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To Love a King (NC-17) Print

Written by Minx

05 April 2004 | 32130 words

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Chapter 10

Faramir felt his mouth go dry, as his gaze fell on the horrific reminder of his father’s death. He barely heard Ardamir’s words, as he tried to calm himself. He shivered slightly. Merdil still held onto one of his arms. They had tied his hands again once he had dressed, and the grip was tight. And the knife was still held at Aragorn’s throat. He knew even one wrong move on his part could result in a grievous injury to Aragorn, if not worse. Merdil’s breathing felt warm on the exposed part of his neck.

In front of him all was dark and misty, and he found his nerves were taut and completely on the edge. This very place was one he was extremely uncomfortable in, and on this occasion the circumstances seem so fantastic yet scary that he had to try very hard to regain some semblance of order in his frantic thoughts. In all this while, he had studiously avoided coming here, unwilling to visit this place that he often visited in some of his worst dreams, and so the remains of the House of Stewards had been left as they were, awaiting orders from the current Steward who was loathe to even think about the place. Aragorn had wanted to erect some kind of a memorial here, and it had only been two weeks ago that Faramir had finally agreed to it. Work was yet to start, however, and so the rubble remained.

It was completely silent around them and Faramir wondered where the single guard who usually patrolled the main entrance to the street might be. It was not hard to guess.

He heard the dulled sounds as Ardamir lowered Aragorn’s prone body onto the ground. The older man then came and stood in front of Faramir.

He held the knife he had wrested from Faramir in his hand, “I was going to borrow your sword, but this serves just as well. One thrust through the heart should do it.”

Faramir tore his eyes away from the remains of the Stewards’ house and stared back at his kinsman’s gleaming eyes.

“You are insane,” he repeated, his heart racing despite his best efforts to calm himself. He’d used that very knife to kill many an Orc in his days in Ithilien. It was sharp, with a longer blade, and very effective; a single stroke aimed at the right spot usually achieved its intent.

“You repeat yourself, Faramir. It is boring.”

“Why here?” he breathed out, giving voice to the question that dominated all those floating in his head. It was unbelievable, he thought. What was happening was so unexpected he kept wishing he could wake up and find it was all but a dream. And yet, he knew it was real.

He had let his guard down for the smallest second and these two men had taken advantage of that. Instead of protecting Aragorn’s life as he was sworn to, he had let his own pleasures take precedence. But then, he thought bitterly, he had been doing that awhile now, and Ardamir had obviously observed them enough to know that this was bound to happen.

“Why not here?” Merdil stated, “It sounded fitting. You lured your king here, to show him what you wished for the memorial for your father and then it’s quite simple. Our fine young Steward, exhibiting all the madness and despair that his father before him is supposed to have shown, takes his King’s life, at the site of his father’s suicide. Now, if we place the wounds just right, it can easily look like the King tried to save himself by striking you, but unfortunately, he did not strike in time to save his own life.”

“No!” He stared horrified at them, as the words sunk in. He wriggled his wrists desperately hoping to loosen the bindings but to no avail.

“Oh yes! A knife through you too, you little traitorous slut!”

“*You* are the traitors here!” He retorted in anger, “You swore allegiance to your king. How can you do this to him?”

Merdil swore at that and smacked Faramir had across the back of his shoulders. Faramir felt his legs give way under him at the sudden blow. He fell to his knees; unable to balance himself with his hands tied and cried out as he landed on the rubble. A clout to his head sent him sprawling face first to the ground, his temple striking one of the myriad blocks of stone scattered all over the place.

He lay there dazed, desperately wondering how he could extricate Aragorn from the clutches of these madmen. Aragorn was unconscious and hurt, he screamed to himself. He had to do something! He felt warm air blow down his neck, and realised Merdil was leaning over him, while Ardamir came and knelt down in front of him. He tried to kick out, but then in one swift movement Merdil had straddled him, to keep his legs in place.

“The youngeling speaks far too much, Ardamir. Should we give him a little lesson before we send him his way,” he murmured, running a hand into Faramir’s collar stopping at the faint marks left over on the right shoulder from one of Aragorn’s more passionate kisses.

Ardamir stared coldly at Faramir and it seemed to the younger man that the councillor’s eyes gleamed angrily, as he grabbed his chin and forced him to raise his head, “I always said he spoke too much, when least required. Denethor should not have let his hand grow light these past years. A few more thrashings would have helped Do as you please with him, but remember we should be ready to leave soon.” With that he dropped let go of Faramir’s chin, and rose.

Faramir stiffened involuntarily, and tried to ignore their words in an effort to regain control. He needed to think, he knew, and to devise some way to prevent the two men from carrying out their plans. He hoped desperately that Legolas or Gimli might have noticed their absence, but how they could track them here he did not know. He decided he could still stall for time, atleast until he himself could devise a way to save Aragorn from further injury.

“Oh but he does get thrashed now, doesn’t he?” Merdil continued silkily to the Steward’s dismay, “Aragorn does it. Does he always take you over the table like that, child? Your father’s table? I saw you that day, you know. You made a fine sight. Do you remember Ardamir?” he called out.

There was a snort in reply from the other man, who had now moved towards Aragorn and was kneeling by his prone body. Faramir stared at him in alarm wondering what he was going to do. He tried to move but was stopped immediately by an increased pressure on his neck and back.

“You’re certainly a pretty one, aren’t you?” Merdil said conversationally, “You do seem so willing. You seem to do everything your dear King wants you to. I wonder what all you might do to save him?”

Faramir turned his head sharply at that ignoring the pain shooting through his neck at the movement. The surprise must have shown clearly, because the other man laughed.

“Scared are you, little one?” He ran a finger along the exposed portion of Faramir’s neck as he continued, “You certainly trapped a fine one there. No less than the King for you, is it not? You must be so happy. I do wonder how it is Aragorn cares so much for a pathetic little thing like you? He might be a ranger but he fights well enough.”

“Whatever you want to do to him, Merdil, you must hurry,” Ardamir said in a bored tone, “Aragorn might wake up.”

He rolled over Aragorn’s body so that the King now lay on his back, and began feeling along his chest as though to find the perfect place to strike. His precise movements induced more fear in Faramir’s mind than Merdil's words were doing.

“You can’t get away with this,” he hissed, and tried to kick out his legs.

“Yes we can. No one can suspect us,” Merdil said. He pressed Faramir’s neck down and lowered his entire body on him to prevent him thrashing around. The younger man was forced to turn his head to be able to breathe, “You’ve been involved in all the suspicious happenings to date. Do I even have to tell you how many rumours fly that all this cosiness you exhibit towards the King is nothing but a sly front?”

“Oh, I’m sure you really do crave his attention, but so openly, dear boy? And we are not even in the city. I told you, dear child, we know of ways in and out of the city that no one else does. Now tell me, what will you do to save your king’s life?”

“Let him go,” Faramir gritted out, as he watched Ardamir rocking back on his heels, having pinpointed the area to strike, “Please!”

“It would have been much more fun if he were awake to watch me touch your filthy little body that he covets so much,” Merdil murmured.

“Let us get this over with soon,” Ardamir muttered quietly, “It is unlikely that little fool’s screaming can be heard, but there is no call for unnecessary risk. Fool around with him all you please, but do it soon. I need you to come and hold up Aragorn so I can strike him.”

Faramir gasped softly at that. Merdil rose off him, and promptly hauled him to his feet, pulling him up by his collar. He felt increasingly frustrated. No matter what he tried, he could not free himself, and time was running out. He finally took a deep breath and spoke, as Merdil dragged him forward.

“What is it you wish me to do? I will do what you wish, Lord Merdil, please just leave Aragorn be,” he knew even as he said the words that they were of little use. Merdil had been playing with him and that much was obvious.

“The other man simply laughed now, and shook his head, “I cannot grant that. Aragorn will die, no matter what you do!”

“It’s a pity. I don’t think I’d want a turn with a pathetic little slut like you, but Aragorn would have been a fine piece to do,” he goaded, as he dragged Faramir towards the other two men, “I’ve heard tales about the northern Dúnedain, specially the ones that are fostered at the elves’. They say they have fine skills. Is that why you run after him, child? I should have had some fun with him, I suppose.”

He shoved Faramir to the ground again, and knelt by Aragorn now, letting his hand over his chest.

“I wouldn’t let you near him!” Faramir retorted defiantly.

Ardamir snorted again, “You’ve failed then, haven’t you? In all your duties. If you had to let down the House of Húrin as you have done, you might atleast have done it properly. You really are a disgrace, just by your mere presence! You have let Gondor down Faramir, and you shall pay for that tonight. I will see you dead, and not merely dead but dead and dishonoured!”

Faramir waited for the tirade to end, before he straightened himself the best he could in his awkward position on the ground, and then spoke.

“It is you who disgrace the house. You are letting Gondor down, do you not see that? He is the King. He is of Elendil’s line. How can you dispute his rule? It was our duty to rule Gondor ‘til the King returned, and we did so for years. Why do you wish to destroy that now?” he knew his tone had changed from angry to pleading, but he could not help it. Ardamir might have been his father’s crony and a kinsman, but surely Denethor would never have gone to such lengths. He would have accepted Aragorn, of that Faramir was sure. He would have accepted what was best for Gondor. If he could only get Ardamir to see that.

Ardamir rose and stepped forward, his usually handsome features contorted in fury, “How dare you?” he shouted.

Hauling Faramir up, he grabbed his hair with one hand, and slapped him with the other, forcefully across his face, twice. The second blow was hard enough to send him nearly spiralling to the floor as the grip on his hair loosened. Already tired somewhat by the prior exertions, he found himself sliding to the ground exhaustedly. A kick to the ribs however, had him shooting up again. He cried out in pain. Looking up, blinking away the tears he hadn’t even known had coated his eyes, his eyes fell on Aragorn, still lying there. The red stain under his hair had grown larger now. He stared hard hoping for the grey eyes to open, forgetting for one brief moment the aches and pains that coursed through him as another kick landed on the small of his back sending him falling again.

“Enough!” Merdil stepped forward, “Too much bruising may look suspicious. The bindings we left on the bedposts could explain some of the marks but it is better not to stretch it too far! Let me deal with this fool!”

“I would have liked to have sent you to the same fate as your poor father sent himself through,” he blazed at Faramir as he pulled the staggering man up.

He pulled his face closer till their lips were almost touching. Faramir shuddered and tried to avert his face, but the grip on his chin prevented him from doing so.

Then they hard the sound.

It was very soft, and had it not been for a moment of absolute silence, Faramir might not even have heard the tiny moan that came out of Aragorn’s lips. All three men turned immediately, to see the King stirring slowly.

“Kill him – now!” Merdil hissed out, even as his friend moved forward, the knife glinting in what little light there was.

“No!” Faramir cried out and wrenched himself out of Merdil’s grip.

He threw himself, bound hands and all at the moving figure. They fell to the ground in a heap. Faramir was not entirely aware of all that happened, just that it was ark, and there was a lot of noise, and little he could do. He kicked wildly at the figure under him, he used his head to butt into what he thought might be the other man’s ribs. He even contemplated biting him. A stinging feeling went through his right shoulder, but he ignored it.

The confused state of affairs continued until he felt himself being pulled away, “That is it! I’ve had enough of your silly little tricks,” Merdil was screaming, as he loomed over him.

Faramir cried out at the sudden pain that rushed through his shoulder and upper chest, as Merdil viciously pulled out the knife that had lodged in his shoulder during the tussle. Silent tears coursed down his face as he lay on the cold ground, his body trembling and heaving, his bound hands shivering incessantly. Merdil handed the bloodied weapon to Ardamir who had risen by now.

He stared in a daze at them. His upper body was on fire and he couldn’t even get up. The knife glinted menacingly over him. He shifted his gaze towards Aragorn and noticed the eyelids fluttering, and he wondered vaguely if he might get to see those grey eyes again. “Leave him be!” For the second time, an unexpected sound cut through a brief moment of silence. Ardamir and Merdil whipped their heads towards the entrance route they had used. Faramir couldn’t see where the noise came from, but he recognised the voices.

Then something or someone fell on him snarling in fury. He felt his head being pulled up roughly, and just as suddenly it seemed it was smashed into the hard ground. A blinding pain shot through his aching head at the impact, and he sobbed harshly. Ardamir, he thought, was screaming in his ear. Around him, confusion reigned. The pain across his head seemed to override everything else and it suddenly seemed darker than before. He thought he was dreaming. He thought he could hear Legolas whispering in his ear, asking him if he was all right. The Elf sounded angry, he thought. He tried to burrow away from the pain and noise, but he couldn’t move and his head and shoulder were aching miserably. He heard Gimli shouting, and wondered why his normally genial friend was so angry. He wondered if they were all shouting at him, but found he couldn’t imagine why. Unless they were still angry over him and Aragorn. He couldn’t help that, he told himself.

But Aragorn had been hurt, and he thought he said so to the Elf, who was helping him sit up. Then everything went completely black.

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3 Comment(s)

i’m so hooked with this fic…even if i’ve read it before!! gotta love it!

— Daze    Monday 7 May 2007, 5:53    #

This was fantastic! I couldn’t let it go until I reached the end. You can’t even trust your council until its too late. Nice job!

— balrog    Tuesday 23 June 2009, 12:57    #

Thanks Balrog! I’m really glad to hear it kept you hooked till the end! hugs

— Minx    Wednesday 24 June 2009, 13:47    #

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