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19 December 2009 | 8720 words
Title: When the last hope leaves you
Pairing: Faramir & Aragorn
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Feedback: Always appreciated!
A/N: Great thanks to Ingrid for being so wonderful beta-reader and simply good friend. I do not know what I would do without her.
Written for the 2009 Midwinter Swap.
Request by Leianora: I’d like anything with him paired with elves who are canon characters and/or Aragorn. It’d be neat to read a Young! Faramir fic where he is in his twenties or thirties. Happy endings are definitely required. No cute or shortened names, EVER! Optional Prompt: Faramir is sold to the Haradrim in exchange for a promise that they will not invade Gondor during his father’s rule. Someone, and again, any elf or Aragorn will do, saves him and helps him begin healing from the horrors he endured. You can be as descriptive or not as you choose to be.
Not a shadow of wonder passed across Faramir’s face as Denethor had given his consent to the Haradrims’ demand. Demand for giving to them his youngest son in exchange for the non-aggression against Gondor… No, Gondor was not so weak not to defend, as well as Harad was not so powerful to win the war, but Faramir knew that his father bewared of another threat. This was the spreading threat of Mordor, and Denethor, being the man of keen intellect, was well aware that Gondor could not endure the fight on two fronts. So, his decision was full expected.
Faramir was disturbed with just one thought – why the Haradrims wanted him? He was not an heir and, as he considered, had no significant worth for Gondor at all. But the claim was declared with the utmost clarity – Faramir, captain of Ithilien rangers, the youngest son of the Steward and no one else.
He gave Denethor a searching look wishing to see whatever father’s emotions, but the man’s face was absolutely impenetrable – he made his choice. ‘Perhaps,’ Faramir thought lowering his eyes, ‘I would truly never become a son worthy of such a man. I would not have strength to take such decision.’
But it made no difference now and he tried to throw all thoughts away.
Not everyone there, however, was as calm as he was. Boromir suddenly flung himself to their father crying in a furious, loud voice. His doing made Faramir’s heart warm a bit. Boromir had always loved him and tried to protect him, but now it was totally useless.
It seemed the walls were trembling with Boromir’s cries. His brother was a temperamental man and Faramir deeply admired him. But he had never allowed himself to behave that way before, especially in the presence of other people.
Denethor watched his eldest son grimly and said nothing. And that nonchalant drove Boromir to condition of absolute despair. In a final disparate motion he threw himself to Faramir, shielding him with his body and cried, “Never! Never will my brother be a slave in your damnable Land! Father, it’s an unreal request to satisfy! Sooner Gondor will fight to last drop of blood, but never my brother…”
Faramir missed his brother’s last words for at that very moment his eyes met a gaze of his father. He saw determination in Denethor’s face, perhaps even any kind of sadness. But the main was an order in his eyes, an order to stop this lunacy. Denethor knew his sons too well to understand that only Faramir could do this now. And Faramir obeyed.
“Boromir, it’s enough!” he said, laying his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Boromir became silent at once and turned around to look at his brother’s eyes…
And then all that Faramir remembered were his sorrowful and hopeless glance.
“Brother…” he whispered through the dream not wishing to wake up. He saw that part of his memories over and over again while he was sleeping. And that was the only thing his consciousness did for him not to go mad. Not to see that countless dead faces before his eyes. And still be alive.
But even the most horrible dream was more preferable than reality. However it came back to him inevitably, as always, and he agonizingly moaned from the mighty kick in his belly. He had no strength even to scream. His throat seemed to be compressed with an unseen cruel hand, his lips – crannied from the water’s shortage, eyes – swollen from the unshed tears of pain and desperation. He even did not feel himself as a human being any more…
How long had it been going on already? Three years? Four? Maybe five.
He lost the sense of time very long ago, and now it was the same to him. All he wanted was never to wake up, but he was not allowed even that.
Ruthless hand grabbed him by his hair pulling up, and a loud, sharp voice cried into his ear, “Stand up, stubborn pup! It’s time to give your Lord some entertaining!”
Oh, these hated voices, hated hands… They poured into his mouth in a disgusting swill, holding him in a sitting position, and he began choking.
“Easy,” the other prisoner said. “Master will not be pleased with us, if he is not in condition to fulfill his duties! Let him eat his “today’s meal” at first.”
Some slices of stale bread and old cheese fell onto the floor before him, and he recoiled with abhorrence. It was his only kind of food for many times and now he could not even imagine gulping it. However his prisoners had another mind. Pressing him to the wall they began forcing it into his mouth. He had no chance to refuse and swallowed all of it at last.
Few minutes later they grasped him by the hands and dragged him out from his cell. Faramir did not ask where he was being lead. He knew it perfectly well. And now it did not matter to him at all.
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Thank the author
The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Mel