what you pretend to be.”

Strider smiled. It was a small sad smile that still managed to convey a genuine yet deeply painful amusement. “I do not think it will truly be of much comfort to you, Flyn, but I understand that very well. I feel it keenly.”

Suddenly Flyn felt like he wanted to cry. All the satisfaction he had hoped to gain from a little well-earned taunting had been turned back on him. He was the one who was in the right but the expression in the ranger’s eyes stole his pleasure. He regretted approaching Strider and he found that he wished he could simply erase their entire encounter. Turning away Flyn wondered when exactly everything in his life had started to go wrong.

The canvas covering the entrance to Faramir’s pavilion fell closed upon the tribal leader’s departure leaving the remaining two men to themselves. The Prince of the Yavney Tribe watched his companion from under his lashes. Faramir looked tired to him, tired and very young. When they had first met the sincere and earnest young man who seemed to have such a passionate and seemingly naïve vision of the future had amused the Prince. His amusement had quickly turned to respect and affection, however. His tribe had been the first to sign treaties of alliance with Faramir and even now the Prince did not regret it. He had not been the only one to fall to Faramir’s charm, however. Many of the tribes had been drawn to him, intrigued by his words and ideas, desperate for the world he seemed to represent even as they still doubted such a world existed.

The enmity of the Variags had in some ways increased Faramir’s appeal even as the danger was also increased. The Prince could not answer to his own complete satisfaction why he had agreed to come so far with the Gondorhim and he could only begin to guess at the tangle of motivations that drove the other tribes. Certainly, the prince had come further than he had intended, further than was safe. When only two other tribes remained he had worried but then the Morocs had left after much fretting and hand-wringing he knew the end was near. Tonight, as the evening had been drawing to a close the leader of the Ge had announced that tomorrow morning he would be gone. The Prince could not delay any longer if he did not go soon his people would share the fate of the Gondorhim.

“I daresay he was genuinely sorry to have to go.” The Prince remarked after they had been silent for several minutes.

“Not so sorry as I am to lose him, I think.” Faramir replied with a small smile.

“The Yavney cannot remain either, Faramir.” The Prince wanted to make apologies or excuses but he refrained. He was doing what he had to for his people.

“I know it.”

“What will you do?”

“What can I do?” The Captain replied with a small shrug. The Prince was not yet ready to suggest what the young man might do. Faramir’s integrity was admirable and the Prince did not relish the prospect of seducing him from his principals.

“How long will you remain?” Faramir asked when it was clear the Prince did not mean to reply.

“A day, perhaps two. No more, Faramir. I cannot.”

“I believe there is a forest nearby, perhaps a day and a half’s easy march.” Faramir stared into the fire as his voice grew wistful.

“What is a `forest’?” The Prince did not recognize the word that had been spoken in Westrron.

“It is a large group of trees. These are not like the trees in Khand but many times taller with trunks further around than a man may reach. There are so many and their leaves and branches are so thick that one is always in shade. They teem with animals and birds of all kinds and there are too many different kinds of plants to count.” The fondness in Faramir’s voice was unmistakable and as had happened so often before the Prince found himself drawn in.

“Come with me a while longer. I would like to be able to see a forest again before…” Faramir let the sentence trail off.

“Yes, all right. If it is as close as you say. I should like to see this forest you describe.”

“Thank you.”

“Faramir,” The weight of the conversation had finally thrown down the Prince’s reticence. “It does not have to be this way.”

“How might it be?” Faramir inquired cautiously.

“Meet with the Varaiags, talk to them. Perhaps you might come to some sort of arrangement. I have seen that you will not give up your tournament champion.” The love in Faramir’s eyes whenever the other man passed within sight or his name was mentioned was undeniable. More than the obvious erotic passion between the two men, the Prince had also discerned the sort of love and trust that was usually reserved for one’s closest kinsmen. He suspected that the ranger would indeed need to be sacrificed but the Prince believed that Faramir needed to be lead gently to this conclusion. “Yet, perhaps the Variags will be satisfied with some territorial concessions, promises of goods. It might even be necessary to offer one or more other men in Strider’s place, but you can negotiate.”

“That seems reasonable to you?” Faramir had been glad that the Prince was not going to try and convince him that he should abandon Aragorn. Though it had been inevitable it had still struck him hard to so suddenly lose the Ge only a day after the Morocs. The Yavney were now the only ones left. He did not think he could have maintained the detachment necessary for such a conversation with the Prince if he had to think even briefly about Aragorn in the hands of the Enemy. The Prince’s last comment had taken him completely off-guard, however. He liked the Yavney Chief. He had begun to think of him as a friend. There were times, though, when the differences between their understandings of the world became vivid.

“Compromise seems reasonable to me. Give something now rather than have everything taken later.”

“What you describe is extortion not compromise. In any case, I shall not sacrifice any man to torture and death to pacify anyone- no matter how powerful. There are some very important things that cannot be taken away only surrendered.”

“Think on it, Faramir. Meeting with them, finding out what they want can do no harm and may do some good.” The Prince would push no further tonight. He had a great deal of respect for the younger man but sometimes he felt that Gondorhim Captain was beyond strange. He would let Faramir get used to the idea. Rising he wished the Captain a good night and left the tent.

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