Faramir Fiction Archive

The Price (R)

Written by Minx

28 February 2003 | 34809 words

Chapter 5

Haldir hurried behind the servant wondering what the motive behind such an urgent summons could be. He had a feeling, nay, he knew, it had something to do with the heightened activity outside. The number of torches he’d seen being lit far outnumbered the norm on any given day. And his heightened uneasiness did not help matters either. He did not want to leave Faramir alone, but the missive the servant had brought along to add weight to his words was worded urgently. And Faramir would be safe here, he felt. After all, from what he’d seen of this wing, no one ever came here, and Faramir’s was the only room.

But he still felt worried for the young man. He decided it was because of the state he’d seen him in. Faramir was seemingly on the verge of physical and mental collapse if not already there.

Poor lad, he thought to himself, it must be difficult for him when Boromir is not around. No wonder he prefers to spend his time in the library, even books can be better friends than stone walls, and the distance of a father.

The handsome young face floated back into his vision just then, a face shorn of the ugly bruises that covered it, a face lively and animated and grey eyes that reflected joy and content, and not as he had just seen, pain, sorrow, fear, and loneliness. The last he had seen vanish each time the soulful grey eyes had rested on Boromir.

“Does Lord Faramir stay alone in this wing?” he asked the servant.

The servant nodded grimly, as most did when they sensed questions about the younger son of the house that could only bring about uneasy silences and hedged words.

“Sometimes, if there are many guests, such as now, then some of the rooms are opened.”

Haldir shrugged slightly, he thought he’d seen one of the rooms open the day before, but by now they were at the hall, and the general aura of confusion there soon took over his senses pushing everything to the background.

“What is the matter?” he asked a worried looking Boromir who stood some distance away from the melee of people all trying to talk at the same time, servants, guards, soldiers. Denethor’s study door was shut, and Denethor himself was nowhere to be seen.

Boromir grabbed Haldir by the arm and led him further away from the crowd, “Faramir?” he asked.

“He is all right, nearly asleep, but wishes you visit him when your work here is over.”

“I wished to stay with him tonight,” Boromir said grimly, “but this will take awhile. Oh, friend, great problems have arisen.”

“What is the matter?” Haldir asked again, knowing that Boromir had left merely to get some herbs for Faramir’s comfort and would never have tarried returning to his ailing brother’s bedside where he was sorely needed, unless it were a really serious matter.

“It seems Fenekor’s aide, Lieutenant Dorec was found killed,” Boromir replied, running a hand through his dark hair, weary grey eyes clearly filled with worry, “And we know not who the perpetrator is. And worse is that Fenekor thinks the knife used was meant for him for he had sent Dorec off towards his camp in his place at the last minute, and Dorec was found dead in the stables. And he has the gall to imply Faramir might have tried something. Can you think that? Boromir’s voice rose in anger here, “Thankfully, father assured him there has been someone with Faramir all day, and he has been too ill to move from his room.”

Haldir took a deep breath, “This is terrible news, what is to be done now?”

“I do not know. Fenekor awaits in the study. Father will be here shortly; he is speaking to his generals. Haldir, we fear greatly now. Even if Fenekor has rebellious tendencies, a death of one of their lieutenants can be an invitation for attack. I am sure it is the work of their spies. They will now have killed two birds with one stone. Killed a rebel and found an excuse to attack our defenses.”

Haldir was about to reply when Denethor strode around the corner, beckoning to Boromir to follow him as he did so.

Boromir tugged Haldir along though the elf was sure Denethor would not like him around, but the steward barely seemed to notice his presence as he flung his study door open and stood on the threshold nonplussed. For the study was obviously empty. They entered it, and looked around once again.

Boromir, yelled out to a servant, asking him if he had seen the Harad captain to be told the man had just walked out of there some ten minutes ago, towards the wing his rooms were in.

“And where is his room?” Boromir asked.

“The outer wing,” he was told.

“He was last seen heading towards his room in the outer wing,” Boromir re-entered the study and told his father, and then stopped struck, “But that is Faramir’s wing. You placed him in Faramir’s wing?”

Receiving no response from his father, he continued, icily, “How convenient!” And then dashed out of the study, with Haldir following him.

“Move Faramir to your rooms tonight,” Denethor called out to the retreating back of his elder son.

The two friends raced through the long hallways and winding staircases to the far reaches of the citadel. When they reached their object it was to found that their deepest unspoken fear had come true. Faramir’s room was empty, the only signs that anyone had been there all day, were the rumpled sheets lying on the bed and floor.

Fenekor urged his horse forward, the prone body of the young man lying in front of him, dressed only in a thin long tunic, that flapped up and down in the wind, revealing pale skin underneath, and adding to his arousal. He gave a feral grunt each time the tunic rode up a little more, hands often itching to leave the reins of his steed, and stroke the exposed upper thighs, moving further upwards… His destination was thankfully nearing, and he could hardly wait to continue where he’d left off with the steward’s younger son.

Boromir dashed out of the hallways running around wildly before Haldir stretched out an arm and stopped him gently.

“We will ask the servants,” he told him quietly trying to calm down the panicking man. A search of Fenekor’s rooms had revealed no one inside and Boromir had panicked thinking Faramir could be anywhere now.

“He would not leave towards the more crowded part of the citadel, it would be too conspicuous to carry out the steward’s son, is there a lesser known way out of that wing?”

“Yes,” Boromir breathed sharply, “It leads down to the stables.”

And then he was racing down to the stables, the elf at his footsteps.

The stables were in uproar, given the events of the day, but quick inquiries revealed that one of the urchins playing outside a side exit had seen someone resembling Fenekor ride out, with some kind of a long bundle in his arms. He had of course headed out of the city, towards a long out of use track that went across the Pelennor, over the Anduin and hit Harad Road.

“We do not use that track anymore, we have better routes now,” Boromir muttered, “Why would he use that trail then to head back to his camp, near Harad?”

“Maybe he has a hideout there?” Haldir suggested, “but if so, surely you would know?”

“Nay, not a hideout, although old buildings are many, but in ruins.”

“We will have to ride out then. He must have thought we would follow him along the usual route, and taken this path instead.” Haldir said.

“You will come with me then?” Boromir asked eagerly, and Haldir nodded seriously. He did not like where this was heading. His heart filled with worry for Faramir. His predicament was unenviable.

“Should you not take more men along?”

Boromir paused and then shook his head, “We can ill-afford to tarry longer and he is a lone man. But I will send a message to father, let us leave immediately.”

They were soon on their way, racing through the old disused pathway, searching for signs of their quarry, and his precious baggage. Haldir’s keen eyesight could track them even in the low light. They had ridden long and hard when Haldir began stopping irresolutely.

“Their tracks have vanished,” he said worriedly, “I noticed sometime back but thought I may have missed something, but now I am sure. They have not come this way, we must turn back and search for signs of their having left the track.”

Reaching the point where the tracks left the trail, Haldir finally found a set of tracks going through dense bushes towards a highly overgrown area.

“Is there anything here?” he asked Boromir frowning.

“Once, many score years ago, a village, all that is left of it is their old inn,” Boromir said, puzzled, “Fenekor may have stopped for rest.”

“Aye, let us go there.”

Faramir awoke slowly to the sound of a soft voice in his ear, his head feeling cloudy, a distant memory of pain, and a closer memory of a sweet elvish lilt. But then as he regained his senses he realised the soft voice in his ear was actually a coarse low voice that was mocking him. His eyes flew open and met the dark eyes that had been haunting his nightmares ever since he’d first seen them. Gasping he tried to sit up, but found himself held down by strong hands, hands that held him tightly in place bruising him. He was lying naked on a hard stone bench and all was dark around him, except for a small glimmer of light from afar, barely enough to help him make out the features of the one leaning over him. His hands were manacled by steel chains attached to the stone wall. Pain flooded back into his sense and when he gasped again, his voice was edged with it. He tugged desperately at his manacled hands, but found himself unable to budge, and his tired muscles protested at the smallest movement. His legs were free but felt leaden, and pain shot through his right ankle when he tried to move his foot.

“Does it hurt, beautiful one?” Fenekor mocked, and grasped him even tighter, burying his fingers into the soft pliant flesh underneath, “So young, so soft,” he murmured letting go of one shoulder, and tracing rough callused hands over the flesh of the chest and stomach.

Faramir wriggled panic-stricken as the hand traced circles around his bruised stomach. A finger was run lightly, almost lovingly over one of the welts, and he realised his bandages had been removed leaving his wounds exposed, raw, angry and red. Pain clouded his senses again as Fenekor deliberately pressed the finger down on one of the marks. Then the hand began moving again, running over the abused body causing the young man to squirm in pain. Tears were lining Faramir’s eyes now, and Fenekor soon brought his hand towards his crotch.

“So beautiful,” Fenekor said silkily, parting Faramir’s legs, causing him to catch his breath.

He parted the legs even further, and lightly began to finger Faramir’s entrance, pressing his fingers down upon the torn flesh, causing more pain.

“What does the elf do in return for your services,” he asked, his fingers still circling the skin near the entrance.

Faramir stared back, pain and confusion riddling his senses. Fenekor removed his finger and leant forward to stroke Faramir’s face instead, once again fingering the livid bruises.

“Tell me, what does the elf do in return?”

“Elf?” Faramir managed to rasp out confused. Fenekor lowered his hand and began fingering Faramir’s entrance again.

“Yes, my little pretty one, the elf, I saw him in your room, and for so long, and such a delicate blush on his face when he left. What does he give in return for your body, my little whore?”

Faramir gasped harshly, shaking his head, “No, he never—”

Fenekor simply plunged his finger into Faramir mercilessly, causing him to scream in pain. He twisted it further in ruthlessly.

“And you were smiling in your sleep. So you like it when he makes love to you, but not when I do, is it? Whore!” One more thrust, and a tiny trickle of blood began to seep out as healing muscles were torn yet again.

He pulled out his finger and slapped Faramir across the face. The younger man moaned in pain, “Did you tell him you lost your virginity to me, my filthy little prostitute?”

Faramir was sobbing openly now. Fenekor slapped him again.

“You are mine you hear,” he said softly, “all mine!” Kneeling between Faramir’s legs, he ran rough hands over his thighs, kneading them ruthlessly, “I will take you with me wherever I go, and you will satisfy my needs.”

Faramir cried out in pain as Fenekor’s hands continued their violent manhandling, “And if I find you with anyone else without my leave, I will thrash you like I am going to do now.”

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, for Faramir had long since shut his grey orbs tight from pain and fear. They flew open now, scared by the anger in the captain’s voice.

“Look at me,” he commanded, “I want to see what goes in your eyes, when I take you. Perhaps when we return to my camp, I will let my men take you one by one, and watch. You look so nice when you scream like that.“

“Why?” Faramir managed to rasp out, as the hand began to pinch and knead the sensitive flesh around his upper thighs, causing him to gasp harshly. He could feel himself getting aroused purely from the pain despite his unwillingness, and it only made him sob louder.

“Why? Why? You ask why? After seductively swinging past men who have ridden hard and fast for the last many weeks, with none to satisfy them, you ask why? Did you not see the lust in the eyes of all around when you first entered your citadel, my pretty? Even the elves were taken in by the sight of your hips swinging off your horse.”

“And such a smooth face, and then your shirt hanging open displaying your chest to all who wished to see it, and your waist as pretty and slim as a young girl’s. And your voice, so soft, so gentle. And your hands, such long beautiful fingers, how does their touch feel, they wonder. Aye, such a comely youth you look, so young, so innocent– just asking to be deflowered. To sleep with a pretty young virgin is a conquest indeed for us battle-hardened men.”

The finger probed near his now defiled entrance again, drawing out more blood, “Yes, it is such a conquest, to take for the first time.”

“And such submissiveness. Tell me, my pretty, do you never stand up for yourself? Do you never go against your father’s word? Tell me,” came the mocking voice slowly, softly filling the unhappy youth’s voice with all the words he wished not to hear, “How does it feel to be asked by your own father to give your body in to me?”

Once again, his shaft was gripped by the rough hands and squeezed. Nails dug into the skin, sending a mixture of pain and unwanted ecstasy through the writhing body. He flailed his legs trying to kick out, but that only earned him more violent slaps.

Fenekor’s temper grew progressively foul, as Faramir continued to writhe in pain under him, eyes half-lidded.

“I said keep your eyes open!” another slap across his face. He could feel his lips swelling from the blows. And he wished and wished for consciousness to forsake him, as Fenekor began telling him what he planned to do to him, and how many men he would set on him when they reached his camp, all the while either twisting his inflamed shaft ruthlessly, hurting him even more or running roughs hands all over his bruised aching body, pinching and scratching.

He did not know which was worse, the words or the blows, both hit him hard. Especially when talk kept going back to his father. Faramir kept telling himself through the clouds of pain, that his father had been forced into a decision, that he did what he did out of concern for a greater good- the good of Gondor. They expected soldiers to sacrifice their lives for the land; surely what he had been asked was a small price to pay. If by demeaning himself like this he was helping his land, so be it. But it hurt, it hurt so much. He was still young and relatively inexperienced in the ways of the world, being the younger and neglected son of the steward, and such a brutal introduction was not what he had expected. And Fenekor kept talking of what he would do, and it scared him, so much.

The narration was interrupted by a loud crash from somewhere in the distance. Fenekor cursed and got up indecisively, reaching for his weapons from near a small staircase that Faramir noticed for the first time.

Boromir barged into the inn swinging aside the rotting wooden door, leading into the crumbling structure, to find it completely empty. Having seen tracks of a horse nearby, they had been sure, Fenekor was using this as his hideout.

“They are not here,” he raged, having quickly gone through the crumbling building. Picking up a huge earthen pot that seemed wondrously to have withstood the travails of time, he flung it at the wall, where it landed with a resounding crash before smashing into fragments.

“They are here,” Haldir cautioned, “I see sign of someone, and they lead – would there not be a cellar here?” he asked pointing towards an iron door Boromir had noticed. Before he could stop him, the distraught man had rushed at the door. It flew open, and he suddenly found himself falling through air.

Steps his mind told him as he rolled down bumping himself all the way, cursing his thoughtlessness and lack of caution.

He reached the bottom with a resounding thud, dazed and aching all over. But the moment he made to stand up, he felt something crash down on his head and all was darkness, as a voice cried out in distress, Faramir, followed by a shout of alarm – Haldir.

Haldir raced after his falling friend, down the stairs stopping midway when he saw the hilt of Fenekor’s sword come down on the fallen man. Faramir cried out, and then Fenekor readied to plunge the blade in, and he found himself screaming too.

The Haradrim looked up, eyes gleaming as he beheld the elf in the faint light pouring out of a small lamp in the far corner.

“Welcome master elf,” he said mockingly, “If you would just leave your weapons and walk down, I might spare your friends.”

Haldir had no choice but to obey.

When he reached the bottom, Fenekor grabbed him painfully by his hair and pushed him where Faramir lay. The elf fell heavily onto the bare front of the young man causing him to cry out in pain. Haldir raised his eyes and looked into the suffering face of his young friend, his heart wrenching at the sight.

“Faramir,” he whispered, horrified.

“You elf!” Fenekor shouted, grabbing Haldir by his tunic, “I saw you come out of his room at night. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Haldir simply gaped at him. Fenekor stared down at his captive and then slapped Faramir with his free hand. Haldir struggled angrily, “Stop it, leave him be!”

“Why? So you can have him again. Nay, master elf, he is mine. To have him, you need my permission.”

“Leave him be,” Haldir repeated angrily.

“Such love,” Fenekor mocked him, “How does he feel? Was he under or were you?”

“I did no such thing!” Haldir shouted, his face turning red as he realised that he might actually have liked to do it.

“Is he not delightfully tight? I have taken him thrice already,” Fenekor added conversationally, “And twice in the same morning. He is always tight. Tight as a virgin!” he laughed. On the bench Faramir’s distress continued. He pulled at the chain, and then howled in pain as Fenekor suddenly brought his fist crashing down on his crotch.

“Stop it,” Haldir screamed fighting at pushing Fenekor away.

“Take him now!” Fenekor ordered, “I want to watch what it is you do that he smiles so when he beholds you.”

“No!” Haldir shouted.

“Take him now or I will kill master Boromir,” Fenekor said pleasantly.

Faramir cried again. Haldir stood rooted to his spot in disgust and anger. Fenekor pulled out his knife and going to Boromir’s semi-conscious body, yanked his head back and poised a sharp knife over the vein in the exposed neck.

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