Faramir Fiction Archive

Love is... (NC-17)

Written by Sairalinde and Anorienbean

19 November 2009 | 145965 words

Title: Love Is…
Authors: Sairalinde & Anorienparker
Pairing: Lord Rahl/Faramir
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker/Lord of the Rings Crossover
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We do not own these characters; they belong to their respective creators. No money was made from this.
Summary: Lord Rahl sees something he likes… so of course he takes it. Though they are from very different worlds, the object of his affection, a Ranger named Faramir from Middle Earth changes the wizard’s life in ways he could never imagine.
Warnings: Kink, rough sex, mention of abuse, mention of prior non-con.
Author’s Notes: We have taken great liberties with the Legend of the Seeker world to fit into this story. Rahl’s abilities, motives, castle, family history and powers of persuasion bear little or no resemblance to Terry Goodkind’s descriptions. It is not necessary to have read or have knowledge of either the LotS book or series to understand this story.

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Chapter 1

“No!”

Lord Rahl sat up in bed, biting back another scream. Every night for months now, he’d dreamed of the man they called “The Seeker” – the man who was destined to destroy him. This Seeker and his confessor haunted his every waking thought, and it seemed they were intent on fulfilling the prophecy of destroying him if it was the last thing they did.

Throwing back the sheets, Rahl slammed his feet on the floor and stalked across the still dark room. He stopped mid way and looked back toward his bed where a bruised and terrified pleasure slave lay curled as far from where Rahl had been laying as possible.

“Leave.”

Without a word, the young slave slid off the bed and limped to the doorway, surprised that he’d survived another night with his brutal master.

Rahl’s smile was dark as he continued across the room. In the corner, covered carefully by a black velvet cloth, lay one of the few remaining palantirs, or seeing stones, that still existed in the world. Even Rahl and his late father didn’t fully understand their power, but neither had hesitated to use them when they needed answers.

Despite all his vast power, Rahl couldn’t control what he saw in the heavy, dark stone, always approaching it with dread and hands that shook so badly he never even dreamed of coming near it when anyone else was around, knowing that to show fear of the thing would be seen as a weakness.

And Darken Rahl was not weak.

Cold, perhaps. Cruel and vengeful certainly. But weak?

Never.

The fabric seemed to cling to the palantir for a moment before sliding off it, as if it knew that exposing the stone would change all of history.

Rahl moved closer, eyes narrowed, fingertips skating over his lips in an ever present gesture he didn’t even consciously recognize any more. He was perfectly still as he gazed into the palantir’s depths, not even realizing he was holding his breath. He’d hoped to see the Seeker, to learn his location, or better yet, to learn that he was dead, perhaps killed by one of the countless armies Rahl had sent after him time and time again.

What he saw, however, was not the Seeker or his confessor. It wasn’t even Zeddicus, the wizard who had been responsible for the death of his father and the very scars he still bore from his childhood, the hated face he saw both with the Seeker and alone, seemingly on his own desperate mission to throw Rahl from power.

He didn’t even see the familiar vision of his own death, as occurred more and more often as the nights passed and he came closer to his goal of enslaving the people of the Midlands and Westlands and becoming more than an emperor. He wanted, and felt he rightly deserved, to be their ruler.

What he saw in the palantir was unexpected and frightening, so out of place, Rahl took a step back and stared at the stone in confusion.

What he saw was a whole other world, a world filled with unfamiliar faces and creatures he’d never even imagined. And in the center of it all stood a man. Not just any man, but the most beautiful man Rahl had ever seen.

Rahl studied the man for a moment, and something stirred deep inside him. He wanted the man. Maybe to hurt him, to see those lovely blue eyes fill with tears, or possibly to see him fall to his knees and worship Rahl as the rest of the world would soon be doing. Or, he mused, perhaps he just wanted to own him, to add him to the rooms that were filled with slaves who were trained for his pleasure and to endure his countless cruel games and painful fantasies. His most beautiful slave yet, Rahl thought, indeed another possession worthy of envy from anyone who might lay eyes on him.

Either way, Rahl had no doubt. The man would be his, because everyone knew that whatever Rahl wanted, he got.

Rahl desired the man so much in fact, he did something he had never done before. He touched the palantir. His hands were no longer shaking as he laid them carefully on the cold stone and began whispering the most powerful spell in all the world of dark magic.

The demons he whispered to answered at once, and set about fulfilling his request, his last four words ringing in their deformed ears.

“Bring him to me.”

Lord Rahl’s magic passed between the realms, beyond time and space in search of the young man. It was late at night in this realm, it resembled the Midlands with its tall trees and fertile earth. Silently, the demons moved through the thick forest, their own innate magic drawing them toward their master’s desire.

The man was sleeping among a group of other men around a small fire, there would be no fight, just whisk the man from this world to their master’s. Demons were not particularly careful creatures, they enjoyed a fight really, but this was simply too easy. Plus, they thought it might amuse their master if the man was sound asleep. One of the demons reached out a gnarled hand over the man and whispered a simple sleeping spell to make sure the man did not awake. The rest of the demons used their magic to pick the man up, blankets and all to return to their master.

Moments later, a sleeping young man lay in the center of Lord Rahl’s study.

Rahl’s eyes were dark as he studied his new toy. He knelt by the man’s side, idly catching a lock of golden brown hair between his fingers, then running them lightly over the sleeping man’s face. “Well, aren’t you the lovely one?” he asked softly, deepening the sleeping spell with a wave of his hand before pulling away. “That skin… how easily will it bruise, I wonder? How darkly will it scar?”

He stood, walked around the man, admiring him from every angle. “Oh, we’re going to have such fun, you and I. And if you live through our time together and remain sane, I might even consider allowing you to return to your world, though… perhaps I should go there myself to see if you left anyone behind who might amuse me.”

Faramir had no way of knowing he had left his own world, let alone the plans that were being made for him in this strange place. He slept more peacefully than he ever had before and possibly for the last time for a very long time. Gradually the sleeping spell began to fade, and Faramir began to wake. Something was wrong. The sounds of the forest were gone, the smell of peat and the smoke of the fire missing. Abruptly Faramir sat up and found himself facing a darkly gorgeous man. His hair was long, dark and shiny, and his eyes were a brilliant shade of blue. He was dressed in strange robes that revealed a muscled torso and arms and Faramir licked his lips, wondering if maybe he was still dreaming.

Rahl’s lips turned up in a smirk as his new pet looked at him, but he kept his distance due to the vague smell of smoke that clung to pale, perfect skin. Had it not been for the smell, he might have taken the man right then and there, but the clear blue eyes regarding him so solemnly gave him pause. “There… there are the eyes I saw in the seeing stone,” he said softly, kneeling before the man so they were at eye level with one another. “Even lovelier in person.” He stood, brushing at his robes with one hand and caressing his lips with the other. “What is your name and why do you smell of smoke? It disgusts me.”

Faramir blinked and then stared questioningly at the man. Eyes in the seeing stone? He felt a wash of attraction pour over him as the man knelt near him. Gods, this man, something about him stirred something within Faramir. Was he dreaming? He had to be. but Gods, how had his mind conjured a man like this? He looked at the other man for a moment, his eyes following his fingertips over his lips before he spoke. “I was in the woods… my men and I… had a campfire for cooking and heat of course. I apologize for the odor,” Faramir said softly, not sure how to address this man.

“Campfire?” It was all Rahl could do to keep from shuddering at the thought. Ever since his father had been killed and he’d been scarred by that damnable wizard Zeddicus, he’d been terrified of fire and forbade its use in his castle, and, when he was feeling particularly in a dark mood, the entire village. Waving his hand in the man’s direction, he washed away the hated scent and was surprised to smell a fresh, clean scent replace it before he’d even had the chance to decide what aroma he preferred. Deciding he might as well leave it, he crossed his arms over his chest and circled the man again.

The way the man was looking at him, he felt the insane urge to cover his scars, though he knew full well they were hidden beneath his clothes. Still, he had yet to cast the spell to make the man want him, and felt slightly out of sorts. It was normally the first thing he did when a slave, or ‘lover’ as he referred to them in the back of his mind, entered a room, but he’d been too taken by the man’s soft countenance and peaceful sleep to bewitch him yet, which probably also explained why he’d let the smell of smoke linger on the man for as long as he had. “Well. Stand up. I did not bring you here to lie on the floor all day.”

Faramir startled when he felt the magic wash over him and he scooted back away from the other man. “You… you’re a wizard!” His eyes were wide with surprise as he slowly stood before the other man. Faramir was a few inches taller than the dark haired man. “What… what did you bring me here for? How… well… obviously magic but… what do you want? Are you a friend of Gandalf’s?”

Lord Rahl arched one eyebrow and quickly moved closer, backing the other man into the wall with no more effort than he would use to brush away an annoying insect. He had no qualms about using magic and held his ‘guest’ a few inches above the floor as his eyes narrowed. “Gandalf? Who is Gandalf? Another wizard? Did he send you to try and bewitch me? He did, didn’t he? Suited you to my tastes, planted your image in the seeing stone, knew I would take you.” His hands roamed roughly over the man’s body, searching for weapons both magical and non magical, his lip curled up in a snarl. “I will send you back to him in pieces,” he hissed.

Biting back a yelp, Faramir found himself not just pinned against the wall but several inches above the floor. While he might be physically slightly larger than this dark haired man, he had no magic to defend against him. “Gandalf… is my friend, a wizard, one of the Istari, but he didn’t send me. I… I do not even know why I am here or how I got here,” he whispered.

Hands were suddenly tugging at his clothing, searching for weapons obviously. “My… my sword is still in the bedding,” Faramir admitted. “You… may have my dagger as well, it is inside my left boot.” He tried to keep his voice even and calm, hoping that perhaps that would keep the man from doing anything rash. Normally he might have attempted to fight back, but he couldn’t fight against magic plus… it seemed that the man was merely worried that he was some sort of assassin.

Questing fingers found the dagger and held it between them. “A blade? You thought to defeat me with a mere blade?” He laughed loudly though he didn’t release his captive. “Oddly enough, I believe you. I have never heard of an ‘Istari’, but it would take more than a ridiculous little dagger to defeat me. Any wizard would know that.”

Moving closer, Rahl kept the man perfectly immobile as he traced over the curve of a strong jaw and down his neck. Murmuring softly to himself before the man could draw away, he cast the spell he’d cast every single time he’d touched another sexually, one that would make the man want him desperately and crave anything and everything Rahl chose to do to him. “What is your name and why were you in my palantir?”

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