Faramir Fiction Archive

A Soldier's War (NC-17)

Written by Vejgeta9

04 January 2006 | 20900 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 4.1: Home Front Battles

Things were still in a positive mood for Gríma. But of course, all good things must come to an end. As he suspected, Saruman contacted him at that moment.

‘Gríma.’

‘Yes my liege.’

‘It is time.’

‘_But my liege, I thought that –’_

‘You thought what? That since you were babbling with your ‘new found friends’ that you no longer had an obligation to me?’

Gríma paled. Éowyn and Berethor both noticed, but said nothing.

‘It makes little difference to me whether or not you’ve made friends, my Gríma. But remember I own you. You are mine until I see fit to give you release. I can cause you great pleasure… ‘

Gríma shuddered at those words. The feelings they aroused in him were unbelievable. He could feel Saruman’s ‘hands’ rubbing his legs, almost caressing him. He had not been touched in such a manner since Brant.

‘Or I can cause you great pain.’

That point did not need to be driven home with Gríma; the flashbacks of the last time Saruman had caused him pain were enough.

‘What would you have me do, my liege?’

‘Prepare the king for his lesson of the day.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

This time, it was Éomer’s turn to read an entry.

‘I was sixteen when Brant left the orphanage. It was a sad day for me. He had kept his word, protecting me from the wrath of the head mistress, even taking a beating for me at times. It was bad to be on the receiving end of one of those thrashings; it was even worse having to help and heal one that you hold near and close to you.

‘For two years he was there. For two years, he was the one that meant more to me than life. How could I survive without him? The last night he was there, we lay in bed all day, talking and laughing. He tried to keep my mind off of what tomorrow brought. A new beginning for the both of us.

‘‘I will return for you, my love’ he said. I believed him. I believed that he would come back and rescue me for from what would become a hellish prison. I believed that he was invincible – nothing could touch him. He stood up to the head mistress; stood up to the other bullies who had once taken his orders. He even stood up to the adults that came in poking fun at my thin, frail form.

‘Morning came. And away he went. He went away with promises of return. Promises that he would secure housing, a job, and a new life for us both. He never returned. It was years later that I found out that he had been kidnapped, and was possibly a prisoner of war.

~Gríma

“There is more than meets the eye, I am afraid,” said Faramir. Éomer turned around and faced him.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen to this:

I now am in the commission of a wizard that has no intentions of letting me free from his control. I made this… this commitment in hopes that my love would be returned to me. Instead of me saving him, I fear that I may have made things worse. I only wish that I had known, that I had some sign that the Valar was leading me in the direction I should be headed down.

I hate this. I hate what I have become. I have become an enemy of what my Brant stood for. If he knew all the things I have done, all the things I have said… he… I cannot think what he might do, or say. The worse thing that could happen is for him to return, only to walk back out the doors of my life and my heart forever.

I fear him knowing what I have become. I fear him hating me for what the world around me has helped creating. Little does he know, a small part of me blames him, too.

Please forgive me, my love.

~Gríma

Éomer looked over at Faramir. The entries were lost on him momentarily as he watched Faramir. He found himself wanting to grab Faramir’s head and taste the lips that he Faramir was currently wetting with his tongue. Éomer’s thoughts began to drift back to that morning. He never got a chance to find out what that pink tongue could do, and he was acutely curious about the extent of its skill.

Faramir was aware of Éomer’s staring. He wanted to ask Éomer if he wanted a real show, but his goal was at hand, and he had to remain focused on that. Thoughts of Éomer’s warm, wet mouth were of no use to him. His chest, hard and sweaty, and not to mention his rock hard…

He looked up at Éomer, who returned his gaze. There was something there, some underlining attraction. That much was clear. He was glad to know that the feeling was mutual, but was unsure how he should really feel, or even_how_ he really did feel. Éomer made it clear that his attraction to him was not just sexual. And it was clear that he cared for Boromir. But just where did those feelings for his brother stop and the feelings for him began?

“If you would excuse me for a moment,” said Gríma. He detested his mission, and had often thought of refusing Saruman’s will. He could be free to live his own destiny, free to serve no one but himself. He could break free of the chains that bound them together. But every time he thought he’d found the strength, the promise of Saruman sprang into his mind. The first evening they met had been full of drunken promises and lies run amuck, and he had been left with the memories that cemented their alliance today.

‘Good evening, my lord.

‘Quite.

‘Might I interest my lord in some mead?

‘Wine is more my suiting.

‘Yes, my lord.

Wine was provided, and the man began to question him about his background.

‘I spent most of my life in an orphanage.

‘Why?

‘My father was killed in battle.

‘And your mother?

‘I do not speak of her.

‘Do you not have a brother?

‘How do you know of him?

‘I am a wizard of many talents. You have not seen him in many years, have you?

‘No… I have not.

He recalled the quiet look on the wizard’s face. The lines of the years showed, his skin weathered from the elements. But the eyes were full of life, and seemed kind in nature. Gríma had felt some comfort in this.

‘There is something else, is there not?

‘What do you mean?

‘Come with me to my quarters, and we shall talk more there.

Gríma had been tempted by the offer, but had not been sure if it was a wise move.

‘Come with me. I will tell you what I know…

He suddenly felt more at ease, more willing to go along with what was being requested of him at the time.

‘Who are you?

‘You shall know when you meet me, friend.

‘I shall be up when my shift ends.

Gríma worked much more quickly than he ever had before in his life. He could not recall wanting to see someone so badly. He could not explain it. As soon as he was given the ok, he had rushed out of the tavern where he worked and headed to the hotel where Saruman stayed.

Upon entering the room, the wizard sat on the bed, sipping out of a goblet of wine. Gríma stared at him, not really knowing what to say.

‘I knew you would come.

‘How did you know?

‘I am a wizard and know many things. I know that a small band of orcs was just killed outside of town. I know that the manager of the bar lusts after the barmaid of the poor farmer in town. I know that Brant was here shortly before you arrived.

‘What did you just say?

‘Brant was here.

The wizard took another sip out of his goblet.

Gríma paled slightly, but recovered quickly.

‘Who is that?

‘Have you forgotten the name of your first love? The one that promised to protect you always? The one to whom you pledged your undying love?

Gríma paled again.

‘I care for him not.

‘That is not what I can see. You love him. I can see that. You feel betrayed because he never returned.

‘No… I… I don’t. I-I just do not care for him.

‘Liar.

Gríma turned and walked over to the window. He did not want the wizard to see his emotions betray him.

‘I do not care for him… or what has become of him.

‘Then it would not interest you to know that he was working at the blacksmith for several months, correct?

‘No.

‘What about knowing that he had saved money to buy a house?

‘No.

The wizard paused. Gríma could tell he was choosing his words very carefully.

‘What about knowing the reason that he did not return?

‘I told you that I care not.

‘Then his kidnapping makes no difference either, correct?

Gríma turned around.

‘Kidnapped? When? By who?

‘Ahh… seems that it is some interest to you after all. Have a glass of wine.

The wizard poured him a goblet and Gríma took it, downing it swiftly. The wizard smiled.

‘You still have not told me your name.

‘I am the white wizard, powerful and all knowing. I have many names, but am known by most as Saruman the White.

He patted the space next to him on the bed, while gesturing to the pitcher that contained the wine. Gríma sat and passed him his goblet.

‘What happened to him?

‘Brant had traveled far and wide, looking for work. He was not suited for most types of work, and took whatever odd jobs he could to survive. When work would run out in the town he stayed, he picked up and headed to the next. When he arrived here, there were very few that welcomed him, as he was not known about these parts. After days of trying to find work, a blacksmith took pity on him and offered him an apprenticeship in his shop.

‘Brant learned very quickly, making sure the blacksmith did not regret his choice. He worked hard, and treated everyone fairly. Soon, he was known by all, and suitors began arriving, eager to marry someone of his stature and kindness to their daughter.

Gríma listened intently. His mind reeled with the idea that maybe Brant had not forgotten him, that his love was kidnapped, and the fact that this wizard is eager to help him.

‘He turned every offer down, simply stating that his heart belonged to another. It surprised many, and crushed many more.

‘How do you know all of this?

‘I come to this little town very often, and hear many things upon my visits.

Saruman moved closer to Gríma, who was holding his goblet out to be refilled.

‘I managed to speak with him on more than one occasion. He spoke highly of you, Gríma.

‘He did?

‘He said that his heart belonged to you.

Gríma downed the wine, and held the goblet out for a refill.

‘Who kidnapped him?

‘You look tired, my dear Gríma.

‘I am just fine.

‘I think you could use a rest. Please, make yourself comfortable.

Gríma decided that a short rest would be all right, and he did not want to be offensive to the wizard that showed him such a warm welcome. Saruman, in turn, sat next to him, and continued.

‘It was the Wild Men and Orcs that kidnapped him.

Saruman continued with the tale, ensuring Gríma knew how hard Brant fought. He was amazed at his brilliance in storytelling; it felt like he was right there, watching him defend the town.

‘How to get out of this mess… ‘ he thought to himself as he headed back to the throne where Théoden King sat.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something, my dear Gríma?

‘No, my liege.

‘As a matter of fact, you are. The company that you keep may see too much, you fool.

Gríma turned around to see Éowyn and Berethor engrossed in conversation. He hated to be rude to them but what other choice did he have?

‘I know you must truly miss him.

‘I do. I had no idea that he went through so much. How can I find him? How can I help him? Is he still alive?

‘There is nothing you can do. It is possible that after he served his purpose that he was killed.

Gríma’s heart sank to even lower depths. After years of wondering, hoping, searching, it was all in vain.

‘I refuse to believe that.

‘You believed that he had forgotten about you. Why not believe that he has already met his fate?

‘Because it was under different circumstances. It was easier to believe that he had gone on with his life, that he had met someone else, that he didn’t want me then it is to believe that he’s dead. There must be something I can do… You… You must help me.

‘I am a mere wizard. There are some things that even beyond my control.

‘But you knew everything about me!! How can you say that you can not help!! You are no wizard! You are no friend.

‘I did not say that I could_not_help.

Saruman stood and went to the center of the room. He closed his eyes and began a soft chant. As soon as the first words left his lips, the temperature in the room dropped. The room shook slightly as the magical essence that was Saruman filled the air. His chant got louder, and the windows blew open.

The wind outside the window rushed in, releasing the candlelight from their duties, while the ash from the fireplace was scattered everywhere. The chants filled the room, the wooden floors groaned as though they were under severe weight, glass shattered out of their panes, and the linen was stripped from the empty bed – all in mere seconds. As quickly as everything began, it stopped.

‘He is alive.

Gríma stared, mouth gaping. He had no idea what to say.

‘You have one chance to save him – me.

‘But I thought –‘That is your problem, dear Gríma. You think too much. Again, I never said I would not help. But, you never asked.

‘You said that there were things that were out of your control –‘Which is still true. Life is simply what it is, and we must make the best out of it. The situation that your Brant was thrust into is out of my control, but I have ways of turning the tide.

‘So, you can help?‘Yes, under one condition: There are a few matters that I could use some assistance with. These are things that I would normally handle myself, only there are other ‘projects’ that are working that need my constant and undivided attention. After which your mission is complete, then you may leave my services, if you wish it.

‘Anything to save him.

‘I need you to go to Rohan. The king, who is a dear friend of mine, is in need of an advisor. There are major decisions, and major events in the making, some that the King does not know about.

‘Like what?

‘That… does not concern you at the present. My major concern is that you are present when the Steward of Gondor arrives. I do not trust him and fear for my friend in his old age. You must protect him at all costs, and inform me if anything major happens.

‘How, if I decide to do so, would I contact you?

‘The mind possesses incredible potential, my friend. I will show you what I mean, in due time. Will you do me this request?

‘Can you guarantee that Brant will be returned safely?

‘Yes, of course.

‘Then, I am at your disposal.

“Please excuse my manners. The king is in need of his daily consultation and prefers to do this in private. I regret to say that we must continue our conversation later,” he said, upon approaching Éowyn and Berethor.

“Oh, of course,” said Éowyn. “Perhaps at another time.”

“Perhaps”, Gríma said, a small smile present. He watched as they turned and walked out of the main hall, leaving him alone to the King and his duty of being the vessel for the words that Saruman used. The key was to keep the King’s vision clouded, while zapping almost all life and strength out of him.

He turned, and headed back to the throne where King Théoden sat.

‘He is ready, my liege.’

‘You know what to do.’

Gríma placed his hands on either side of the King’s head, and recited the words that were forever committed to his memory. The soft – mannered voice one normally heard was replaced by a rough, harsh one that literally teemed with power.

“King you are, but will not stay_I shall have your mind and power this day._

The city of Rohan shall bow to me_Enemies of Orthanc shall turn and flee._

Heed my voice, the Day of Reckoning is here!

The Power of Saruman everyone shall fear!!”

‘He is trying to resist, my liege.’

‘Focus, harder, Wormtongue!! Maintain your focus!!’

The fight to overthrow a king’s mind was often a difficult one, especially when the one with the power to do so was so many leagues away. It was always harder on the vessel being used, as it was his job to be the conduit for the wizard in control. From day one, Gríma had the feeling that he was being used and once the transfer of energies and powers were once again switched, he had a familiar, throbbing, aching headache.

Stop being such a baby, Wormtongue.

I’m not… It’s just your power leaves me… weak, my liege.

As it will the rest of the world.

Is my part in this affair almost over?

Why? Are you becoming bored?

No, sire, it is just that… I miss –

Brant.

Yes.

I almost have full control over the king. You shall be rewarded soon enough. Saruman always rewards his faithful servants.

The echo in his head faded, and Gríma knew his mind was his once more. There had to be an easier way to life than being subjected to the madness his poor mind had to endure. He missed his love. He hated himself for that pain he was causing, and above all else, he wished he could reverse what he had already done.

“Hmm, somehow I don’t believe that he is sincere in his regret,” said David.

“You’re saying that because you just don’t like what he did in the movie. This isn’t the movie, luv.”

“That doesn’t matter. No one sends my Éomer away from his kingdom!!”

“Well, it’s good to know that you’ll claim him. Your Faramir seems quite reluctant to do anything more than daydream about his sweaty chest and arms and… OW!! What was that for?!”

“No one teases my Faramir!!

Éowyn and Berethor were heading towards the housing quarters. They both were lost in thought, and had no idea what really just happened.

“Why do you suppose he paled during our conversation?” asked Éowyn. “We didn’t say anything wrong, did we?”

“Not that I am aware of,” answered Berethor. “I hope that Faramir and Éomer found something.”

“Speaking of Faramir, is all well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come now, dear Berethor! I have all but offered myself up to him on the main dining hall table with only grapes to hide my… unmentionable areas. He has someone, does he not?”

“Err… well no. I mean, I am not sure what you mean, my Lady.”

“I believe you do.”

Berethor was silent. Did this mean she knew? Who else knew? Did it really matter? Of course it did not. Berethor was more than happy to tell the world of his love for Faramir. He had said more than once that he would shout it from the highest rooftop in Minas Tirith if Faramir wished it. But that was just it. Faramir did not wish it so.

“I just want to know… I mean, is she beautiful?”

“Well, she is er… easy on the eyes.”

“Well, can she cook? Or mend things?”

“She is… talented in many areas.”

“Really?” She turned her nose up slightly.

“Yes,” Berethor said. Éowyn stopped in the hall.

“Can she wield a sword and defend her man if need be?”

Berethor stopped too. “Of all things, she can definitely do that. Maybe a bit better that Faramir.”

“I’d like to see her try. I’d like to see her on the battlefield. I’ll bet she doesn’t know which end of the sword is the hilt!”

As they continued their walk, she continued her ranting and raving about ‘Faramir’s new love’.

“She’s blonde, isn’t she?” she asked.

“She’s brownish blonde.”

“Not his type. Blonde’s are more him.”

Berethor smiled and shook his head. ‘If she only knew that is was my dusty blonde hair that set his soul on fire… ‘

“There is nothing more to read,” said Faramir, placing the last journal in the box. He was careful to put each book back in the box the same way it had been removed. He looked up and saw Éomer staring out the window. He walked behind him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“It is beautiful,” Éomer said with a small sigh. “Every time I look upon the fields outside these windows, it never ceases to amaze me of how much has changed, and how wonderful and beautiful the land around us becomes.”

“It is beautiful,” agreed Faramir. They stood together in silence, simply enjoying the view.

“So what do you suggest we do?” asked Éomer.

“I know not what to do. If it were a battle of the minds, then it would be simple.”

“And if it were a battle of the swords?”

Faramir turned to him and smiled. “That is what you are here for.” Éomer looked surprised, but returned his smile. “So you’re saying that I’m here to protect you?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“No… as long as I get a proper reward.”

“It depends on the reward you’re asking for.”

Éomer stepped closer to Faramir. “Well, that would depend on the danger I faced.”

Faramir smiled again. “How about… 20 orcs?”

Éomer stepped close enough for Faramir to feel his breath on his nose. “Perhaps-”

“Perhaps what, dear brother?”

Both men whipped around in time to see Berethor and Éowyn enter in the room. Éomer’s mind went blank, and his face showed it. Faramir’s quick thinking allowed then to save face.

“Perhaps we’d better share the disturbing news about Gríma, instead of keeping it to ourselves.”

“What disturbing news?”

“Not here.”

They exited the room quickly, each group hoping that the other had a successful mission. Upon entering Éowyn’s rooms, they were all anxious to learn the happening of the other.

Éowyn told them of the conversation that she and Berethor had with Gríma. Nothing really surprising. Then, Faramir quickly relayed the information learned by reading Gríma’s journals. Berethor and Éowyn were horrified.

“You cannot be serious! No child should ever have to endure that kind of torture,” said Éowyn.

“I know,” said Faramir. “It has occurred to me – us- that Gríma really had no real desire to commit these acts upon the King.”

“You are serious, aren’t you? Despite all the hurt and pain he has caused this court? How can you even begin to take that thought into consideration?” asked Éowyn.

“No one took his feelings into consideration. No one stopped to think of how his or her actions would shape the man that we see today. It was the actions of those around him that caused the reactions from the man that is right now in this castle. The actions of falseness and trickery of a wizard is what caused the reactions of what you saw today.”

The other four in the room stared at him.

“Why are you insisting on protecting him? Our king, my uncle is the victim. Yes, the things that happened to him are dire and uncalled for, and yes, a part of my heart goes out to him for his suffering. But, he has become an evil man. I DEMAND justice be served!!” Éowyn was beside herself with anger.

“So you are saying that we should kill this man because he was tricked into doing the deeds he has done? Are you saying that we should not try to help him? That we should just turn our backs on someone who was a victim as well?” Faramir challenged.

No one spoke.

“I cannot believe this!! I cannot believe that you are willing to persecute a man who has never had a fair chance!”

“Then what do you propose we do?” asked Berethor.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, tell us what do you think we should do? You stand before us, preaching about fair chances. What chance are we supposed to give someone that has not given his victim a chance?”

Faramir walked over to the window, and a sharp pain went through Berethor’s heart. He wanted nothing more than to hold him, side with him, agree with what was being said, but none of it made sense. How could this ‘helpless’ victim allow himself to get into this situation? There was no way that Berethor would agree with that logic. And judging by the looks on everyone else’s faces, they agreed with him.

“So you make my character the rebel. Why?”

“Because Faramir has more of a trusting nature. He believes that there may be some good in this man, so he’s sticking to his guns,” I said.

“But why couldn’t your character believe in the slimy git?”

“Simple. It builds sympathy for our Dear Faramir. Remember, his brother died, his father tried to burn him alive, he rode off to his death, not to mention all the other slash stories that we’ve read where he was paired with orcs, Gríma himself, ect, ect, ect. Need I go on?”

David was silent for a moment. “No, you don’t. Will Berethor save him if he has to do any of that?”

“I don’t know. You’ll just have to keep reading, luv.”

After a few moments, Faramir turned and began to walk out the room.

“You never did answer my question. What would you have us do?”

“I would have you to do nothing. Nothing other than to continue on your paths of so – called self righteousness.” Faramir said as he left.

Berethor followed him. “Are you going to him? What are you going to do?”

“What the rest of you are not willing to do – give the man a chance.”

Faramir stalked off down the hallway, ignoring the calls of his beloved. If he did not understand, if his words did not move his heart, then his beloved Berethor was not exactly what he had imagined him to be.

 

To be Continued

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