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Unholy Light (NC-17) Print

Written by December

05 January 2020 | 6480 words | Work in Progress

Title: Unholy Light
Author: December
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir & Boromir
Warnings: Non-con, torture, psychological torture, AU canon divergence, dark!fic
Author's note.,Alright everybody,I am sorry about this. It's my first (and quite unplanned) dabble into the dark fic realm. I blame it all on watching too many compilations of the GOT most brutal scenes in one go. This may never live up to that standard

Things go pear-shaped towards the end of the quest to destroy the One Ring, and Boromir is left with impossible choices on his hands as his darkest hopes are dragged to the light.
Added: Chapter 5

[ all pages ]

Part 4.

He wonders, sometimes, if Faramir is not, in fact, sleeping.

Never had his brother been one to play tricks and deceive, least of all him.

But neither is Faramir a man who enjoys pointless confrontation, and when feigning unconsciousness is such an easy, harmless way out, why not use it?

He wonders, sometimes, if he is going mad.

They made it through, they are among the fortunate few.

But it does not feel over. It does not feel any different from when they hung trapped in the belly of the smoke-belching mountain. The decorations have been changed, his costume has been changed, but he is firmly stuck in the previous act.

He wonders if he should stop coming. Has his poor brother not been made to suffer enough? Just leave him in peace.

Faramir’s breath catches, his eyelids flutter.

Boromir rises, on quiet feet makes for the exit.

As his fingers wrap around the door handle, a voice husky from slumber catches him from behind.

“You do not have to leave when I awaken.”

Boromir lowers his face, inhales slowly, shuts his eyes.

“All right. I shall stay… next time.”

“You will have to forgive me my doubts as to your ability to fully appreciate what I have prepared here,” Sauron pointed to the table and various equipment. “It would be a shame to have you go in unprepared, so I have enlisted an assistant to demonstrate.”

On cue, the Orcs slipped out and returned dragging in one of the rangers from the brothers’ Ithilien company.

His leather gear looked tattered and faded, useless and unimpressive next to all the tools of torment.

“Damrod!” Boromir cried when the man looked up.

Damrod’s cheeks were sunken, his eyes deeper than Boromir remembered. And he had a beard now, like the rest of them, the only proper indication of how many days had lapsed since the ambush.

It took the man a moment to focus his gaze.

“My lords! Woe take us, it is true, you are here!”

“You were not brought in to talk,” Sauron spat.

As he whipped around to face the ranger, Damrod’s eyes went so wide the whites were visible all around. He screamed and thrashed uncontrollably in the Orcs’ hold, but could not look away.

Sauron stood over him until the man’s knees gave out from under him and he sank to the floor. “At least this one knows the etiquette for greeting the King of Kings, unlike his dumb masters. Perhaps we should reward that with a faster death.” He waved to the Orcs, “Go on then, tie him up before he passes out.”

Boromir gritted his teeth.

“Save this spectacle, we require no demonstration!”

Sauron looked over at him, with what appeared like satisfaction, but said nothing.

Boromir could not tell whether the next stage took hours, a day, or the better part of a week.

When Damrod lost consciousness from the pain, the first time they splashed a pail of dirty water in his face. After that no one could be bothered to go fetch more water, so the Orcs took turns rousing him with pissing.

Boromir’s ears were sore and ringing from Damrod’s prolonged screams, which went progressively more shrill as more and more sophisticated methods were showcased on him.

Father tried not to watch, his brow furrowed and face turned away. Faramir watched quietly, intently, his expression unreadable, only tears flowing freely down his face. Boromir knew his brother loved Damrod very much.

Eventually they unchained him, or what was left of him, and he slipped to the floor softly as though there were no bones in his body.

Sauron nodded to the Orcs, and they hoisted the man up, holding him by the armpits. His head lolled, he blinked groggily.

In no apparent hurry, Sauron walked over to him.

Damrod shuddered and wheezed under his gaze, but could no longer make a louder noise.

Boromir saw Sauron lift his hands, unclip his helmet in the back.

The Orcs whimpered and cowered, turning as far away as possible without dropping their charge.

Sauron pulled the helmet off.

Boromir did not even get a look at the back of his head, for his eyes could not leave the ranger’s face. After everything the man had been made to endure, still Boromir had not yet seen a distortion of such absolute horror on his features.

Damrod gaped to inhale but it would not come as though an invisible force were throttling him. His eyes bulged. Slowly his face turned red, then purple. Still he could not break the eye contact. Suddenly his body arched taut. His head whipped back with a sharp crunch, and his corpse went limp.

Sauron adjusted his helmet back in place, gave it a little twist this way and that.

“This session would have been quite educational for the lot of you, I should imagine,” he observed as the warrior’s remains were carried out.

He said nothing more for a while, so as not to distract his captives from the commotion behind the door, which sounded most unambiguously like a body being ripped to pieces and hastily consumed. It would appear the two Orcs who had held Damrod expected exclusive rights to the spoils, while some others who had waited in the corridor disagreed.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes.” The yellow eyes focussed on Denethor. “I shall give you the honour, for old times’ sake. Which one shall we use for our fun first?”

Boromir suppressed a growl. This pretense had to be worse than the actual torment.

“You cannot seriously expect my father to nominate one us for torture!”

A strange noise came from behind the visor, as though a snort. “You underestimate your father, boy. Now, old man, no need to be coy, you are not a fair maiden watching over your virginity. We both know your mind, so speak it – don’t be discourteous to those who need ears to hear.”

But Denethor only averted his gaze, visibly drained by the weight of that burning stare on him. He exhaled heavily and shuddered as Sauron turned away from him at last.

“His grace will not oblige, so what are we to do. Take them both down.”


“Oh?” Sauron leant in with mocking attentiveness. “Which is it then?”

Denethor swallowed, took a breath.

Boromir saw Faramir lift his face.

“Leave my father be. I shall be the one.”

Sauron nodded to the old steward. “I can see how you’d grow tired of him. Must be bothersome, to be read better than you like to show. But isn’t he right?”

“Father!” Boromir cried. “Father, don’t do this!”

Denethor would not meet his eyes as he said: “Yes, it is so.”

Sauron regarded the two young men some more.

“Ah, well. Take them both down anyway.”

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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11 Comment(s)

Intriguing and disturbing at the same time. Actually, I’m a bit into this kind of thing, disturbing and nerve-racking, so I’m happy with your choice of darcfiction genre)) Another ‘thank you’ for Denethor, I believe his character to be too complex to be wasted just as a reason of Faramir’s eternal sadness, so it’s nice to see him again. And I really like your choice of words. Please keep writing.

— LCD    Thursday 22 November 2018, 17:38    #

Thanks so much, LCD! Again, your commentary is very thoughtful :)

Well, we shall see what I can make of this genre!

Denethor is an interesting one. I’ve said this elsewhere before, he is indeed more complex than that. Can’t say I exactly like him as a person, but I definitely like him as a character. He is a flawed person who’d had a pretty rough run of it in life, with things getting progressively worse. It doesn’t mean he is an inherent tyrant and madman. If anything, he had endured and fought for a very long time before succumbing. And his relationship with Faramir was not entirely one-sided either.

Thank you for reading!

— December    Friday 23 November 2018, 8:30    #

Can’t wait for you to finish this fic! Perhaps you wouldn’t mind also posting this on An Archive of Our Own so that way readers can get chapter update alerts. I’m afraid I don’t check this site often.

Romanse    Sunday 2 December 2018, 7:05    #

Thank you Romanse! Yes, I always publish both there and here.

— December    Thursday 6 December 2018, 7:43    #

Please, carry on this story as fast as possible. But be merciful. Did you read “The War of the Ring? I’m reading now, and it’s fantastic, especially the relatonship of Faramir and Denethor. :)

— Liza    Friday 14 December 2018, 9:13    #

Thank you Liza! No, I have not… Where can I find it?

— December    Friday 14 December 2018, 9:56    #

It’s the 8th book of The History of Middle-earth series, edited by Christopher Tolkien.

— Liza    Friday 14 December 2018, 12:47    #

Liza, ah, of course it is. With my fanfiction tunnel-vision, l thought it was a fic and tried to look for it on this site! Can’t believe I did not know there was extra material on Faramir out there, and I didn’t know!

— December    Friday 14 December 2018, 23:02    #

Will you countine this story, dear December?

— Eve    Sunday 12 May 2019, 17:11    #

The first time in my life I beg for winter’s month to come back) Please, December, let us enjoy the next chapter, don’t stop your breathtaking storytelling.

— LCD    Wednesday 22 May 2019, 7:18    #

Thank you the new chapter dear December!
How much I was missing this story.

But Boromir… for Eru’s sake I like him but his very very stubborn.

— Eve    Sunday 5 January 2020, 15:58    #

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About the Author


Greetings, fellow fan, and welcome!

What to expect to find here: All the stories are based on Book-verse for looks and personalities, although you will often find the canon bent (hehe) in terms of events. Please prepare for an unhurried, often bitter-sweet read with lots of sexual tension.

A bit about me for those interested: feisty redhead headquartered in New Zealand. Living in a wooden house in the old forest not far from the sea – probably goes some way to explain why I write what I do. Other than reading and writing, my passions are music, visual arts, travel, gardening, dance, horses, acrobatics, medieval martial arts, jewellery making, banter, and above all chocolate.

Was introduced to Tolkien at the tender age of six, was never the same since.

Always keen to collaborate with all ye good folke in the fandom. Feel free to get in touch if you’re looking for a beta reader, too. Please, also, if you’re one of the dudes in the fandom, I would really really appreciate if you could please take a moment to share a bit of your perspective on how authentically my stories portray relationships between men.

Also, if you’re looking to visit New Zealand, happy to offer a bed and breakfast (second breakfast negotiable).