Faramir Fiction Archive

And All Because... (NC-17)

Written by Foofy

02 February 2005 | 55500 words | Work in Progress

Part 6: Security

Faramir had approached the concept of bathing in a mixture of emotions. After he had recovered from his initial surprise, the fact that this was a marvellous opportunity did not pass him by. Whether the elf wished to become intimate was almost immaterial; a bath suggested that at least he would be taken from this empty room, with the possibility of locating something that might aid his escape.

Haldir himself had left Faramir unattended, although had the foresight to reattach the chain around his prisoner’s ankle. The ranger gave it another thorough examination, and came to the same conclusion as he had so many times before. The craftsmanship was exquisite. The chances of breaking free of this particular restraint without the necessary key was unlikely at best. However, there was also little chance that he would be requested to bathe whilst the chain was still attached to him.

Biding his time, Faramir waited patiently for the elf to return. His mind flickered briefly to the possibility that he might well have to submit to Haldir’s attentions before being in the best position to strike. He would have only one chance, he knew that. If he failed… well, that would be the ruin of all of his escape plans, his carefully nurtured trust with the elf destroyed.

Faramir had never submitted to anyone’s attentions. Boromir was the closest he had ever allowed, and even then he knew damn well his brother had no intentions in seducing his younger brother. Boromir had not been able to even contemplate such a suggestion, his expression one of complete bemusement when Faramir had hinted towards it one drunken evening. Thankfully it had all come to nothing, Faramir vowing never to even mention that particular evening again in his brother’s presence for fear of him remembering those whispered words in the shadowy inn.

As for his lovers, well. the majority of them had been soldiers or rangers, used to taking orders from him. The women he had bedded were unsurprisingly similar, although fumbles with the opposite gender had halted ever since the pregnancy scare with one of the serving girls. An illegitimate child would never do, and certainly not one with the common folk of Minas Tirith. His father would be disgusted with him, the child disowned by his line.

He shrugged to himself. Now was not the time to start being fussy. If it came to intimacy, it came to it. Seduction was probably one of the best weapons he had at the moment, and it was not as if the elf was unattractive. There was a particular feeling of control surrounding Haldir, the assumption that everyone would do exactly as he wished, the belief that this was right in the world. Denethor had the same air about him. Things just happened exactly the way they wanted. There was always a look of surprise and disgust if events failed to live up to expectation.

Faramir looked up as Haldir strode back into the room. The elf was looking particularly pleased with himself as he crouched delicately beside his young captive, his eyes running thoughtfully along the rather sad remains of Faramir’s clothing. The ranger watched him cautiously, recognising that particular expression. Something was about to get decided.

“The bath will be ready shortly,” the elf announced, his eyes still thoughtful on Faramir’s breeches.

“Oh. Good.” The young ranger was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable by the attention, not entirely understanding Haldir’s motivations behind the assessment to be able to prepare his answers or actions. He knew that elves were often fussy with their own appearances. It might simply be a case where the elf wished to improve his prisoner’s hygiene. Faramir weighed the risks, and decided to press forward. “Will it be brought in here?”

“Hmmmph ?” Haldir glanced up at him, as though his mind had been forced from a highly complex matter to focus on the ranger in front of him. “No. The next room.”

Faramir felt a warm glow of relief fill him. The next room. It was unmistakable that the room he sat in was the cell that the she-elf had intended until whatever purpose had been fulfilled. Another room being involved suggested that rules were being rewritten.

Haldir gave the breeches a light tug at the leg.

“I shall have to find you more suitable clothes than that,” he added.

“I suppose,” Faramir said lightly, moving his head forward so his fringe covered his eyes. “Not unless you wish for me to stay here naked,” His voice was light and casual, though his eyes watched Haldir like a hawk. Annoyingly, the elf was still unreadable, although it had obviously stopped whatever he was about to say. Not that Faramir was destined ever to know; a thud from behind the doors signified the appearance of the bath water, and the elf moved gracefully away to deal with this planned intrusion, carefully shutting the door behind him.

The human smiled to himself and waited.

Aragorn knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped through the door. Boromir was stood by the window, staring out with a quiet steady resolution, not bothering to look towards whoever had entered the chambers. The ranger paused, eyes firmly fixed upon his lover. Of Legolas there was no sign, although this was hardly unusual for the Prince of Mirkwood.

Giving the room a quick check, Aragorn moved towards the Gondorian.

“Well?” the voice was tired yet careless, as though its owner had completely given up on whatever life had to throw at him. So very unlike the proud, aggressive warrior who had cantered through the gates of Rivendell seemingly so long ago, vowing to do what he could to aid his beloved Gondor.

“Well what?” the ranger decided to continue on his original course of action. The shoulder he laid his hand on was almost solid with tension. Aragorn frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Boromir laughed quietly. It was not a happy laugh. “Surely you have heard?” he threw over his shoulder.

“Your brother?”

The Gondorian failed to reply to him, merely staring out the window. Aragorn ran his tongue across suddenly dry lips, and tried to knead a little more life into the shoulder. It was like caressing a statue.

“Who do you think have seized him?” Aragorn asked quietly. Boromir said nothing, neither did he move. It was as though speaking to one already dead. “Boromir?”

“I cannot say,” growled the warrior finally, reluctantly. “I do not know,”

And yet the posture was wrong. Aragorn stared at him, remembering his usual forthrightness. He would have sworn to all that Boromir would have strode off at first light if either Gondor or his brother was threatened, to put action before anything, to try to do something. This absence of activity was more concerning than the news. His father was right. He did know something, and that something stopped him from fighting.

“There was nothing unusual? No threats, no additional enemy activity?” Aragorn pressed. Boromir shrugged slightly, negatively. Aragorn shook his head angrily. “Come on, Boromir! Give me something. You know Gondor better than I, you know who is most likely to do such a thing. Help us find your brother,”

“I cannot tell you that which I do not know,” Boromir’s voice was almost unnervingly steady. Aragorn growled in frustration.

“Boromir,” his voice dropped lower, serious, moving slightly so he could see the younger man’s face. “For the Valar’s sake, help me. Who knows what they could be doing to your brother in the meantime? For every moment that passes he could be tortured… beaten,” his eyes narrowed, watching Boromir’s expression carefully. “.. raped or killed,”

A flicker of desolation, of absolute misery passed over Boromir’s face, although his eyes never wavered from the window. Aragorn stared at him incredulously.

“And you already know this, don’t you,”

“Please Aragorn. I can’t do anything here. You know this. I know this. Let it go,” Boromir was almost pleading now, yet he never moved from the window. The ranger shook his head again, and stared exasperated around the room as though seeking something.

“Did you wish to go back to Gondor?” he asked slowly, reluctantly. He could see Boromir finally move slightly, stare towards Aragorn with a look of surprise and suspicion, as though not daring to hope.

“Would it do any good?” The Gondorian’s voice was gruff but they could both hear its wishful tone. Aragorn shrugged. Boromir sighed, and looked back towards the window. “And we both know I cannot. The Fellowship begins shortly. I cannot abandon it before we have even started.”

The ranger watched him a little longer. “We need to talk about the situation, Boromir, find out as much as possible.” His voice was soft. Boromir snorted.

“Yes, I remember the last time we ‘talked’.” Boromir’s glare met Aragorn’s surprised one. “No.”

The ranger paused, a guilty and regretful expression appearing. Feeling that he might have gone a little too far, Boromir looked back at the window. “No,” he repeated softly.

“You would feel better talking about it.-” Aragorn began, but Boromir cut him off almost immediately.

“Funny, I seem to remember saying something similar to you about Gondor. And you didn’t want to know,” Angry light green eyes stared at him briefly. Aragorn stiffened automatically.

“That’s different,” his voice was strained. Boromir laughed once to himself.

“Nice. How?”

“Well, it’s. for Valar’s sake, Boromir, at least you could face me whilst you’re talking.” Fear and guilt had fuelled Aragorn’s anger. Boromir stared at him sullenly but obeyed, turning and resting himself against the ledge of the window.

“You could help your brother by talking to me,” Aragorn scanned his lover’s eyes. “That’s what you want, yes? To help him?”

There was an unreadable expression on Boromir’s face. Aragorn was exasperated.

“Well, don’t you? You want to just leave him there?”

The Gondorian looked away, his misery settling back. The ranger sighed, and put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder, trying to get him to look at him properly.

“Please, Boromir. Any information may be valuable.” Aragorn’s voice was soft, gentle, trying to coax the answer from him. The Gondorian seemed to be coming to a decision, finally bringing his gaze to rest on Aragorn.

“I’ll talk about it,” he said finally, eyes guarded. “If you talk about Gondor with me,”

Aragorn let out a hiss of exasperation, but nodded. “Agreed,”

This apparently surprised Boromir, who simply gazed at him. “You do?” he echoed in disbelief.

The ranger forced a smile. “Yes,”

Now all he had to do was find enough to talk about.

The next room was indeed intended as a dedicated bathroom. Faramir
had not dared to hope for such an opportunity as this. Haldir had already removed the ankle chain, although his steady observation on his charge suggested that the elf was not quite the pushover that Faramir had hoped for. And now he had been briefly left alone.

The ranger surveyed the room swiftly. The bath was full of hot steaming water, taking much of the floor space. Only one door led from this chamber, back towards the room where Haldir sat, and presumably the door leading towards the outside or, more likely, a corridor. The windows were long and narrow, too narrow for even a child to consider fitting through the space, four of them casting daylight into the room in strange lined pattern.

The room itself was bare enough, but still items had been left for day to day use. A silver backed comb and a pair of scissors sat on a chest of drawers in front of a large ornate mirror. Towels had been left on a velvet upholstered stool, awaiting use. Vials and bottles of what appeared to be perfumes sat neatly in rows on a shelf, together with obvious bars of soap.

Faramir’s eyes drifted back to the scissors and the chest of drawers. With a cautious look towards the door, he carefully opened the top drawer, mindful of any squeak that the older piece of furniture might give. Silently, it pulled outwards, Faramir’s gaze flickering back to the doorway every few moments to check. Nothing. The ranger gave a hiss of annoyance, then moved the drawer back. No doubt all of them held the same, clothing or further items of material. He had been hoping for some type of blade implement, although he seemed to remember that the elvish race did not grow beards as did the men. Blades were probably less likely to be found in a bathroom.

The ranger’s eyes found the scissors again. They were crude, but at least a weapon. If he struck with that, he needed to be sure. He needed to get a good blow in, and go for the most vulnerable spot he could. For the first time in his plans, Faramir hesitated, his eyes resting on the scissors. If he was successful, he might do serious harm to the elf who had shown him more concern than his father had ever done. However, he was not just doing this for him. It was for Boromir as well, his beloved elder brother who was put in an impossible position simply because of Faramir’s own stupidity. For every moment that he hesitated, his brother could be going through anything.

For Boromir he would do this.

Faramir swiftly undressed, carefully taking the scissors and hiding them under the bundle of clothes he left on the floor. He slid into the hot water, sighing as he did so, feeling long tense muscles begin to unravel and soothe in the warmth. Haldir had left a bar of soap nearby which was quickly seized; the scent seemed familiar somehow but Faramir could not place it for the life of him.

He washed quickly, not allowing himself to become complacent in the warmth of the room. He had work to do. The young ranger gave another quick scan of the room to make sure he had not missed anything, before getting from the bath and gathering his clothes in a bundle in his arms, scissors carefully hidden from view. Then, without bothering to cover himself, he opened the door and walked back into the chambers where the elf was waiting.

Aragorn hadn’t managed to get much out of Boromir, but at least it had been a start. The Gondorian obviously had no idea where to begin or what sort of information Aragorn wanted, and gave broken answers to the questions that Aragorn posed. The ranger had known Boromir would be upset – who wouldn’t? – but the level of distress that was in his voice perplexed Aragorn. It was as though the Gondorian had already accepted he could do nothing to assist his brother, had almost already given his up for dead when Aragorn knew damn well Boromir would try to move Mordor itself if it would help, or die trying.

They were also going round in circles. No one had arrived. No new enemies. No suspicious actions. No new rangers who had joined Faramir’s select group. Nothing.

Aragorn paced towards the window again, deep in thought. He was aware of Boromir’s eyes on him as he stood there, the Gondorian having found himself a suitable and comfortable spot to lie on the bed during the discussion. Well, he said discussion. Interrogation seemed to be a better word. Any information Boromir held had to be pried from him.

“Do you want me to go to Gondor?” he said finally, his back turned to Boromir. There was a long, long pause.

“I told you. There would be no point,” sighed Boromir finally.

“Not with regards to Faramir. If I were to accompany you back there,” Aragorn’s voice was level. “Would you want me to?”

“Of course,” the surprise in Boromir’s voice was plain to hear. As was the other. Hope.

“Not that we would be able to return there until the Fellowship has finished,” added Aragorn, concentrating hard on Boromir’s tone of voice.

“I agree,” Boromir definitely sounded more positive. In fact, more positive than he had done for some time. Aragorn frowned to himself. He had never realised exactly how strained Boromir had sounded until that strain had lifted. And by what? His sodding destiny once again. He was perplexed as to why Boromir would need confirmation of his loyalty to him now, however. They were not due to part for some time, and Aragorn had never given him any indication that he would abandon his lover.

“Are you having difficulties with your father?” Aragorn voiced a possibility idly. Denethor could well be a reason why Boromir did not respond immediately to Faramir’s situation, the elder brother having to take the father’s wishes instead. Although why Denethor would wish to frame the elves was an altogether complex matter.

“No?” There was that surprise again, as though Boromir hadn’t even considered it. Aragorn frowned again.

“What would you say to your father if I turned up with you?”

There was hesitation from the bed. Obviously Boromir hadn’t even considered the matter. The importance seemed to be entirely that Aragorn would go, not what they would do when they got there. Aragorn bit his lip as he thought. Boromir might be hasty on occasion, but to completely disregard his father was… well, baffling. It was almost certain that Denethor would protest at any companion Boromir brought back, whether he knew Aragorn’s lineage or not.

“Well, I’d talk to him,” the Gondorian said after a few more moments pause. “Explain the matter,”

“Does he know you prefer men?” Aragorn casually glanced back at Boromir, and was slightly stunned when Boromir completely avoided his gaze. Evidentially not. Not that this was surprising; traditions and heredity needed heirs. Their offspring’s comforts and pleasures took second place.

Aragorn, to Boromir’s relief, left the subject of whether Denethor had any suspicions that his elder son was sleeping with those of his own gender. Boromir managed to release the breath he had been holding silently, and vowed to work out the best way to inform Aragorn that, until extremely recently, women had been the preference. Just not now. That was an emotional hurdle and he had more than enough to jump today as it was.

“Did you want to talk it over? Going to Gondor?”

“Sorry?” Boromir snapped back into the conversation.

“The practicalities. What we’d do once we got there,” Aragorn was watching him like a hawk. Boromir shrugged and looked up at him, glimmer in his eyes.

“You’re definitely planning to go?” The tone in his voice clearly showed the correct answer was yes. Aragorn nodded, and watched with a half smile on his face at Boromir’s sheer relief. The Gondorian closed his eyes briefly, then almost bounced to his feet in a moment of energy Aragorn had not seen for many days. Allowing himself to be pulled into an embrace, Aragorn relaxed automatically at the man’s hands around him, kissing the soft sensitive skin of Boromir’s neck.

“Didn’t know it meant that much to you,” he murmured.

“I needed to know,” murmured back Boromir. Aragorn smiled and kissed him again, disentangling himself from the Gondorian. Boromir frowned at him, confused, and ran his hand down Aragorn’s front encouragingly. Aragorn seized hold of the hand and stopped its progress, although delighted that Boromir’s humour had returned to that extent. If he’d had known what pleasures simply confirming going to Gondor would have given his lover he would have considered it long ago, and saved himself the regular queries from Arwen-

Aragorn frowned himself.

No. Impossible. It wasn’t even if they were on speaking terms, let alone Boromir doing Arwen any sort of favour without strong motivations to do so.

He realised Boromir was looking at him in concern, and managed to get his expression back to one that was Boromir-approved. The Gondorian was certainly more relaxed now than he had ever been, his hands playful all over the ranger in front of him. He managed to get Aragorn into another long kiss, this time the ranger losing his abilities to resist. Pressing back against Boromir, Aragorn immediately took possession, smiling as the younger man allowed him his moment of dominance. He knew damn well Boromir would try to re-seize the initiative in a sneakier manner later on in their fumblings.

The Gondorian finally and reluctantly released Aragorn, and pulled him slightly towards the bed.

“Come on. We’ll have time,” Green eyes implored him in a manner the ranger knew he could never resist. “After that I’ll tell you everything you could possibly want to know about Faramir,”

The very world froze. The older man finally managed to speak through his rapidly dried throat.

“Faramir?” he croaked.

And suddenly Aragorn found the strong motivation he had been dreading.

He was aware of Haldir’s eyes on him as soon as he walked into the chamber. Faramir carefully put the clothing down, allowing the elf time to assess him, before standing up again and looking towards him.

“Well,” Haldir’s voice was warmer than usual. “You appear to scrub up well,”

Faramir gave a wary smile that was only partially created. He took a few steps away from the pile of clothes he had purposefully put near the rug, trying to put caution and shyness into each movement he made. Haldir’s eyes were clearly on his body, which gave him some confidence.

“You want me to please you?” Faramir’s voice was soft. Haldir raised an eyebrow.

“On my terms,” the elf said, equally steady, a cool aloofness to him. Faramir began to fear he had read him incorrectly, until the elf’s gaze flickered across him again. Feeling confidence grow, the ranger took the last few steps towards him and began to sink to his knees before Haldir stopped him and pulled him back up. His mouth found the elf’s so incredibly easily, Faramir smiling inwardly as Haldir reacted to him.

Haldir himself had anticipated the kiss before Faramir had even left the bathroom. The state the young man had wandered into the room had left no question as to the young man’s desires, the hair darkened and slicked back from the water, moisture still clinging to the young man’s limbs. Oh yes, the offer was quite expected.

What he hadn’t expected was the sheer life of the man, the taste of him somehow completely untamed. As he let himself explore the man’s mouth, he could feel Faramir fighting his own side, not allowing Haldir complete domination. The elf had already pressed himself to the ranger, feeling the heat of the young man against the palms of his hands, the moisture on Faramir’s body a soon distant memory. Haldir realised he was almost being used as a towel. The kiss was made by no amateur either. Despite Faramir’s tremblings, the man was obviously used to a romantic situation, his head angled carefully, his tongue gently probing.

Haldir pulled the ranger closer, his hands exploring over tight strong muscles. He could feel Faramir shiver against him, could feel the familiar heat of excitement from both of them. Haldir ran his fingers over the raised scars of Faramir’s back, feeling the man shudder against him but refusing to break the kiss with stubborn determination.

Haldir finally pulled away, conscious how flustered he was feeling although he kept his expression under tight control. He smiled at the slightly confused expression on the young man’s face, recognising the faint touches of fear.

“I’m curious,” he said softly. “What did you plan to do now?”

Faramir stared at him, then dropped his eyes, shaking his head. Haldir chuckled to himself and put his finger underneath Faramir’s chin, lifting the young man’s head and gently pressing his lips to the ranger’s briefly.

“So coy,” he murmured.

Faramir didn’t say anything as Haldir led him further into the room, although halted suddenly as he realised exactly where the elf was leading him. Of course, the cell was the only room with what appeared to be a bed. Haldir looked back at him, frowning, then shook his head, mistaking Faramir’s concern.

“It’s okay, young one. You have done nothing wrong,”

Faramir still refused to move. Haldir narrowed his eyes in assessment.

“Could I not pleasure you out here?” Sorrowful blue-green eyes turned to the elf imploringly, although the words almost seemed blurted out. Haldir hesitated, not so much from caution of Faramir but of whoever would walk through the door. However, the ranger’s anxiety did seem much stronger; he was almost shifting from foot to foot in his concern.

Haldir considered the matter thoughtfully, enjoying making the young man squirm under his eyes. He let his gaze drift across the young firm body thoughtfully, so different to the others he had bedded. Compared to the elves, even the fine downy hair on his chest seemed exotic and somehow dangerous. And young, ah yes, so very young, a mind not even reaching the very beginnings of experience. And yet.

The elf shook himself mentally. It was one thing to be fascinated. It was quite another to be obsessed.

“As you wish.” The elf purred gently, deciding that it was probably easiest to allow the young man his choice of venue. After all, he might have some experience of his own sex but still nothing to compare to an elf’s demands. Faramir bowed slightly, the little outward breath of relief not created, and turned to make his way back to the rug and the area he had chosen. He knew that the elf’s eyes were on him as he walked, no doubt noting the few scars that marred the smooth skin of his hindquarters.

Haldir watched him idly, wondering whether Boromir bore similar injuries to his brother. The whip marks on Faramir’s behind looked lighter than his back, but no less vivid against the skin. As Faramir reached the rug and carefully sat down, the young man glanced towards him again, no doubt wondering why he was waiting. The ranger leant back slightly, resting on his hands, watching Haldir with what was unmistakable challenge in those sea-flecked eyes.

Faramir waited, tense, anticipating, as though in the middle of a hunt. He controlled his breathing carefully, feeling the usual thrill of the chase race through his veins. His hand itched to drift under the pile of clothes towards the makeshift weapon, but he forced himself to wait. Patience was the key. After all, with patience a hunter did not need to hunt down his prey.

The prey would come to him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” A figure detached himself from the shadows of the gardens, moving towards the she-elf who had been walking towards the main buildings. Arwen cursed her preoccupied mind, and turned to face her betrothed, keeping her expression neutral although she feared that the curt clipped tones might still be present in her voice. Now was not a good time to play happy families, especially as she had a sneaking suspicion the topic was going to be about the pet.

Boromir’s presence was beginning to become taxing and slightly dangerous. She had never believed that Aragorn would have fallen for some mere soldier, even if said soldier was of Denethor’s bloodline. Obviously she had underestimated sheer physical desire.

“Aragorn. I expected you to be with him.” Arwen shrugged lightly. “It is of no matter. You have me now,” She narrowed her eyes slightly, assessing Aragorn’s expression. “What is it?”

Aragorn stepped forward slowly. “What is it?” he echoed dangerously. “You kidnap someone and you ask what concerns me?” He took another few steps, completely ridding himself of the cloak the shadows afforded him. Hurt was etched over his face. Arwen stilled briefly, assessing how much information her betrothed was likely to know.

“Kidnapped someone?” her eyes scanned his, with a surprised yet tender expression behind them. “My love! What is this that you speak of? Who is this person that you accuse me of kidnapping?”

The ranger, however, was not to be fooled with expressions and sweet words. “You are well aware of whom I speak. Lord Faramir, younger son of the Steward of Gondor.”

Arwen gazed at him. “And you believe that I have done this?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Despite my being in Rivendell for the past five months?” Arwen watched the expression as the hesitancy was inserted. Ah! Not quite as knowledgeable as he made out. “My efficiency obviously knows no bounds,”

“You had help,” Aragorn managed to hide his uncertainty in his voice, but Arwen could see it so clearly in his eyes.

“Oh! I see. Yes, that would make sense,” she pondered. “Who would that be, my love?” She watched him carefully as he struggled with his answer. No, Aragorn’s knowledge appeared to be on guesswork and possibly a tiny amount of fact that might have come into his possession. However, it was disturbing that he had come up with such a theory in the first place. It had to be Boromir. Obviously she had underestimated the Gondorian’s ability to keep his mouth shut.

“It does not matter who,” Aragorn growled. “Where is he?”

Arwen looked at him, noting the way his eyes wavered slightly as she held the stern gaze. “Surely you should be demanding the reason first?” she queried. “What would I do or want with the younger son of Lord Denethor?”

Aragorn snorted with laughter. “Gondor. What else? You have been trying to get me there since the very first time we were together,”

“A little harsh,” And she found she was hurt by his assumptions. True, Gondor had been very close to her heart. However, to believe that was the sole reason for their union was distressing at best. “I cannot deny that I believe that your true potential will only be realised at Gondor, where you will no longer be overshadowed by the twins. However, this is done with your best interests at heart.”

“The twins. They were the ones who helped,” Aragorn’s expression grew stony. Arwen allowed a genuine look of amusement cross her face.

“You believe Elrohir or Elladan would do anything of that nature to assist me? If you’re going to make wild assumptions Aragorn, please have the common curtsey of applying your mind,” The accusation still stung.

However, Aragorn was barely listening, having considered something further.

“How long has Boromir been doing as you say?” he asked slowly, his eyes turned to her in almost an appeal against the thought that he had just had. Arwen was about to respond when Aragorn grabbed hold of her arm, and not gently. She stared at him, genuinely surprised.

“Boromir has never listened to a word I -” she trailed off as the hand tightened. She stared at him incredulously, a hint of anger flickering in her gaze.

“How.” snarled Aragorn. “Long?” Anger and upset were clear on his face. “I know you have his brother, Arwen. Don’t treat me for any more of a fool than you already have.”

Arwen watched him impassively. Aragorn growled in his throat.

“Fine,” he snapped. “we shall simply see how Lord Elrond wishes to deal with this matter,”

For the first time in the conversation Arwen’s eyes flickered an emotion.

“My father does not have to be concerned with your little fancies,” she said finally. Aragorn shook his head.

“I rather think that he does,”

“You have no evidence,” Arwen scanned his eyes. “Whereas I could easily find a reason for such an accusation,”

“What?” Aragorn frowned.

“Boromir’s very presence in your bed,”

They stared at each other carefully. Aragorn released her arm, watching her as she delicately de-creased the fabric to hide any indication of the treatment, her eyes still steady on him.

“Boromir would confirm your activities in his brother’s kidnap,” lied Aragorn finally. Arwen shrugged slightly.

“I would assume nothing less from a good lover,”

There was another long pause. Aragorn shook his head finally, and glared out at the gardens before turning his gaze back onto the she elf in front of him.

“I just want Faramir. Give him to me and… I’ll forget the whole matter of your betrayal,”

Arwen was taken aback by this, forgetting even to be affronted by the accusation of betrayal. “Forget the entire matter?” she echoed softly.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Aragorn said steadily. “Just give him back.”

Arwen scanned him, cautiously. Aragorn’s distress for the young ranger had not been expected, although certainly she had envisaged some type of concern. “Why do you care so much about his welfare?” she asked slowly.

“He’s the younger son of my Steward. Relationships would no doubt be frayed should any harm come to him.” Aragorn’s gaze was firm, his voice radiating his certainty.

“Your steward?” Arwen stressed the first word, her eyes interested in the implications. Aragorn nodded shortly.

“Do we have a deal?”

Arwen smiled. “I rather think that we do.” She watched him turn to leave and smiled to herself again. “Oh, and Aragorn?”

“What?” he glanced over his shoulder. Arwen cocked her head to one side.

“Isn’t it nice doing something as a couple?”

Had ever anything been quite such a bad idea? mused Haldir as he walked towards the Gondorian, who was watching him with badly hidden cautiousness and excitement. The young ranger had deliberately moved himself into a position where he was not hidden from Haldir’s eyes in the slightest, still seemingly trying to convince the elf of his worth and qualities. The elf smiled to himself as he looked down at the human, then gracefully knelt beside him, running a hand through the still damp hair.

Faramir stared at him mutely, allowing himself to be petted and allowing himself to be drawn into a long lingering kiss. He had already felt himself stir at the elf’s previous touches, apparently his body not having a difficulty with sleeping with his captor, the light throbbing he already felt grow as Haldir grew more demanding, his hands sliding over Faramir’s body as the elf adjusted his own position to lie next to the young man. The elf’s clothing was an odd contrasting texture against his skin. He watched, wide eyed, as Haldir stripped himself of his tunic and pushed the young man back to be able to straddle him, the elf’s eyes inches away from the human’s.

“So you’re going to behave for me, hmmm?” the elf smiled at him, and gently kissed him again. Faramir parted his lips at the insistent tongue, closing his eyes slowly as the elf explored the ranger’s mouth even further. Faramir allowed this invasion without murmur, or even complaint. It had been some time since he had felt the gentle hands of a lover on his body, rather than the quick fast rutting that was so often the main form of love he had at Gondor. It was a novel experience to be in comfort, in the warmth, feeling another person’s attentions unhurried and, for the most part, uncontrolled by himself.

He felt the elf lift off him from behind his closed lids, then finally be replaced by a naked body, so incredibly smooth against him. Skin like silk, Haldir moved himself over Faramir, rubbing, causing the young man to gasp softly as their erections met. Faramir moaned in the back of his throat as warm kisses trailed down his neck and onto his chest, hands stroking down his flanks, occasionally lightly running nails down his increasingly sensitive skin to provide a contrast.

“Good boy,” he heard Haldir murmur in genuine approval that had been so often absence in either his relationships or childhood. Faramir squirmed under the elf’s caresses, firstly created solely to increase the elf’s desire. However, this soon changed to one of absolute need as Haldir continued to caress and kiss him, playing with his nipples, hands sliding over hips and what area of his buttocks he could reach, completely ignoring the area that burnt to be touched. The ranger whimpered his frustrations, bucking against the elf trying to obtain at least a little friction. However, Haldir was wise to all of his moves, carelessly denying the young ranger any relief.

“Patience,” the elf admonished the man. Faramir fought against the growl in his throat.

Haldir seemed to be completely absorbed in his thorough investigation of the young man. Faramir fought against his natural responses and lay as passively as he could as hands slid up his inner thighs, parting once again to ensure that his arousal was never touched, before continuing up the ranger’s sides, feeling the muscles contract under his gentle touch. And it was becoming extremely difficult to concentrate; Faramir’s breath was already uneven, his eyes still half closed, the occasional moan whenever sensitive areas were reached.

The elf seemed in no hurry, and then, why should he? He was in control, or so he thought. With their immortality, elves did not need to rush anything, knowing that they could always come back to it at a later stage. Faramir grasped onto his control, his willpower, and forced himself to concentrate. Haldir was the enemy. He couldn’t think of him in any other way, he told himself fiercely.

A quick glance told him that the elf was still concentrating himself, although it was clear that Haldir was as aroused as he was. He could feel the gentle tremble of the elf through his body, kept in check no doubt by Haldir’s control. Faramir considered his options, and the likihood that he would be in complete control over mind and body should he allow it to continue.

Haldir continued to stroke and caress the young man, enjoying the little bucks against him, the look of concentration that flashed over Faramir’s face as he stifled any moans or encouragement. Despite all the young man’s best intentions, he was still being controlled through his senses, his body squirming underneath his own from the attention that the elf gave him. Haldir had not missed the frustrated look that had crossed Faramir’s face when the elf deliberately ignored the area the ranger so obviously desperately wanted him to touch. He had never seen anything quite so erotic, in a filthy desperate sort of way.

The human was still shifting underneath him, his hands now thrown above his head, his eyes shutting once more. Haldir smiled to himself and bent down to take the young man’s nipple in his mouth, encouraging the little moans and gasps as he put neat even teeth to work. His eyes flickered towards Faramir, who had managed to reopen his eyes and was now watching him with an unreadable expression, his eyes almost dark in the light of the room.

The sudden flash of silver out of the corner of his eyes suddenly caused everything to be reassessed. Haldir immediately pushed himself backwards, his arm striking out swiftly to block Faramir’s swing. The sharp point of the scissors missed the area they were aiming for, but sliced across Haldir’s arm, causing blood to weal almost immediately. The elf ignored it and managed to grasp hold of Faramir’s arm, his body weight firmly on the human.

However, Faramir was not giving up. With a snarl, the young ranger put his entire strength into regaining the upper hand, throwing everything he had into throwing the elf off him. His hand still held the scissors tightly, his eyes issuing forth the challenge. Haldir cursed himself for being put off guard and fought back against the young man, who had obviously hidden the majority of his strength from their previous encounters. He had to dodge back as Faramir sliced towards his chest, shifting the weight and allowing Faramir to roll them over with a violent shove of his body. Cold floor pressed against the heat of Haldir’s back as they rolled off the rug, the elf staring impassively towards the young ranger as they fought. Only sheer fury showed in Faramir’s eyes.

Faramir’s satisfaction in his achievement flickered dramatically as Haldir managed to seize hold of his arm, fingers like mithril tightening painfully over his wrist. Faramir tried to break free, pulling backwards, but Haldir was grim dedication towards his task. His grip never faltered, not even when Faramir backhanded him in the face as hard as he could with his other hand. The elf grabbed hold of Faramir’s left shoulder and put his own full weight into rolling them back, twisting Faramir’s wrist sharply with his hand as he did so. Unexpected pain flooded Faramir’s arm, the young man crying out. In contrast, the elf said nothing, just pinned him down with solemn efficiency.

The ranger had not dropped his weapon, despite the elf almost breaking his arm. Once Haldir felt he was in a much more secure position, he slammed Faramir’s arm against a nearby chair leg hard, keeping the twist in the arm, his eyes steady on the ranger.

“Drop it,” he said in a low voice. Faramir refused to do so, his teeth gritted against the agonising pain, knowing should he do so his only advantage would be taken from him. To go so far and to give up… no, he could not do that.

Haldir slammed the arm against the chair again, harder, feeling Faramir’s struggles against his weight lessen as the pain in his arm took up most of the young man’s concentration.

Still he did not let go of the weapon.

The elf dodged out of the way of a hastily aimed blow, his hand never slipping. Faramir desperately grabbed hold of the elf’s hand, but Haldir managed to force him back onto the floor, tightening his grip on the now injured arm even further. Faramir let out an agonised groan.

“Drop. It.” repeated the elf sternly, his eyes fixed on Faramir. A bead of sweat rolled down the young man’s face, the strain and discomfort showing only too clearly. And still the man did not let go. Haldir growled inwardly. He was already on the point of breaking the arm. Any further pressure and the young man was almost certainly going to pass out, the human’s level of endurance so much lower than any elf’s. However, grim determination and sheer force of will caused the human to battle on.

“You cannot win. Let it go,” Haldir tried again, his voice a growl, his eyes fixed on Faramir, preparing to break it if he had to. The ranger finally stared at him, defeat and sorrow showing in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, shook his head sadly, the familiar sad blue-green stare looking back at him. There was a clatter as the scissors dropped to the stone floor.

Haldir stared at the young man further, his grip lessening. Defeat and pain stared at back at him, the elf feeling the young man’s muscles loosen under him. Haldir dropped hold of the injured wrist and went to seize the scissors. Faramir immediately put his whole weight into shoving against the elf, managing to roll him off. A strong and extremely painful kick connected to Haldir’s midriff, shoving him back further, Haldir’s grip on the scissors never failing.

Faramir scrambled to his feet, breaking for the door. Haldir kicked out, hitting Faramir hard on the left shin, causing the young man to stumble. Haldir righted himself immediately, grabbing hold of the ranger’s arm and completely ridding Faramir of his balance. The young man crashed to the floor, an agonised cry as his injured arm took the brunt of the fall. Haldir put his knee in the small of the ranger’s back, the scissors against Faramir’s throat. Scissors! What a crude and completely idiotic weapon, although at least they were sharp. Haldir could feel the blood flowing down his own arm from Faramir’s strike.

The ranger had completely stopped, although Haldir could feel the young man breathing heavily underneath him, almost gasp-sobs. By the heaviness of the fall, the arm could well now be broken, and broken badly. Haldir waited for another few moments. Drops of his own blood fell on the golden back of the young man from the cut.

“If you fight me again, I will kill you,” the elf said in a low voice. “Do you understand?”

Faramir didn’t say anything. Haldir shoved his knee hard into Faramir’s back, feeling the young man’s immediate jerk in response, a hiss of pain escaping.

“Do you understand?” repeated the elf.

“Yes,” Soft, muffled.

Haldir sighed to himself, and moved off the ranger, pulling him up by a shoulder as he did so. Faramir stumbled slightly, finally getting unsteadily to his feet, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. The arm was already turning a light shade of purple from wrist to elbow, the ranger obviously favouring it. A cut had opened above Faramir’s right eye from the fall, a small amount of blood trickling down the young man’s face.

All in all, the elf had been on more successful relationships.

The elf shoved Faramir towards his original cell, cautious for any further retaliations. However, it was clear that the young man could no longer ignore the pain in his right arm, although he had not yet bothered to glance at it. Faramir slumped onto the bed in his cell and watched dispassionately as Haldir reaffixed the chain to his ankle.

“I should chain you up properly,” Haldir’s voice was low and accusing. There was nothing from the ranger, who just waited for the elf to do whatever he was going to do, head slightly bowed. A drop of blood fell onto the bedding from the cut on his face.

Haldir stalked away only to return a few moments later, full dressed, with the remains of Faramir’s clothing in his arms. Faramir caught the material with his left hand as Haldir threw it at him.

“I should have know better than to have assumed Men would be able to behave,” the elf snapped before leaving and slamming the door shut, leaving Faramir alone.

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