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The Price (R) Print

Written by Minx

28 February 2003 | 34809 words

Pairing: Faramir/OMC, Haldir
Rating: R
Disclaimer: LOTR and all its characters belong to Tolkien
Archiving: Drop me a line be do
Warnings: Violence, Slash
Summary: A break away captain from Harad brokers a deal with Denethor, and convinces him that giving him his desire for a week is a small price to pay for Gondor’s good. And it falls to the lot of Boromir and Haldir to help Faramir out. AU elements.
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Chapter 1

“Welcome home, my friend,” Boromir turned around at the sound of a familiar voice, and his tired but pleasing countenance wreathed in smiles when he noticed the tall, blond figure who had greeted him as he headed towards his room.

“Haldir! It is good to see you! It has been so long!” he exclaimed heartily shaking hands with his old acquaintance, taking in the elven features seemingly unchanged since the last time they had met ten years ago in Edoras at an archery meet.

“You have changed,” Haldir commented, as he pushed back his hood revealing the trademark ears of his kind.

“Ah, but it has been nearly a decade,” Boromir exclaimed, “Although you have not changed at all.”

“A decade is not a very long time for my kind,” Haldir said smiling.

“Aye, you are true there,” Boromir said, “but, where are my manners, do come inside,” he jerked open the door to his room, “are you here for the council?”

“Yes, I am here for the council as a representative of Lórien. But, you have just arrived, surely you have other things to do, spend time with your family?” Haldir said.

“I have met my father, but had to leave for he has an important envoy meeting him today,” Boromir said, “And my brother I have yet to meet, but he is sure to come around himself, and when he does he will be pleased to meet you. Unless you have already met him?” He smiled thinking that Faramir would surely jump to meet an elf that too one from the Golden Wood. He had been so excited to hear of Haldir when Boromir had returned from Edoras.

“Would you join me in a cup of wine?” he asked, “I hope you are comfortable here?”

“The Lord Steward’s hospitality has been impeccable,” Haldir replied, and then smiled, “He even sent someone to request me my needs for the night.”

“And did you tell him you had a preference for blonde young Rohirrim men?” Boromir asked grinning as he remembered how interested Haldir had been in one of the contestants at the tournament who unfortunately had not returned the interest preferring the company of blond young Rohirrim women.

Haldir smiled, “No, but I did refuse the request politely.”

Boromir suddenly looked up from his goblet of wine, “Haldir, you must be careful.”

Haldir cocked an eyebrow up quizzically.

“I saw whom my father is meeting today. A commander of a breakaway troop from Harad. They have, it seems, been speaking with my father a few days now, offering their services to Gondor.”

“And?”

“The commander of the troop – Captain Fenekor, I have heard of him. You remember in Rohan one day when we went out riding and came across that injured man from the Harad camp?”

Haldir nodded. He had been truly appalled at that sight, the man had been repeatedly assaulted physically and sexually and lay in a ditch. They had taken him to the healers but he had refused on awakening to name his attacker.

“I found out later that Fenekor was the attacker, and that he does this regularly. If he finds out you prefer men to women, Haldir… I am scared he may hurt you,” he breathed softly.

Haldir nodded grimly, “Do not fear for me, Boromir, I can look after myself. Now tell, me who is this diplomat’s wench I hear much about?”


Denethor glanced back at the huge man in front of him.

“Captain Fenekor, surely -?”

“No! If he spends the night with me, and I get to use him for my entire stay here, we have a deal, else I call all off!” Fenekor retorted crossing his arms across his ample chest, his thin lips seemingly smiling through his tick dark beard and moustache.

Denethor sighed, “And he is the one?”

“Aye.”

“Very well, come with me then,” Denethor rose and headed for the door, “I have given you rooms on the same wing as his, and the servants have been dismissed for the duration of your stay. You may do as you please, but if you do not mind my requesting it, use your room and not his.”

He opened the door, and passed on a message to one of the guards, and then led Fenekor out towards one of the wings in the far corner. He never came this way nowadays, for he had little work there.

They entered the room allocated to the captain.

“You will not regret this, Gondor has much to gain from my troop, and we know of every tactic every movement Harad will employ. And we know their strengths and their weaknesses. In return for that this is small price.”

“I do this for the sake of Gondor,” Denethor informed him.

“Is that why you object little?” Fenekor inquired.

Denethor gave him a cold look, and was about to reply, when a knock sounded on the door. He bade the arrival enter, and watched his guest’s reaction. He could read pure lust in those eyes.

“You called for me, sir?” the new voice interrupted his reverie and he turned to look into grey eyes, that looked puzzled, apprehensive and hopeful all at once. He made the necessary introductions and then addressed the dark haired new arrival, who nodded as he spoke.

“Captain Fenekor wished to meet you. You will give him all the help he wants.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain, I take your leave, Faramir will give you what you want.”

“I will take what I want, my lord steward,” came the smooth toned reply as Fenekor returned Denethor’s bow. He rose, and walking up to the slim young man, suddenly reached for his face.

“Faramir, is that your name?”

Faramir’s reaction was cut off for Fenekor had already closed his mouth on his even as Denethor stood at the doorway. Faramir pushed him away, roughly, and scowled at him, “How dare you?” he spluttered angrily.

“My lord steward, would you be so kind as to –” Fenekor began.

“Faramir, do as he says,” Denethor said.

“But sir, —”

“That is my order, Faramir.”

“Father —?” he pleaded anxiously, as out of the corner of his now tearing eyes, he saw Fenekor remove his belt and finger it meditatively.

“It is for the sake of Gondor, you must do as he says!” with that Denethor turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Fenekor reached for Faramir and grabbing him roughly began tearing off his shirt. Faramir struggled hard, screaming for his father all the while. Two hard slaps across his face stunned him into silence, until he stood completely naked in front of the Harad man, who drunk in the sight of the supple young body. He grabbed him by the arm, wrenching it badly in the process, and causing Faramir to cry out, and pushed him onto the large bed.

Faramir fell heavily and lay dazed for a few seconds unable to move. When he recovered his breath he raised himself up only to fall back as a thick leather belt came flying on his chest. He yelled in pain and shock, but by the time Fenekor was done all he could do was whimper softly. Then he was turned onto his stomach, and whipped across his back. When it was all done, he was in such pain, that everything else receded to the background.

Fenekor grabbed his hair and threw him onto the ground, where he kicked him repeatedly. But he never hit Faramir’s face.

He kept hitting the young man even as he undressed himself. He slapped a half dazed Faramir awake and paraded his huge well-muscled body in front of him, before giving him a bruising kiss. Throwing him back on the bed, Fenekor entered Faramir without warning or preamble. And smirked contentedly as he heard the screams.

Faramir screamed and screamed till he had no voice left. It hurt, it hurt so much, as the other’s shaft pounded mercilessly into him, tearing through him, sending trickles of blood down his legs.

Then a great weight lifted off him, and he felt someone turning him over and licking his neck and torso, “That was lovely darling,” a voice at his neck whispered, “We must do it again tomorrow, and the day after, and – ”

Faramir kept his eyes shut. Even when he was slipped into a long robe, and scooped up in Fenekor’s arms.

“Open your eyes,” Fenekor commanded, and Faramir instantly obeyed.

The thin lips closed in on his again.

When his gasping mouth was released, Fenekor leered down at him, and then carried him back to his own room. There he threw him onto his own bed, and then bent down over him as he lay there heaving. One hand reached out and went under his robe, lifting it up a long way. Fenekor continued smirking at his face.

Faramir felt the hand groping his groin area, and then suddenly he was being tickled there. He wriggled in protest. Fenekor finally stopped, and then smoothing the robe over him, bent and kissed him on his groin through the coarse fabric of the robe. Tears pricked his eyes suddenly as he realised all he’d been through. Fenekor leered at him once again and then walked out of the room.


“I wonder where Faramir is?” Boromir said aloud as he walked Haldir back to his room, a slight disappointment showing up in his voice.

“Does he not know you are coming today?” Haldir asked.

“He does, but I suspect he thinks I will be coming in much later, after meeting with father,” Boromir responded, “I think I shall go to his room, he must be there, will you not come? He will like to meet you.”

“Certainly.”

Boromir lead the long winding way through a number of hallways and staircases to the wing his brother’s chamber was in.

“This is some distance away from the great hall and yours and your father’s chambers,” Haldir commented.

Boromir simply nodded in reply.

Chapter 2

Faramir lay in his bed, covered to his chin in blankets as he felt a chill descend on him. He had with great difficulty managed to clean himself somewhat, get rid of the blood and apply some salves, but it was not enough for his mind to feel at rest. He had always assumed he would give his life for Gondor’s sake, but what he had given up now seemed worse. His eyes welled up as he remembered how his father had stridden out of Fenekor’s room with not even a look of remorse on his face.

Does he not care? Would he have been so heartless if it had been Boromir? Would he have given him up so easily?

He was so sore, he could barely move, he had nearly bent over in pain more than once while trying to clean himself, and had had to crawl back to his bed, where he now lay curled up on his side because in any other position it hurt. He felt he had as much strength as a half-drowned kitten. His entire body was covered in bruises and welts, and Fenekor had promised a tomorrow. He shuddered at the thought of it.

He tried to block out the incident from his mind, the indignity and pain of it. And the feeling of betrayal, which festered all the more so because his father had not even bothered to come and see how he was doing.

Oh, father what have you asked of me? His eyes burned but the tears refused to come. It had all happened so soon, he was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. Barely an hour and a half earlier, one of the servants had told him his father had summoned him.

He had been a little apprehensive for he had already met his father once since his return from a stint with the company of rangers at Ithilien. Denethor had been curt and had listened without comment to his words, and then dismissed him immediately. Since then Faramir had not seen his father except at breakfast, the only meal they ate together, where they had barely spoken. Denethor would eat and leave, exchanging only the barest words with his younger son.

When the summons had come, he had been worried wondering if he had done some ill and angered his father for Denethor never called for him these days, but when he was asked to go down to one of the guest rooms in his wing, he had a faint flicker of hope too that perhaps his father might be giving him some task of responsibility.

He shifted as his muscles protested being in the same position too long. Waves of pain ran through his entire body with even the slightest twitch, and he could barely control the soft moans he made as he turned over onto his other side. Lying on his back was out of the question. He had tried lying face downwards, but his chest and stomach were too tender from the welts criss-crossing them.

He wondered quietly if his father might come and see how he was doing, surely he would. Boromir might be his favoured son, but surely even he, Faramir, merited at least a little concern.

Boromir!

Boromir was to come today. Had he come? And what would he think if he had not seen Faramir yet? Surely he would realise something was amiss, and come down to his room? He must not see him like this!

Faramir snuggled deeper into the blanket, ensuring that not a bit of skin showed through, glad that he had worn his old nightshirt that closed up at the throat and had long sleeves. If he pretended to be asleep when his brother came it would solve the problem. But why had he not come yet? Surely he would have noted his absence. Faramir had always been one of the first to greet his brother each time he returned form his soldiering duties. And this time, Faramir too had been out with rangers. His brother knew that.

As if in answer to his thoughts he heard a knock on the door.

“Faramir!” his brother’s voice wafted through the wooden door, and too late, Faramir realised he had not latched it. He shut his eyes, and curled in even more, willing himself to stay calm.

The door slid open, and he heard the sound of movement across the bare uncarpeted floor. Two sets of footsteps.

Father?

Faramir’s eyes flew open involuntarily, eager for the sight of Denethor hoping he had come after all, but he hadn’t. It was someone else. In the fading light he could make out a fair pleasing countenance, and a tall and lithe but well-toned figure.

“Faramir! Are you unwell, where have you been? I thought you would have to throw you out of my room tonight as I always have to when I return, instead I find you in bed already, and it is just a little past sundown.” Boromir ranted.

“Boromir,” he was surprised at how normal his voice came out, soft and a little scratchy from all the screaming but calm nevertheless, “You have arrived.”

“Are you unwell?” Boromir repeated.

“Nay, I am all right, merely a little tired,” Faramir responded still wrapped up in his blankets, “When did you come?”

Boromir stared at his brother a little disappointed, “Yes, but surely you knew I was coming at midday? Where have you been all day? In the libraries?”

He laid a hand on his brother’s forehead looking for signs of fever relieved to find none but at the same time angry at his impolite behaviour. The room was dim and he could barely make out the expression on his face, for the shadow of the walls fell over his features revealing little, or he would have seen the raw pain and sorrow in them.

“I am well, Boromir, merely very tired, that is why I retired early,” Faramir repeated, still clutching the blanket, trying to move as little as possible.

“Will you join me in a small supper in my rooms?”

Faramir shook his head, “Forgive me brother, I am very tired. Can we not do that tomorrow?”

“Very well,” Boromir said, a little coldly. He did not mean to sound so, but it annoyed him when he saw that Faramir did not look all that overjoyed to see him as he always had earlier.

He thinks he’s been out once with the rangers so he’s all grown up now.

“Are you not going to introduce me to our guest?” Faramir interrupted his thoughts.

“It would hardly be polite while you are still in bed,” Boromir said tersely, “but seeing as nothing will induce you to abandon your comfort, this is Haldir of the Golden Wood, whom I met in Edoras all those years ago. He is here for the council.”

“Eight years ago,” Faramir said suddenly, “at the archery tournament wasn’t it?”

“Yes, nearly a decade,” Haldir nodded smiling.

“It is good to meet you, Haldir, forgive me for not rising but I am not dressed to receive company.”

Boromir stared amazed, surely Faramir would not be acting so modest as to refuse to appear in front of another man in his nightclothes!

He shook his head slightly, disappointed at the seeming changes in his brother.

“I bid you a good night then,” he said coolly, “We will meet when you have recovered sufficiently from your hard labour in the library.” He regretted the words immediately for even in the dim light he sensed rather than saw a look of hurt pass his brother’s face, but what was said was said and he would not take it back now.

“Good night Boromir,” came the small voice, “I bid you a pleasurable stay in Minas Tirth, Haldir.”

Boromir was quite unhappy as he led Haldir down the hallway.

“I am sorry for my brother’s impoliteness Haldir, he is tired, and not himself,” Boromir said.

“He seemed worried,” Haldir told him.

“Worried?” Boromir could not keep a trace of anger from his voice, “What has he to worry about, he has not spent all these years staving off Mordor’s shadow. He has served barely two months in the army, now. No, his worries are trivial.”

But even as he said that Boromir knew he was not quite right. Faramir’s worries were ones he knew he’d never know. For he would never know what it was like to feel unloved by a parent. He knew Faramir hurt a great deal from Denethor’s treatment but he was still angry with his brother. Faramir had never before let his disappointment at his father’s remarks come in the way of his love and respect for Boromir. So all he could assume now was that his brother had changed. Faramir no longer loved him as much as he did earlier; he no longer thought Boromir was the centre of his existence.

“You are weary, and it is clouding your mind, sleep the night through, and you will feel much better,” Haldir’s voice broke through his reverie, but he recognised the wisdom in the soft-spoken words.


The coldness in Boromir’s voice had not escaped Faramir and when his brother left he let his mask of control slip, as the tears flowed down his cheeks. He felt a pain clutch his heart. His brother was angry with him, and he didn’t blame him. He must have sounded so rude and hateful, refusing to get up, refusing to sup with Boromir, and probably insulting one of his friends.

He willed himself to try and sleep, but sleep would not come. He wished he could sit by the window, and let the cool night air touch him, but he could not think of moving. He stared instead at the window, into the sky outside, full of stars, and was reminded of his days at Ithilien, under the commander of the rangers. He had learnt much, from a slightly unsure youth of twenty-one to a more confident and tactically intelligent warrior. But he had a long way to go before he became like the older rangers. He sighed softly as he remembered the nights spent outside, sleeping on the soft earth, the smell of grass and heather in the air, the stars in the sky. And the tears continued to fall.

When he awoke, the sun was already up, and it took him a while to realise why he felt so terrible. The herbs he had ingested the night before had left their influence, he felt lethargic and his head ached. So did the rest of him. Slowly, like the pages of a book, the past day’s events unfolded themselves in his fogged mind, with crystal clarity, each shard of memory wrenching a knife deeper in his heart.

He rose from the bed, slowly, painfully, almost bent over like an old man. Each ache in his worn body hit him like a hot skewer. The slaps to his face had thankfully not bruised noticeably, and his lips had been healed by the salve. He felt a little faint too and realised he had not eaten since midday the day before. And though he was not sure he could eat much, he knew he should have some nourishment at least. Denethor would not hear of him having breakfast in his room, for the first meal of the day was always held in the great hall. He would have to go down. And he might as well, or Boromir might come here himself. For the first time ever, he was thankful, his wing was so far from his brother’s. Hardly anyone came here. But that was why Fenekor could do as he pleased too with no disturbance.

The thought of the man from Harad plunged him back into despair.

When he finally managed to get ready, ignoring the protests from his aching muscles, and reached the hall, having walked down the long halls and winding staircases at an extra slow pace, he was flushed from his effort, and feeling very faint. He was also obviously very late, judging by the barely contained annoyance in his father’s face.

Faramir realised with a start that they had guests at breakfast. Haldir was there, as were two more elves, two dwarfs, and men from Rohan and Dol Amroth and Fenekor and one of his men.

“You are late.” Denethor did not even raise his eyes from his plate. Even Boromir gave him only the tiniest of glances and then looked away, his expression completely unreadable.

“I apologise,” he directed it to the entire table, and hurriedly slipped into a place between Denethor and Haldir. The seat was hard and he winced a little as he sat. It still hurt him and he was also careful not to rest his back against that of the chair. Boromir sat to the other side of his father talking to one of the Rohirrim. Haldir sat speaking to the other Rohirrim and one of the other elves, leaving Faramir with no one to talk to. His father ate in silence, occasionally nodding at something the Rohirrim near his brother would lean over and say. Boromir would interject often too, and Faramir could not prevent the pang of jealously as he watched father and son talk.

He never says a word to me during meals, now he talks with Boromir of horses.

He picked at his food, stealing glances every now and then at his father to see if he was looking at him. But Denethor had no eyes for his younger son. Across the table, Fenekor gave him a polite glance once. Nothing more. Somehow that scared Faramir more than if that glance had been a smirk or a leer. He was still picking at the food when the others rose. Denethor glanced at him briefly as if in impatience and then stood up, the others following him. Faramir too pushed back his chair and made to get up.

“Finish you meal,” Denethor bade him gruffly, and then turning to the others said, “Gentlemen we meet at midday then, and the council begins at first light tomorrow, as agreed.”

As the others filtered out of the room, Denethor called Boromir back, “Meet me in my chambers now.” He told him.

“And, Faramir, I wish to see you, alone, as soon as you have finished your meal.”

Before Faramir could reply he strode out followed by Boromir, who still would not look at his brother.

Faramir ate what he could slowly, for otherwise, he felt nauseous, and finally upon finishing it headed for his father’s chambers. He wondered why he had been called alone, and then realised his father probably wanted to ask after him. There could be no other reason, he had given his report on Ithilien, he was not in the council so it could not be about that, it must be as he thought. It made him feel decidedly better.

He knocked on the door and entered as bade. Boromir was sitting on the couch leafing through some papers, a cup of herb tea in his hands. Denethor sat at his table, another cup in his hands. Faramir was suddenly struck by how companionable it all looked. Denethor was pleased with Boromir’s performance, there had been no secret about that. He had literally killed the fatted calf on his eldest son’s return.

“Boromir, go through those papers carefully, and I will expect you at the council at first light tomorrow.” There was a hint of pride in the words; one Faramir never got to hear.

“Yes sir,” Boromir rose and headed for the door, nodding at Faramir as he passed. Just a small, polite nod.


Faramir shut the door behind him and stood in front of his father’s desk. The faintness had gone though the aches and pains still screamed. He wished he could sit on that lumpy couch but Denethor had not given him leave to do so. Denethor rarely spoke to him for long however, so he never offered him a seat, or herb tea for that matter, a small voice in his mind told him.

He stood quietly as Denethor began to speak.

“I have received a report from your commander at Ithilien,” Denethor’s calm voice hit Faramir. Ithilien, he called me to talk of Ithilien, not of last night.

“So he is willing to have you under him some time longer. You will make ready to leave within a fortnight.” Denethor’s closing words pierced through the haze in his head, and he stared at him quietly.

“Yes father,” he said when Denethor gave him a baleful glare.

“You may leave now,” Denethor dismissed him.

“Father, I –” what was he to say? Surely, it was to Denethor to say something?

“Yes?” Denethor snapped looking up from his papers.

“Nothing father,” he muttered and sidled out of the door. The faintness returned with a vengeance. He made his way back to his wing reeling in pain and exhaustion. Stumbling down the hallway with half-closed eyes, he pulled up short as he hit something.

“Well, beautiful one, looking for me?”

He felt himself being dragged into Fenekor’s room, the door being latched shut, and then he was pushed up against the wall. He cowered slightly as Fenekor held him against the wall with just one arm, and then pressed onto him. Fenekor was huge and he completely dwarfed Faramir, as he kissed him violently once again. Then he was thrown to the floor, on a thick carpet, on his back. Fenekor began kneeling down, and then holding Faramir’s hands flat against the floor suddenly brought his knee down on Faramir’s crotch, grinding it in hard through his clothes, causing the young man to scream out in pain, and buck against the attack.

Faramir sobbed aloud as the grinding continued, until Fenekor equally suddenly removed his knee, and released the Gondorian’s hands. He curled over clutching himself in pain, only to look up in horror as he heard the crack of the huge whip Fenekor now held in his hands.

Chapter 3

Faramir moved purely on reflex, as he had been taught to in case of a sudden attack, ignoring his pain, he rolled away, but was still not quick enough to prevent the tip of the whip lashing his side. It tore through his tunic, and bit into the tender skin below drawing a thin line of blood, and causing him to cry out in pain as it stung. He scrambled to a sitting position edging further and further away from Fenekor who seemed to be highly amused by his attempts to escape. A heavily booted foot lashed out at him catching him in the centre of his stomach, then again, and again. Faramir bent over groaning, exposing his bent back to the captain.

The whip sang through the air and landed full across over the previous day’s welts, cutting cloth and skin, and leaving behind it a trail in bright red. Faramir screamed in agony and arched his back away from the whip. It landed again, this time across his torso and stomach. Then again. And again. And again on his back. It was a huge whip, and quite sharp, so that the cuts were not only large but deep as well. He could bear it no longer, the pain was intolerable. He used whatever strength he had left in him and bringing up one his legs kicked out at Fenekor. His boot came in contact with the other’s shin, drawing out a yell and much swearing. Fenekor hopped on one leg, fury engulfing his face. He bent towards the fallen young man and grabbed him by his shirt.

But Faramir was past caring, he struck out with a bunched up fist, and Fenekor barely managed to dodge it. Instead of landing smack on his face as Faramir had intended, it brushed his jaw, the impact causing him to grunt in pain, and serving to further fuel his ire. Faramir’s ring had scratched his chin and drawn blood. Fenekor glared at the Gondorian.

“You will regret this, I promise you that!” he yelled and grabbing Faramir by his hair, slapped him across his face repeatedly gleefully watching the red marks spread across the cheeks, some turning blackish, as they bruised him. Grey eyes clouded over, and the once firmly held head now lolled backwards and forwards as the smacks continued.

Faramir swayed in a daze, if Fenekor left his collar he would fall. He felt his body explode with pain, he felt rivulets of blood flow across his back and front, and then he felt his clothes being ripped off again, as he was thrown against a huge wooden table. He lat dazed across it, his clothes ripped apart, pain coursing through every inch of his body.

“For Gondor, remember,” a silky voice cut through the haze of his mind, and then Fenekor was entering him again as he lay bent over the table. He rammed hard into him without warning, pushing into him with greater force than he had used the day before. Healing muscles were ripped once again, and blood trickled down his legs, mingling with a trail of blood leading down from his back. Faramir had thought he had never hurt as much as he had the day before, but this was worse. Knowing how it felt did not ease the pain for him. And this time Fenekor showed no mercy whatsoever. He rammed into him again and again, till Faramir began screaming from the pain.

When he was satiated, Fenekor turned Faramir around. He smirked at the sight of the bruised and bloodied body, covered in half torn clothing, leggings lying at his ankles, and grey eyes filled with pain… and fear.

He reached a hand out for him, and almost smiled when he saw Faramir begin to tremble.

“Scared, beautiful?” he purred, reaching for Faramir’s face, and running a sharp fingernail down one darkening bruise, causing him to wince. Another hand reached for his crotch, and began toying with his member. Faramir moaned involuntarily at the touch, and when Fenekor suddenly bent down and kissed it lightly, and ran his tongue all over his lower belly he gasped. Fenekor rose and started licking his face, while continuing to lightly rub his hand over his swelling member.

“They tell me you are not one for the women, pretty one, how goes it then. Is it the men that you bed, love?” the Harad man crowed, “Do you not secretly love to be taken by another man?”

Faramir simply screamed in reply as Fenekor tightened his grip and ruthlessly twisted him, sending an explosive pain through the battered body.

“Whore!” he spat at his face and released him. Faramir crumpled to the ground sobbing, and curled up in a ball of agony and pain.

“How many more had your father given you to? You weep!” he snorted, ”If I had a son who were to weep so, I would give him to a brothel. No wonder your father feels naught for you!”

Faramir gave a loud strangled cry, and made as if to shake his head, but Fenekor bent down and grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up, till their lips were nearly touching, “Come with me,” he hissed into the abused face, glaring down at the frightened grey eyes, “Come with me when I leave, I will give you your heart’s desire.”

Faramir shook his head ignoring the overwhelming pain. He got a perverse satisfaction from noting that the cut he had unintentionally given the man from Harad with his ring, still bled.

“Fool! What have you here? Can you not see Denethor loves you not? What father would give his son up for the sake of his land?”

Faramir shook his head again, angering the captain. The grip on his hair tightened, and then he was kneed in his groin. He had no strength left to scream as he sagged down in pain. Fenekor continued to grip his hair so that he almost hung to his knees now.

“You whore!” Fenekor screamed at him again, “You filthy, vile creature!” A resounding slap to the side of his head sent Faramir into a daze. What happened after that was only a vague memory in his mind. He felt himself being entered once again, he felt immense pain, he felt slaps, he felt a heavy body pressing down on his groin, he felt it grind against him, causing more pain, and he shut his eyes and tried to lose himself in a void, but the void wouldn’t let him inside.

It kept him on a threshold from where he could feel all, but do nothing. He was powerless, completely helpless, so he just lay there.

Then there was a knock on the outer door, and Fenekor rose cursing, rustled on a robe and walked out. The sounds of a whispered conversation filtered through, of a summons in the great hall. Fenekor returned and throwing a long tunic at him, pulled him up roughly by one hand.

“You can go now! Go – go to whomever else it is you have sold your filthy body to. The Rohirrim? The elves? The dwarfs?” He dragged him over to the door, a shaking figure, stumbling over the leggings around his ankles, and bodily threw him out into the thankfully deserted hallway, in his torn clothes, clutching pathetically to the tunic.

Faramir lay on the cold floor, willing himself to rise. He knew this wing was rarely visited, that was why his father had made him move there, so he could keep him out of his sight.

Father, do you hate me so?

He dragged himself up against a wall, watching detachedly as he left spots of blood all over the floor, wondering what the servants would think. He pulled up his legging somehow, and then half crawled, half dragged himself to his own room. Pushing the door open he stumbled inside and then painfully raising himself entered his antechamber where his cleaning and healing materials lay, and passed out.


Boromir spent the morning reading the reports his father had bade him to. Then he had gone down and had some good rigorous sword practice. When he returned to his chambers and finished cleaning off the sweat and grime it was almost midday. He entered the great hall for his luncheon meal nodding at the other eaters who sat scattered along various tables.

Noticing Haldir sitting alone at a table, he made his way over and sat next to him. They exchanged pleasantries and discussed each other’s plans for the rest of the day.

“I do not see your brother,” one of the Rohirrim men remarked from a nearby table, “Is he always late for his meals?”

Boromir heard the underlying jest but the words still angered him. Faramir was being so stupid. But then, Denethor was not around either, perhaps the two were together. His rigorous session in the morning had helped Boromir get rid of all his excess energy leaving him much calmer now, and better disposed over his younger brother. Perhaps he had been tired last night. After all he was late for breakfast, which he would never have dared to, especially with guests around, for fear of Denethor’s wrath. And who was to know how his father had been treating the younger brother while he was not there. He knew though, from Faramir himself that for many months, the slights had been verbal only, and not physical. It had been a relief to here that Denethor had now stopped raising his hand at his younger son at the least provocation.

“Is Lord Faramir with my father?” he asked the servant who came to replenish his wine.

The servant shook his head, “No, my lord the lord steward has been meeting with his commanders since morning.”

“And Lord Faramir?” Boromir asked, a little glad, for he knew any meeting between father and son would only result in disquiet for the younger.

“He has not been here all day,” the servant replied.

“He must be in the library,” Boromir mused slightly exasperated.

“No, my lord, for they are cleaning there today, and it is my lord Steward’s orders that none else be allowed in.”

“Very well, thank you.”

He left with Haldir after his meal intending to take the other too the armoury and show him the new archery equipment that had arrived there. But he was still thinking of his brother.

I was too cold with him yesterday; I hope he did not notice. But of course, he would notice it. Father’s behaviour has made him a little too sensitive. But he did look tired.

He fretted all the way along the long hallway traversing the citadel, worrying about Faramir. If he had not been in the hall it would mean he had not had his meal at all, for Denethor had long since forbidden him from having meals in his room. Boromir knew it was just an excuse to prevent Faramir from hiding away by retreating into his books. Denethor might not eat his meals with his younger son, but he still insisted that he walk all the way to the hall to eat.

“You are worried,” Haldir stated simply. Boromir, not for the first time was struck by the other’s quiet perceptiveness.

“I would like to check on Faramir first, I see no reason why he should have missed a meal, it is down this wing here and will barely take us a few minutes. If you do not mind, we can go to the armoury after that,” Boromir requested.

“Certainly, my friend,” Haldir agreed sagely, “your brother I am sure would welcome your company.”

He used to, Boromir thought to himself, but will he now?


When he rapped on the outer door, there was no response. He was about to turn away when Haldir stopped him and pointed at a small stain on the floor near the door, a drying crimson stain. Boromir simply pushed the door open and barged in, the elf following him.

Faramir was nowhere to be seen. He noticed the open door to the antechamber and covering the distance in a few long strides stopped short at the sight in front of him.

His younger brother lay on the floor, in a muddled heap. He gave a small cry and rushed to the motionless figure that lay bleeding on the floor, face hidden from view by his hair. He gathered the fallen figure up in his arms, and cried in alarm again as he saw the whip marks, and then the dark bruises covering his face.

“Oh, little one,” he cried, using a term from long-forgotten childhood days, “Who has done this to you?”

“Boromir,” Haldir’s voice cut through the varied emotions swirling through him, “We must get him into bed, he will be getting cold on the floor.”

Together they carried the young man to his bed, and began undressing him, faces becoming progressively grimmer as the true extent of the injuries came out. The entire torso was either black or blue or red in colour. As also the back. When Haldir tugged the leggings down, Boromir noticed the line of dried blood on the leg. But it was Haldir who realised what had happened, and turned him around, nodding angrily at Boromir, who was now beside himself with emotion. The next few minutes were ones Boromir went through in a haze. He remembered being pressed by Haldir into getting herbs, heating water, and getting fresh clothes out. Once the injuries were dressed, and Faramir put into a long tunic of fine soft material, Boromir knelt by the bed drained, waiting for his brother to awaken and tell him hat had happened. Who had hurt him so badly?

He sank his head down, and then the felt the bile rise up his throat. He swiftly rose, and headed for the antechamber where he collapsed against the wall retching and crying. How long he lay sprawled there he could not say, but he heard Haldir enter and put a hand on his shoulder and was glad of it. It provided him strength as he sobbed, “He was hurt yesterday, some bruises are a day old. How could I be so blind?”

Lost in recriminations, neither heard the outer door open as the Steward of Gondor entered his younger son’s chambers for the first time in many years.

Denethor strode through the darkened room, towards the lump on the bed, his face a mask, but his set body revealing barely suppressed anger. The figure on the bed lay in the shadow and all that was visible of him was dark hair. The steward grabbed at him by the neck, causing the grey eyes to open unsteadily and the dark hair to fall all over the face, hiding it from view, and aided by that and a blind rage, Denethor did not notice the condition of his face or the pain filled grimace that assailed it.

Yanking Faramir out of the bed, he shouted, “Whatever possessed you to do something so stupid? If Gondor is ruined it will be because of you.” And sent a resounding slap to his son’s face, that was loud enough to be heard by the two occupants of the antechamber.

Chapter 4

Faramir was deep in a sleep he wanted to awaken from desperately for all he saw over and over again in a silent nightmare was Fenekor’s face and then a pain would explode in him as a weight would descend on his slender body. Each time he would feel the fear and pain as Fenekor entered him. He only rose when a hand gripped him and shook him awake fiercely. Through sleep-clouded eyes, he could vaguely make out his father’s form looming over him. Consciousness was yet to return fully, but the searing pain did not go unfelt. Too tired to verbalize his pain, he was even less ready for the shouting and then his father’s hand rose, and fell on his abused face.

And then came the noise of more shouting.

Boromir.

He was pulled into someone’s arms, spent, exhausted and in pain so severe that everything else was forgotten.

The sound of the slap had brought Boromir out of his shock-induced state and he had rushed out for fear of his brother. The sight that met him angered him greatly. His brother’s limp form was being held up by Denethor, who in his furious rage was raising his hand again to get his silent son to answer him.

“You fool! Thanks to your folly —”

“What are you doing?” Boromir lashed out at the steward, grabbing his upraised arm with one hand, and tugging at his brother with another. He pushed away Denethor’s arm, and turned his attention to the one he held. Dragged into the light, the injuries on Faramir were clearly visible.

“He is hurt!” Boromir spat out angrily, and picking the semi-conscious form laid him gently on the threadbare couch near the fireplace.

“He has been beaten, and — and—” Boromir bit back a sob.

“He has endangered Gondor!” Denethor shouted, and turned away to face the window.

“No!” Faramir’s faint voice rang out. They turned to see his eyes open, tired, but open, and clouded with pain and sorrow.

“No, I did all you asked,” he gasped out. His body was on fire. Pain resounded in every muscle and every bone. He could not even sit properly.

“What did you do?” Boromir asked anxiously.

But neither father nor brother seemed to hear him for Denethor continued to stand in the shadows his voice lashing out at his younger son, while facing away from him.

“Did I ask you to hit Captain Fenekor, you worthless idiot? To draw blood?”

“Father!”

“No, my lord, it was an accident,” Faramir’s voice was getting fainter still and wavering, and tinged with what Boromir realised almost immediately was fear.

“You hit him, he says, and refused to do as he asked,” Denethor spat out, “Coward!”

Boromir took a step forward, “You speak in riddles, this is not the time. Faramir is ailing, my lord, and I would call a healer.”

“Ailing? So he should, when the white city is destroyed tomorrow, we can all ail with him!”

“My lord!” Faramir raised himself, ignoring Boromir’s cry of annoyance, and his own body’s protests, “I swear to you, I did all he asked, would you not trust me, your own son, to speak the truth?” Faramir sounded terrible, and raw pain laced his voice now. Haldir who had been standing silently by took a step towards the couch, but stopped short as Denethor’s voice cut through sharply.

“You are no son of mine.”

Faramir simply gave a strangled sob in response.

“Father!” Boromir sounded as though he wanted to strangle Denethor. Instead he sat by Faramir holding the trembling young man.

“My son would give his life for Gondor,” Denethor continued mercilessly, still facing away from his sons.

“I would,” Faramir cried, “You ask for body and soul and I gave up both, what more do you ask? My life? You have it my lord for I can live with this shame and humiliation no more!”

“Who did this to you?” Boromir’s voice came icily calm.

“You gave up your body you say? For Gondor? Then why says Fenekor otherwise? He says you resist him, and you hit him and left?”

“Fenekor!” Boromir shouted, “Fenekor did this to you?”

Denethor turned suddenly, “Did what?”

“And you knew?” Boromir raged.

Denethor walked up to the couch, and then for the first time in all that while saw his younger son’s condition.

“Fenekor hit you?” he said slightly horrified at the bruises lividly standing out in a pale face.

“He raped him!” Boromir screamed, “And with your leeway.” He launched himself at Denethor, only to be stopped by a strong arm.

“Do not be foolish, Boromir. Your brother was his price for allying his troop with us against Harad. And little price.”

Boromir seethed speechless in anger.

“But that he would go so far as to hurt your brother like this, I did not realise,” Denethor leant towards Faramir, and opened the bindings holding the long robe in place. Faramir flushed as his chest was exposed bandaged and bruised. He tried to push away his father’s inquiring hands, and made to move off the couch, to be stopped by Haldir who grabbed him and sat him down.

Denethor blanched at the sight of the marks that covered his son’s torso, the spots of blood on a bandage covering the wound from the whip standing out against the black and blue skin.

He reached a hand for his son’s face and brushed a stray strand of hair away. Faramir flushed again, unused to such a display of concern from his usually taciturn father.

“You let someone and that too a Haradrim have your son as payment?” Boromir shouted again.

“Yes,” Denethor rose.

In Haldir’s arms, Faramir started to shake, tears flowing down his face.

“How could you? A Haradrim, a filthy Haradrim? And my brother?”

“If the need be, I would let an orc take your brother, if it meant saving Gondor!” Denethor spat out.

Faramir gave a distressed cry at that. Fenekor’s words hit him with a vengeance.

How many more had your father given you to?

Haldir tightened his grip around the trembling young man in his arms. The unfolding events were leaving a bitter state in his mouth.

“Father, you should leave now, please send for a healer. I will be here with Faramir all day and possibly all night,” Boromir replied with a strange calm that belied his true feelings.

“No,” Faramir whispered, struggling to get out of Haldir’s arms, “Not a healer, I will not let anyone see me like this, no, please no,” he sobbed. Pain clouded his mind, threatening to send him over a deep dark abyss and he fought to stay awake.

“Very well, Boromir will see to your injuries,” Denethor said and strode towards the door.

“F- fa- My lord?” Faramir spoke up again, his eyes tinged with anxiety.

“Yes?”

“What of the captain? Will he – what will you-?” I cannot anymore, not anymore…

“I do not know,” Denethor said sighing, “But you will not have to go to him again, that I can assure you, I did not think he would hurt you so badly.”

“You must be joking!” Boromir shouted out again, “What did you think he would do to Faramir? Give him a hug and a sweet and send him back to his room?”

“You will not understand, Boromir, but you must, for you must also learn that Gondor should have the first place in your heart. Faramir, rest and recover your strength, I will have your meals sent to your room, and inform the servants that you are ill and not to be disturbed.” With that the steward swept out of the room.

Boromir moved to the door too, his hands clenched tight, he felt like hitting his father, and killing Fenekor and… the small cry from the couch stopped him. He turned to his brother his face a mask of remorse and sorrow, tears filling up his eyes and spilling onto his cheeks, when he saw the forlorn young man lying in his friend’s arms. Faramir stared back at him, and then pushing Haldir’s hands away with unexpected force rose, and stumbled into his brother’s arms.

They stood there for a long time, taking comfort in each other’s presence, just being close to his elder brother giving Faramir the strength to stand.

Oh Boromir, I know you’ll keep him away, I’m scared, it’s stupid and cowardly, but I’m scared, and if Gondor falls it will be because of me…

Haldir watched them, his heart ached for the younger, who seemed torn between duty and self, who so obviously did what he did, not just out of duty but out of need for filial love. Little things like the lack of conversation between father and son, the desolate location of Faramir’s room had not escaped his notice. Everyone else liked Faramir much, his brother, the servants, the people loved the two brothers equally. All but Denethor, it seemed. Denethor was quite simply indifferent.

Which was a pity because the boy, no the young man, was indeed likeable, he seemed intelligent, sensitive, brave, not built like a warrior though. He was slight of build but surely a few seasons with the rangers would change that. The slight figure must have been what attracted Fenekor’s attention, Haldir decided, and the finely chiseled mouth, and those beautiful grey eyes, they look wise and far-seeing, like one with elvish blood in him, from his mother, no doubt – Valar what am I thinking? I am no better than the fool captain from Harad to analyse his body like this. I should be helping.

Boromir was still holding his brother in his arms, tears pouring down his own cheeks.

“I did not realise yesterday, did that -, did he – ?” Boromir could barely complete the sentence, as Faramir nodded and then buried his head in his shoulder. He instinctively tightened his hold on the slim figure of the younger man.

“Oh, Faramir, I am sorry, I should have realised,” he started off, hugging his brother tighter only to be cut off by a gasp from the younger man, “What is it?” he asked alarmed.

Faramir raised his head, grey eyes clearly showing he was hurting badly, ”Naught, it is just my back.”

“Oh,” he loosened his grip, and then carefully adjusted his arms so that he would not hurt his brother’s injured body more.

Haldir rose, not missing the fact that Faramir looked on the verge of collapse, and Boromir looked terrible too, “Come, you must rest now,” he told the younger one, and pulled him away a little. Faramir nodded, and began to sag slightly as Borormir’s hands left him. The next minute his brother had picked him up and carried him back to bed. Haldir went quietly into the small antechamber.

“Haldir is right, sleep now,” he said soothingly and leaned down to brush his forehead with a small kiss.

“Sleep does not come,” Faramir said tonelessly.

Boromir placed a hand on the dark hair, and sighed, “It will, little one, it will.”

“Perhaps Boromir should stay here for the rest of the day,” Haldir suggested,” Here, have some of this brew, it will help you sleep.” He handed the young man on the bed, a small cup full of a thick liquid.

Faramir glanced up, it was as if he was realizing for the first time that Haldir was there for hew flushed uncomfortably, “I am sorry, Haldir, to have caused you all this needless trouble.”

That Faramir was embarrassed to have been in such a position before a relative stranger was painfully obvious. He seemed very distressed at the thought, so the elf leaned forward, and placing a hand on one shoulder, said quietly, “It is no needless trouble to be of service to you Faramir, Boromir is a very good friend, I am sure he would not hesitate before doing anything for me, and I merely reciprocate the sentiment. Now sleep, you are in no condition to debate on trivialities.”

“Thank you indeed Haldir,” Boromir said as he sat on the bed watching his brother’s light sleep after a while, “He sleeps now, but not peacefully, I feel. I will be by him for the rest of the day. He needs me.”

“You cannot stay up all day and night,” Haldir told him quietly, “there is a council tomorrow. Will you not let me help you further, and watch him awhile while you sleep?”

Boromir sighed, “You are being too kind. I would not like to impose, but you are correct too, so I will accept your offer. Although, I must admit I am loathe to attend the council on the morrow, for I do not see any likelihood of Faramir getting better by then. He has been through much, and If Fenekor is there, I will probably rip him apart for doing this!”

“Peace my friend,” Haldir said softly.

“How could he, Haldir? How could father do this to him? Doe he not see his pain and his suffering? My poor little one, he looks so terrible.”

There was a quiet sob from the bed and both elf and man rushed to the sleeping man’s side to assuage whatever nightmare seemed to be bothering him.

“Get some more of the brew, Boromir, it is in the other room,” Haldir said urgently as he took the flushed face of the sleeping man in his hands and tried to quiet him. Boromir ran to the antechamber, leaving Haldir with the younger man, softly sobbing away.

Haldir found that a soothing litany of elvish words calmed him down sooner than anything else, and suddenly began to croon a soft slow melody, all the while stroking his hand. Faramir’s face relaxed and he slipped back into a quiet sleep and Haldir continued to hold his hand, lightly caressing the long fingers and watching him.


They spent the day taking turns with Faramir, who woke up just once. He was groggy and was immediately fed a few spoonfuls of a drugged soup that sent him back to sleep again. When he awoke the next time, it was at night, and Boromir had gone to fetch some more healing herbs for Faramir’s stock had depleted. He awoke when the effect of the herbs had worn out, with a startlingly fresh memory of everything that had happened, as though he had not slept at all, and finding Haldir next to his bed gave him a look fraught with confusion and worry.

Haldir gave him a reassuring smile, “how do you feel? Boromir has just gone to get some herbs.”

Faramir tried to return the smile, “I don’t feel very hungry. I am alright, merely a little weary.”

Little, Haldir felt was an understatement. Dark circles lined the young man’s eyes, neatly complementing the ugly bruises on his face. Tiredness and pain shone intensely in the slate grey eyes, and lines around the mouth.

“The pain —?”

“I am well. The pain is little.”

That, my young friend, is not what your eyes tell me, Haldir thought but forbore to say aloud.

“You are tired? Then go back to sleep, my friend, it will do you good,” he said instead.

“I do not think I will be able to,” was the unhappy reply. Seeing Haldir’s distress at those words, he put one hand on the elf’s palm resting on his bed, and said quietly, “Will you not tell me about the Golden Wood?”

Haldir almost gasped at the tingling he felt when the man’s hand touched his. He could feel the calluses in the palm, an indication of much time spent handling weapons one was not entirely accustomed to, and he felt an irrational anger at the circumstances facing the land that forced hands that should have been touching books being forced to touch weapons that maimed and killed even if for a cause. And those bruises, still fresh from that terrible assault. Ai, he was young, too young. Why, Denethor, did you force him into this? Surely you could have refused? And the anger rose, further, but finally he swallowed his feelings and patting the hand atop his with his other hand began to speak softly.

The next ten minutes showed Haldir a little of the side of Faramir he had heard of. The grey eyes sparkled with the light of one who loves knowledge for its own sake as he fluently spoke of his home, and not without yearning for in the stones of Minas Tirth he missed the trees of his beloved Lórien. And Faramir seemed to understand for his eyes took on a look of compassion as Halidr went on telling him about his brothers, about the woods, about the lady.

Faramir’s eyes were closing, despite his unwillingness to sleep, and face fresh nightmares. Haldir softly stroked his head with his free hand, the other still lying loosely under the man’s hand.

“It sounds a nice place,” came the sleep tinged remark.

“It is beautiful,” Haldir responded.

“As our its inhabitants. Are all elves as beautiful as you?”

Haldir stopped short at those words, and then leaned forward only to see Faramir was nearly asleep. He suddenly realised Boromir should have returned by now, and began to wonder when he heard muffled sounds from outside and went to the window. Lights were coming on as torches began to be lit. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. It was a servant with summons to the hall downstairs. Lord Boromir was there too. He turned hesitantly to the bed where Faramir lay, his eyes open for the knock had caught him just as he was falling into slumber.

“Go, Haldir, but would you ask Boromir if he would come when his work is done?”

“Certainly.”

Haldir left with the servant. Neither saw a figure detach itself from a nearby corridor, and walk slowly to Faramir’s door. Waiting outside listening to sounds of sleep, finally turning the handle on the door, and entering the room making straight for the bed, where his current infatuation lay.

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.

Chapter 6

“Stop,” Faramir wailed out, grey eyes tinged with untold fear, “Please, I will do anything you like, leave Boromir alone, please…”

“Tell your elf friend,” Fenekor said, pressing the blade in slightly inducing a small drop of blood that sent Faramir panicking.

“No! Stop!”

“It is a pity, your brother is quite good looking. I might have liked him myself.”

“Haldir,” Faramir screamed out, “Stop him!”

“He can’t,” Fenekor retorted, “He will not actually, he seems coy, ask him nicely, nay, grovel before him, show him how sweet you look, unless he enters your sweet tight little ass, I will not leave your brother.”

“Haldir,” Faramir screamed, as Fenekor pressed the blade tighter.

Haldir watched despairingly from where he lay half sitting beside Faramir’s bench. He had no weaponry left on him, even the knife in his boot was gone.

Dropping Boromir to the ground, Fenekor walked across to Faramir, snapped off the manacles holding him in place, and grabbed him up by his hair. Haldir growled in anger as he heard a painful sob wrack his young friend’s body.

“Is he not beautiful?” Fenekor purred, running his free hand over the trembling body, inducing more tremors. The hand came to rest over his lower back, threatening to defile the sore and bleeding entrance once again.

“Tell him you want him,” Fenekor ordered, fingering the much abused area roughly, eliciting hisses of pain, “Tell him how it feels to have another inside you, tell him how much you love it, that you smile in your sleep, when you think of it, that you may cry now, but you love it, you crave it.”

The young man cowered in fright eliciting a contemptuous burst of laughter from the Harad captain, “Sniveling little coward, I do not wonder why your father gave you up so easily, with nary a protest,” he scorned, throwing him back onto the bench.

Faramir fell curling into himself, sobbing softly now, the very pain and humiliation that threatened to send him into oblivion, was perversely keeping him awake. He could hear Haldir shouting angrily, a rage in the elf’s voice that he would otherwise have thought impossible.

“Kiss him!” Fenekor ordered, and yanking Faramir’s head back, he stared into the grey fear filled eyes, with a gloating expression on his face.

Haldir glared at him, and stood up, his expression murderous, “Leave him alone!”

Fenekor stroked Faramir’s bruised face and let the hands rove all the way down his back, across his stomach, and down his lower belly till he was lightly stroking his member, “Kiss the elf,” he repeated, bringing his mouth close to the trembling man’s ear. Then he let Faramir drop forward.

Faramir struggled up, and lurched towards Haldir, who caught up the beaten, naked body in his arms and once again looked in horror at the state he was in. Then he felt himself being gathered in his loving arms, and spoken soothingly to.

“Oh, Faramir,” Haldir whispered, his distress evident in his voice. “Do not worry, I will not force myself on you. I will not do as he asks.”

“He will hurt Boromir, please, father will never forgive me,” Faramir sobbed out.

The Gondorian pulled himself up, and silenced Haldir by placing his mouth on his, and immediately removing it.

“That’s not a kiss,” Fenekor shouted, and he felt something flay his back, bringing tears to his eyes, and more pain.

Haldir hissed in anger as Fenekor stood belt in hand behind them, “Kiss him,” he ordered again.

This time Faramir obeyed implicitly, he let his tongue rove inside Haldir’s mouth, and the elf found himself being sucked into a contented vortex he never wanted to come out of. Faramir seemed in a state of semi-oblivion now, and so he took the lead. He held him comfortingly, probed the mouth with his tongue, and stroked his hair, in a loving manner, sucking at the finely chiseled mouth until he felt he had to come up for air. Faramir lay spent in his arms, tears flowing copiously, clutching him as though he were all he had.

“Take off the elf’s clothes,” Fenekor ordered, he was now sitting on the bench, and watching them licking his lips in anticipation. Boromir’s prone body was at his feet, the head placed over his knees so that his blade still remained at the exposed throat.

Faramir obeyed, but his eyes were downcast, and his face was very, very pale. He pulled off Haldir’s cloak and tunic, and then his leggings, and stared at the beautifully sculpted body in front of him, reddening as he realised what a terrible sight he himself must look. An audible gasp from behind told him Fenekor agreed with his assessment. Haldir stood proudly, his neatly braided hair falling onto his shoulders, lips set in a thin line, the muscles in his arms and legs finely developed from years of archery and life in the forest, anger forcing each sinew to stand out.

“Do it now, show him your pretty little ass, and tell him you want him inside it,” Fenekor commanded, the blade pressing down on Boromir’s skin, and Faramir looked at Haldir mutely pleading.

Haldir felt his own eyes tear up as he saw a plethora of emotions cross the tired face in front of him, fear, shame, pain, and worry. The face was swollen and bruised, the lips were almost double their size, eyes and nose reddened by tears, and livid marks and traces of blood covered the entire body. He shut his eyes in despair, he could not possibly do to Faramir what that monster had done to him. He found him attractive, yes, but Faramir was in neither the physical nor the mental condition to be made love to, no matter how gentle he would be. But if he didn’t, then Boromir stood to be harmed and Faramir would not survive that. Faramir made the decision for him by seating himself on the cold hard floor, and pulling him down. He was trembling and his eyes were shut tight as he lay down on his stomach, and stretched his legs apart.

“Turn over and open your eyes,” commanded Fenekor, “Or the elf will not be able to see how you enjoy him.”

The command was obeyed without hesitation. Haldir sat where he was, his clothes in a heap at his feet. He could not move. His heart felt torn, and he wondered how heart wrenching it must be for Faramir, if it was this bad for him. Faramir gave him a pleading glance, tears filling up the grey eyes once again, but Haldir continued staring mutely at him. How could he do this? He averted his eyes from the gory display in front of him, his own orbs clouded with tears.

A cry from Faramir brought his gaze back. Boromir was awakening, and Fenekor was trying to prevent that. He was shaking the half awake thrashing figure in his arms.

“No!” his younger brother sobbed, curling up in agony.

“Why not, pretty?” smirked the Haradrim, “Let your brother too see you being humiliated.”

Boromir’s open eyes took in his brother’s abject figure huddled on the floor, his friend kneeling in despair, and the knife at his throat, and the man he wanted to strangle with his bare hands holding it in place.

“It is good to see you awake, Lord Boromir, would you too like to see Master Haldir give you brother some pleasure.”

“No,” Boromir whispered, turning an anguished gaze from his brother to his friend.

Haldir shook his head, “I will not,” he said resolutely.

“Very well, then, Boromir dies.”

“I would rather die than let my brother suffer any more,” Boromir thundered, his ire now totally roused, as Faramir began getting up, and then slumped back grimacing in pain.

“But he will suffer! After I kill you I will kill the elf, and then your brother will continue to suffer. What do you say, my pretty little Faramir, should I kill your brother or will you show us what it looks like when an elf beds a man?” Taking advantage of the fact that Fenekor’s eyes were on Boromir’s angry face, Haldir slowly reached for his braided hair. He had almost forgotten that he still had a weapon he could use, if only he could reach it.

Faramir straightened up and crawled towards Haldir ignoring the muted protests from Boromir, whose mouth had been covered by Fenekor’s free hand. Haldir grabbed at the clasp holding his braids in place, a sharp silver implement, pushed Faramir aside, and threw himself with every inch of speed and agility he possessed at Fenekor.

Chapter 7

Denethor sat in his study, outwardly calm but inwardly a mix of various emotions ranging from fury to worry. Worry about the implications of a Haradrim’s death in his house. Fury at Fenekor, and partially at Boromir for rushing off as he had, with barely a word, when he was needed here.

Although of course, if he thought about it, technically Dorec had no right to be there. He was not there as an envoy, neither was Fenekor. Which as good as made them spies. And that might deny Harad the opportunity to declare a formal war, but it would not stop their constant skirmishes with the forces of Gondor. And with Dorec dead, and the likelihood a spies in his house, how did things stand with Fenekor? If the Haradrim had sense he would have stayed put and allied himself with Gondor. But apparently Fenekor was nothing more than a huge bully, for the first sign of possible assassination had seen him scurrying off. With Faramir.

He frowned slightly at the thought of his younger son, he had not allowed himself to think about his deal with Fenekor. It was better that way, to do it and then forget about it. And it was partially Faramir’s fault, for attracting Fenekor’s attention with his youthfulness. Countless times he’d told the boy, sometimes tried to beat it into him, that books and dreams were not all. He had watched him train with weaponry, and felt his ire build up as he realised that the younger boy would never be as good with weapons as his brother was. And now that he had entered manhood, he might be able to wield a sword, but he was yet to fill out like his brother, still retaining a kind of sensitivity about him. And now Boromir was off in search of him!

He fumed some more until someone knocked on his door, when he had expressly forbidden anyone from disturbing him unless it was of utmost importance. He bade them enter, wondering what else could possibly have happened.


Fenekor may have been quick but he was no match for a very furious elf. The knife that was set to plunge into Boromir’s throat was knocked off with one hand while the other used a sharp edge weapon to dig into his shoulder. He fell back, Haldir over him, the knife hitting the bench and falling down. Boromir lay for a moment gasping and coughing, and then collecting his senses went to help his friend. Haldir however needed no help. He clouted Fenekor hard on the side of his head, knocking him senseless, and then sat back on his heels. Getting up, he picked up his clothes, and pulled them on, while Boromir ensured that Fenekor was indeed senseless.

“I should kill him,” Boromir growled, and probably would have done so if the high-pitched whimpering hadn’t distracted him.

“Faramir,” he was at his brother’s side immediately, joined by Haldir, aghast at the state he’d found his younger brother in. Faramir lay where he’d fallen, eyes wide open in fear, clutching at the hard stone floor as if in search of support. His face was covered with a fine layer of sheen and he was breathing in short rasps. His chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly. And it occurred to Boromir that if he’d though his brother had been in a bad shape yesterday, there was no way he could describe him today. He felt the anger well up even more, as he saw the swollen face, the raw wounds, fresh bruises on the legs, and more blood.

Boromir gathered him up in his arms trying to find some place on his body where he wasn’t bruised and not succeeding. No matter how he held him, it would hurt, so he simply pulled him into an embrace, laying his head against his chest, arms wrapped around the slender figure, desperately trying to provide some sort of succour. Faramir tried to pull away, silent sobs running through him spasmodically.

“Oh Faramir,” Boromir held his younger brother tight, trying to stop him struggling in his arms. He rubbed an arm soothingly on his back only to stop as he realised he was only hurting the injured man further. Haldir meanwhile had managed to locate Faramir’s discarded robe, and returned with it now, dusty, and torn.

“I should never have left you there, without a guard,” Boromir murmured, evidently distressed.

There was no response from the sobbing figure in his arms. Faramir had given up struggling, he was too weak, but he desperately wanted to flee, anywhere. He wished he could stop thinking, stop remembering how his last two days had been, the abuse, the humiliation. He wished he could just enter some state of oblivion but instead, he remained wide awake, perfectly aware of his injuries, physical and emotional, aware that he had been shamed in front of his brother, and his friend, that he had been shown up for a coward. Every ache, every sting that assailed his brutalized frame kept him awake and made him aware of that. He wanted to get away from Boromir, and curl up in some corner, all alone, and wait for release. He didn’t know what else he could do.

How was he to be a soldier? And soldier he must be if he wanted his father’s love, or even acknowledgement. But soldiers did not scare like him. For along with pain, fear coursed his veins. Fear from events past, fear of events that almost happened, fear of rejection, that his brother and friend would forever think of him as a weakling, that he had failed in what his father asked him to do. And, as he then realised, fear of what Denethor would say. Was he not to have obeyed implicitly and done as Fenekor had asked him? And did Denethor give the captain leave to take him away, far away from Minas Tirith, out of his sight, somewhere where he would not have to be reminded on a daily basis that he had another son, one who might as well not exist for him. And would his father ever accept him now? Now that he had betrayed Gondor? What price would Fenekor extract now, when he awoke? Whatever would his father say? Jumbled thoughts ran through his head, as protective arms held him, someone else covered his shivering frame with cloth.

“Father,” he whispered turning even more ashen, and Boromir stopped crying at the sound of the pained whisper, and looked into the dull grey eyes.

“I have left a message for him, he knows we have come to rescue you,” he said smoothing away the dark hair plastered over a sweat lined forehead.

Faramir looked at him in confusion, “Father will be angry,” he said, the tremors in his voice betraying his agitation, “you should not have come. If he sent me away with Fenekor, it would be with reason. You should not have come.”

“He did not send you away!” Boromir exclaimed, a cold hand clutching at his heart. How could his brother even think like that? How could he think his father would send him off with a man who had treated him like this? After all, he had promised Faramir he would never have to go to Fenekor again. But Faramir would never have expected to have to go to him in the first place, would he; a second voice in his mind spoke up, maliciously.

“Fenekor kidnapped you,” he said quietly.

Faramir stared at him expressionlessly, “Father did not -?”

“Of course not!”

“But what will happen now?”

“We will go back home, and you will rest, and this time I will not leave your side.”

“Fenekor -,”

“I will handle that.”

““The alliance–”

“Is unnecessary. We can hold out against Harad on our own as we have been doing all this while,” Boromir said.

Faramir shook his head, slightly and wearily, whatever Boromir might say, he knew his father would be angry with him. It might be an irrational anger, but rarely had Denethor’s ire at him displayed any rationale behind it. The thought of facing an irate father, sent more shudders through his already shaking body.

“Hush, young one, I am here now, and none shall ever harm you again,” Boromir whispered, stroking the damp raven hair. It was chilly in the cellar, and Faramir’s body was icy to touch, but even so he was sweating, and Boromir knew it was his body’s reaction to all the abuse it had had to endure. He was in fact surprised Faramir was still conscious and speaking cogently. He was glad his brother wasn’t pushing him away, that he still recognised his touch from that of Fenekor’s and clung to him. He trusted him. Silent tears streamed down his face, as he listened to his brother’s raspy breathing, and felt the sight chest heave against slowly and almost tiredly against his body. Did he really deserve to retain Faramir’s faith and love? He had failed to protect the one who was dearest to him. He did not deserve to call himself a soldier after this. Soldiers protected people. And this was his own brother here.

Haldir watched irresolutely, keeping an eye constantly on Fenekor’s prone body stretched out on the cold stone floor. Like Boromir, he wanted to do something really terrible to that monster. But he kept himself in control knowing the situation was delicate, and even the smallest thing could spark off a chain of unwanted events. But the sight of that tortured, broken body kept pushing his anger over the edge. He felt he understood what was going through Boromir’s head. He wondered how Boromir would be towards him after what had happened but it was obvious that Denethor’s elder son understood the duress all of them had been under.

Boromir finally stirred himself, “We must leave now. I must get you home. It is cold and you are shivering,” he told Faramir who continued to lean against him. He realised how much his embrace meant to the younger man. Faramir needed him. To think he had actually thought otherwise and spoken harshly to him because of that just the day before.

Scared grey eyes looked up at him. Total exhaustion reflected out of them. Boromir felt another pull at his heart. In all these years, he had never seen Faramir so scared. Confused and hurt perhaps, but such a depth of fear was a new emotion. Faramir suddenly looked much, much younger than his twenty-one years, reminding Boromir of their childhood days, when he had often held his weeping brother to comfort him after their father’s rash tongue or hand had held sway.

“It hurts,” Faramir whispered softly, the first vocal admission of pain he had made.

“Where, child?” Boromir glanced unhappily down at the battered body, liberally dotted with signs of the suffering it had undergone. He knew the answer even before it came out, the voice hoarse from pain and tiredness.

“Everywhere.”

Haldir moved forward, and kneeling by the two of them, spoke softly, “Will you be able to ride with one of us? It will not be comfortable, though.”

Faramir nodded tiredly. He really didn’t want to go home. He knew his father would be angry. He had failed. The Harad captain would never – the captain!

“What of the captain?” he asked fearfully.

“I forgot about that – that – creature,” Boromir spat out, “I would like to kill him, but I think we should take him prisoner, and take him back to father. And have him clapped in the worst possible dungeon and made to suffer for everything he has done. For every time he has dared to hit you, dared to –“ he stopped when he noticed his brother’s face, and cursed himself as he realised the very mention of the captain’s deeds made the younger man blanch.

“He will never touch you again,” he said firmly.

“You are hurt,” Faramir exclaimed, reaching out a quivering hand to Boromir’s forehead, where the blood had caked around the small cut he had received when he had fallen down the stairs. He himself had not noticed it, and listened with growing bemusement as Faramir’s voice became high pitched in panic, “Forgive me, Boromir, I did not see it earlier. I am sorry. Does it hurt?”

Boromir caught up the raised hand, and brought his brother closer to him.

“You should have it tended to,” Faramir continued, trying to pull away, “Do not worry about me, see to your injuries.” He pointed to the tiny cut on the neck where the knife had drawn blood.

“They are naught, child,” Boromir said his voice thick with tears. His brother did trust him, and he still loved him. But how can you? When I have let you down like this?

“He said he would kill you,” the sobbing voice came muffled, “if I, if I did not -, I was so scared. He almost killed you; I should have listened to him. Then he would not hurt you.”

“He did not hurt me, it is naught.”

“I should have done as he said, I let you get hurt. It was selfish of me,” Faramir sobbed, while Haldir and Boromir exchanged glances of consternation.

“Faramir! I should be saying those words. You are not selfish, I was not hurt. I would rather get hurt, than let anyone hurt you.” Faramir simply continued to sob.

He stared at Haldir uncomprehendingly, his vision blurred by the tears, and the elf stared back at him with a deep sadness in his eyes.

“Come,” Haldir said softly, “Let us leave, Faramir is tiring, and he has been through much.”

He reached for the man, to help him stand up. He reached a hand for Faramir’s shoulder, and raised one dropping hand. The fingers brushed past his bent face, and he felt the same rush he’d felt the first time their hands had come in contact. The lightest of touches grazed his lips, and he almost hissed, backing his face away a little. Faramir turned his grey eyes towards him realizing he’d just brushed Haldir’s lips with his hands, and then dropped them in embarrassment as the elf swerved his face. He found himself blinking back more tears as he thought back to how he had forced a kiss upon the elf. And had almost made him make love to him. He had been about to force Haldir to bed him, a human and a man at that. He had not thought that Haldir might find it distasteful, and that he was forcing him to do something he had not wanted to.

He felt Boromir and Haldir help him up, and then Boromir slipped away to truss Fenekor up “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as Haldir held him up, “I should not have – not have f-forced you –“

Haldir stared at him surprised, but had no chance to reply as he felt himself tottering unsteadily when Faramir slumped forward into his arms, consciousness finally forsaking him. Faramir’s last thoughts before a black fog beckoned him were that of his muscles screaming in protest at the sudden movement, and that in Haldir’s arms he would be safe. His arms flailed in the air for a fraction of a second, where he once again felt the touch of the soft skin of the other’s face, and it somehow comforted and soothed him, so he shut his eyes, and welcomed the blackness that overtook him.

Chapter 8

Haldir steadied himself to handle the weight of Faramir’s inert form, as the dark head fell against his chest, one arm snaked around his shoulder, the other lying limply at his side. He caught up the prone figure, and scooped him up in his arms, observing with growing concern the way the beads of sweat stood up on the pale forehead. The cheeks were discoloured with bruising, as were the swollen lips. Dark circles were etched deep underneath the closed eyes, and the torn clothes partly covering him up merely served to hide from the elf’s eyes, the more grotesque signs of injury on the rest of the body. But he knew they were there, having seen them earlier.

Faramir’s pleading eyes, and quivering body came back into the picture as he remembered how the young man had been forced into degrading himself. The son of the steward of Gondor, a ranger, albeit still in training, a young man of high breeding and good blood forced literally onto his knees begging to be made love to, to be humiliated in order to save the life of one he loved, and this after being defiled repeatedly and abused horrifically by one considered a sworn enemy. The anger surged through his veins afresh, as he hugged his charge close, noticing the shivers that had begun racking the slight frame.

Boromir came into view dragging Fenekor’s bound and still unconscious form behind him, heedless of the thumps created by the knocking of his head and back against the stone floor, “Faramir,” he stopped.

“He has merely fainted, he is exhausted and cold, and his injuries continue to plague him, I feel,” Haldir tried to reassure his friend, “Come let us leave.”

“In our haste we have forgotten an extra horse,” Boromir muttered, “Mine is the stronger, he will take Fenekor’s weight. Will you carry Faramir?”

“It will hurt,” Haldir said staring down at the sleeping man in his arms.

Boromir nodded, his eyes troubled at the thought of all his brother was having to endure, and he suddenly gave one fast furious kick to the trussed up form at his feet, causing the unconscious man to grunt in his sleep. He dragged him roughly up the steps, and across the stone floor above out into the open. Throwing the huge Harad man over his horse, struggling a little with the bulk as he did so, he waited for Haldir who came up at a more sedate pace so as to not jolt Faramir and cause him more pain. The cool air outside however stirred the prone figure, bringing out a small whimper of pain, as grey eyes opened and stared out confusedly.

“B-Boromir,” he called out softly.

“S-sh, he is here, do not worry,” Haldir soothed him, still holding onto him. When Faramir began to writhe in his arms, he set him down, but continued holding him up, as Faramir seemed unable to stand without support.

“Yes, young one, I am here,” soothed Boromir coming up to his other side, and slinging an arm around the slender waist, “Come we are going home.”

Faramir sighed softly, still leaning against Haldir’s chest.

“Haldir will carry you,” Boromir told him.

“I – I can ride,” Faramir protested softly, his eyes still seemed dazed as though he felt he was not yet fully awake.

“It would be best not to, you will not be able to sit astride a horse for long.”

Faramir flushed at the not so subtle reminder of what he had been through, but he knew his brother was right. Merely stretching his leg a little sent shooting stabs of pain through his lower body. He knew he was bleeding again, for Fenekor had been brutal with his hands, tearing through tender skin and half torn muscle to re-open old wounds and cause new ones. He shuddered as he remembered the intrusions; the pain caused the first time, increasing each time after that. Fenekor’s grubby hands, he remembered seeing them up close each time they had landed across his unprotected face. Fat hands, with pudgy fingers, chipped fingernails caked with dirt, touching him where none had touched him before. Entering him forcibly over and over again, fingering him, scratching him. He never realised when his shudders turned into sobs of agony, and Haldir wrapped comforting arms around him, and stroked his hair softly, while Boromir tightened his hold, and the three of them stood there, the elf and the older man offering him support and comfort, but it was not enough.

Memories ran a jumbled course through his head, pleasant days under the warm sun in Ithilien, the forests, the green grass, the river Anduin, the retreat in Henneth Annûn, returning to Minas Tirith looking forward to seeing his brother, hoping his father would look upon him with love now that he was a soldier, seeing the stern impassive look on his face as he reported to him and realizing some things would never change, receiving a summons from him and wondering if the change he wished for had come, and then his world had fallen apart. In one afternoon, the scales had fallen from his eyes, he was weak, his soldiering skills had been of no aid to him, his perusal of the heavy tomes in the vast libraries had been to no avail. For nothing could have stopped what had happened. There was no choice. What choice could there be? His father had commanded, and it was his lot to obey.

But did he do what he did for his father’s love or for the sake of his land?

He felt himself being pushed towards Haldir’s mount as she stood by patiently nibbling at grass that felt soft and fresh to his bare feet. He was tugged onto the back of the mare, pulled up by hands hooked under his limp armpits. The jerk caused him to nearly cry out again, only extreme self-control made him stifle the sobs as his injuries flared up yet again, protesting the aggravation. He found himself pulled across a blanket on the horse’s back, being held in place by the soft hands of Haldir, that pressed gently down on the small of his back, setting up yet another sob, as the touch centered on the opened wound from his whipping. His sore stomach and chest pressed onto the rough blanket protected only by the torn tunic covering him.

He moaned in pain, stopping only when soft hands caressed his face. Soft hands he reminded himself, not rough, dirty ones, but soft ones. Then he was pulled up into a sitting position with Haldir’s arms wrapped around his chest and waist, gasping with the agony that flared through him with each movement. He was so sore, even this half-sitting position was a trial, each time his much abused lower body came in contact with any surface it hurt, and he found his head lolling backwards, even as he sat atop the mare, in front of the tall elf, his legs chastely held together, dangling over the blankets covering the equine back.

“It will hurt,” that was Boromir’s voice, edged with distress and sorrow, “But it will hurt more to be lying across on your back or stomach or to sit astride.” Haldir pulled his head against his chest, one hand wrapped around the lower back and waist, tightening around bruised skin.

Boromir was right of course. But he felt helpless there and the cool night air swirled through his bare lower legs, sending a slight shiver through him. Haldir quickly covered him up with a cloak, and he found he felt even more fettered that way, but could do naught about it. It worsened as they began moving. With each step, he was jolted, rattling his aching bones, forcing his tired muscles to adjust to the movement, and worst of all forcing his rear to come into constant contact with the horse’s back. Haldir tried to make it easier, by forcing the mare to slow down, and by attempting to make the jolts less, by pressing him closer so as to reduce the impact of the movement, but to no avail. It felt to him as though repeatedly, he was being sent a new stab of pain as if to remind him of what had happened. He clawed desperately at the soft tunic he leant against, the feeling of the rigid muscles that farmed the other’s chest offering him solace. He felt weak, so weak, and so tired. Haldir kept murmuring to him, soft words he could not decipher, whether from tiredness or from his lack of knowledge of the tongue they were spoken in, he could not say. But he derived some comfort from the soft voice, and from the grip around him, for they helped banish the thought of a rough, leering voice and rough hands that held up his waist before the pain flared through his lower body each time. The memories of the assaults refused to go away. They kept returning. The slightest touch, the slightest movement, now that he was awake, he remembered all clearly. But he desisted sleep, for then he would dream those memories. In the end, all he could do was to let the tears fall from his eyes, wetting the soft tunic his head rested against, causing the hold on him to be tightened, and the other’s chin came to rest on his head.

Haldir held his breath each time his mare moved too suddenly, he felt himself being thrown up and down for the surface was uneven, and he felt Faramir being jolted up and down, and felt the tremors that ran through the injured frame, each time. The young man squirmed in his position unconsciously as his much abused rear was brought into contact with the horse’s back, and that he was in pain was obvious as each time he gripped Haldir’s shirt and tugged at it in desperation.. He murmured a few soft words into his ears hoping to soothe him. Faramir’s eyes were heavily lidded, but that he was awake was easily borne out by the fact that he made no sound, controlling himself from even the softest moan. Haldir quietly hugged him closer still, letting his arms wrap around the small frame, and rested his chin on the soft hair wishing that he could simply lift that face and kiss away all the worries, but knowing that that would not be possible. That Faramir let him so close was surprising in itself, and he was glad hat the young man held so much trust in him. He felt the tears wet his tunic, as he sang tunelessly in elvish, and then he bent his lips down onto the mop of now unruly and dirty dark hair, wishing his charge would sleep so as to not endure this pain.

Boromir rode a few paces ahead, with Fenekor still lying unconscious in front of him. He had no qualms about making his horse take uneven rutted paths. They were in half forest and half scrubland, and the ground was littered with stones. The more it jolted his prisoner the happier he was. It might hurt him a little too, but he found that helped him focus. Every now and then he looked back to see how his brother was doing, and the difficulty the younger man was in was so apparent that it nearly broke his heart. He wanted desperately to hold him in his arms to assure him he would protect him, he would never let him get hurt. And then he would mock himself, he is already hurt. “Someone is coming,” Haldir had urged his horse forward, causing Faramir to cry out at the sudden movement.

The horses neighed irresolutely, and Boromir could almost smell the fear that his steed felt, and he soon understood why when he saw the cause push their way through a group of bushes.

“Orcs!”

The attack was sudden and the numbers large. Within seconds they found themselves surrounded by a host of the gruesome creatures, each leering at them as they inched closer and closer. Boromir found his horse rearing up in fright, and struggled to hold him down, Haldir fared better with his mare, keeping her calm, as they inched away backwards, but knowing it would be of little help as the orcs began to circle them.

“We must fight!” Boromir shouted desperately, “Faramir –” the desperation in his voice grew as he worried for his brother.

“Yes,” came the soft voice, as Faramir straightened up and looked back at him through clear grey eyes, “We must fight.” Whatever happened to him, he would not let Boromir get hurt, His brother was here without escort because of him, he could not let anything happen to him. If Boromir had not come to rescue him, he would not be in danger like this.

Haldir nodded to Boromir as both man and elf slipped off their respective horses.

“Stay here!’ Haldir commanded his young charge, handing him a knife for safety, knowing that he would have no weapons on him. He patted his horse on the rump indicating to her to flee.

“No,” Faramir whispered, “I will help you, watch out!” the last as one of their attackers neared weapon brandished in the air. For a while all that could be heard through the glades was the ring of metal against metal. Faramir fond his mare rearing irresolutely as Haldir left her side to fight. He slipped off before he could be thrown down, and sank to his ness from the exertion face flushed and panting. A huge shape loomed over him, a leering smile, an evil smirk, and he automatically lunged his knife in its direction. Ugly, dark blood spilled onto his fingers as his assailant fell, and then one more loomed over him, to receive the same treatment, as Faramir employed the quick reflexes his days with the rangers had polished. Out of the corner of his eyes he could make out other fighting shapes, could hear Boromir’s triumphant yells each time he felled one of the orcs, could see Haldir gracefully ducking and weaving against another. Te orcs might have outnumbered them but they were not intelligent fighters. Both horses had reared away whinnying incessantly, too scared to stay but too loyal o go too far, ready to spur off the moment an orc tried to touch them.

Faramir stayed in his half kneeling position fighting off each of the fell creatures that neared him, feeling himself pushed to the ground by one, feeling scratches from their long nails, watching with apprehension the look in one attacker’s eyes, as his ragged tunic tore across the front revealing his bare skin underneath. He felt hot breath, and saw the lustful look in the eyes of the orc. He shut his eyes to that thought and shuddered as the foul beast touched him. He swung wildly, plunging the knife into the other’s stomach watching as lust turned into shock and then horror in the other’s eyes, before they turned completely unseeing. The creature fell across him, and he struggled to move him off, but his body was weak, and he found himself lying underneath the bulk of the creature panting heavily, pain clouding his senses.

It did not take long for the attack to disperse, and Haldir and Boromir soon found themselves sin command of the situation. Before long, their attackers had become the attacked and were soon retreating away into a clump of forests. Boromir’s horse shied away in fright as a straggling bunch of orcs ran towards him on their way to escape, but Boromir and Haldir had other concerns at that moment. They had seen the small figure dwarfed underneath one of the dead orcs, and to extricate him took some effort on their path.

“Faramir!” Boromir stared in horror at the pale face of his brother, who lay still, his tunic now literally hanging in rags around him, ugly black blood covering most of his body. Grey eyes flew open, as the ragged breathing evened put a little, and Faramir looked back into the two pairs of concern filled eyes that stared down at him.

“Are they gone?” he asked softly.

“Aye, but you should have stayed on your horse,” Haldir said softly.

“She threw me off,” Faramir frowned, “are you all right, did you get hurt?”

“No,” came the replies for barring a few odd scratches both man and elf had escaped unscathed.

“Come,” they helped him up, and headed back for their horses, which stood together seemingly shivering.

“Fenekor –” Boromir started as he took in the sight of his steed’s bare back, “where -?”

Haldir wordlessly pointed at something on the ground, and Faramir gave a small soundless cry.

Etched deep into the ground were the signs of someone having been dragged off towards the forest clump the orcs had disappeared into.

Chapter 9

Denethor sat watching the closed door, after one of his captains had departed. The spy had been caught, but his ire was high. To have had a spy in such inside ranks. The aide to one of the top army commanders – a spy! He had known the man had not grown up in Minas Tirith but his grandmother had been a native of the city. He was in fact, furious, that so many of Gondor’s secrets had been at peril simply because they had a mercenary in their ranks. He’d ordered him clapped in chains. He would take a decision when he was calmer. There might yet be some use salvaged from this terrible situation. Harad had made no overtures over their man’s death yet, and it seemed to Denethor that they welcomed it. He would have for sure if he’d been in the same position. A rebel commander was no loss. But what price would Fenekor extract. He could still use his help. He welcomed it. With Harad’s main spy in his custody, and Fenekor’s aid, there was no better opportunity to strike than the present.

Now, all that remained to see was what Fenekor would want. He would have to tread carefully here. Especially if it involved Faramir. A few nights of pleasure were nothing, but if he had long term plans for the boy, he could not keep such doings under wraps for long. He knew there would be little approval from his councilors or the people if they found out the steward’s younger son was busy keeping a Haradrim captain’s bed warm. And Boromir would probably revolt. He could silence Boromir. But people were not easy to silence. Already there was much gossip about Faramir’s ‘illness’. And the citadel was rife with rumours of his kidnapping. Well, that would explain his state when he returned, Denethor thought grimly. He had no doubt his son would be in a worse condition than the last time he had seen him. Fenekor’s cruelty was known. And his younger son was a spineless wimp. A fool. The type that simply asked for Fenekor to get progressively violent.

Denethor found that by channeling his anger towards its favourite cause, he was actually calming himself greatly and spent much time assuring himself that it was Faramir’s fault that he had been singled out for special treatment by the Haradrim. After all, Minas Tirith had its fair share of brothels. One could get what one wanted there. Fenekor’s love for soft, pliable men, that he could watch break under him was evident. It didn’t take more than one glance at his worthless younger son to show he fitted the bill. The fool!

As he sat going through his reports he found himself trying to justify the steps he’d taken. It is not my fault, he finds him attractive. It is not my fault. It is Faramir’s fault alone. But each time he saw his son’s battered face, and body and his hands clenched the papers tightly, as he tried not to think of the fact that his son could be going through much worse at that very moment.

He had sent a small troop of soldiers after Boromir but he knew they might not reach in time to prevent the boy from getting hurt worse. So he poured himself a large glass of wine hoping it would dull his senses and banish the thought of what could be happening to Faramir or for that matter to Boromir who had simply shot off after him without adequate protection.


“They took him,” Boromir whispered.

“What do we do?” Faramir’s hoarse voice came out distraught.

“What can we do?” Boromir demanded, “He deserves it. He deserves worse!”

“I know he is a terrible man, but – but – they are orcs,” Faramir said.

“Fenekor is no worse!” Boromir snapped.

Faramir flinched at the sharp voce, his head was pounding, his back hurt, and he could barely stand. Boromir noticed the paling of his already wan features, and immediately softened.

“You are worried I know, even if he has treated you so ill. But there is nothing we can do, we cannot go after them. We must get back now.”

Faramir never knew how he managed to make it back to Minas Tirith. If the ride earlier had been torturous, now it was ten times worse. His exertions against the orcs had tired him out more than he thought, and his body made its displeasure evident by screaming in protest. The pain kept him conscious, and permeated every fibre in his body. Despite the cool night breeze he was sweating profusely, and the riding motion was making him nauseous. He was on Boromir’s horse now, that young man having decided he wanted his brother near him. He clutched the other’s tunic with all his strength, trying his utmost not to make the pain evident. His clothes hung in tatters about him, and so he was wrapped up in Haldir’s thick cloak, and he took a simple comfort from the strange mix of smells arising from it. He thought he smelt the golden wood in it, a strange leafy, woody smell, so he concentrated on that trying to forget the pain.

Boromir held his brother close, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew Faramir was hurting and was stubbornly showing no outward sign of it. But he had known his brother all these years, and he knew that those grey eyes would be clouded with unhappiness. He felt the damp sweat clinging to the younger man and felt the slight stiffening motions his body made every few seconds, each time their horse moved too quickly. They were going at a slow trot, and the ground was relatively smooth, but it did nothing to ease the discomfort.

They entered the city quietly, the disarray in the citadel not having been allowed to permeate to the remaining levels of the city. The horses were left in the stables, and Boromir swung Faramir down and held him in his arms, refusing to set him down, despite his entreaties.

“Hush, we are almost there. I am taking you to my room. You must sleep. I will look after you, do not worry,” he said hurriedly, relieved at being able to return home with no further incident.

Surprisingly they encountered no one along the way, and Boromir correctly deduced that the commotion must have died down somewhat. When they neared the citadel entrance, Faramir entreated him to let him down again, and this time Boromir complied. He knew Faramir was afraid they would encounter Denethor. Entering the citadel by a side door, holding Faramir up, with Haldir’s help, he called out to the servant who stared at him wide-eyed.

“Please tell my father we have returned.” Faramir stiffened slightly, his grey eyes filling with fear and worry.

“Yes, my lord, lord Faramir -?”

“He is fine. A little injured that is all,” Boromir snapped back, “Please let my father know we will be in my room.”

“Shall I send a healer up?”

“Nay,” Faramir said, keeping his voice as close to normal as he could, “I have merely hurt my foot.” Which was true, Fenekor had ruthlessly twisted his ankle, while dragging him into the inn, the finger marks bruising his skin deeply, and the fight with the orcs had worsened it.

The servant nodded and hurried away, while the other three progressed slowly, as Faramir began stumbling. The long ride had cramped his muscles, and he was cold, despite the fact that he had wrapped on the cloak tight so as to hide the state of his clothes.

Once upstairs, the cloak came off, and Boromir tried to help him remove the tattered clothes.

“I need a bath,” Faramir muttered.

“There is water drawn out for me, it will still be warm if I know the servants,” Boromir said, “There will be enough for you to clean up a little.” He led him to a small chamber where a bowl of warm water had been left, and some towels. When Faramir returned he looked a little better, but still quite terrible. They helped him into bed, and then went about tending to his injuries. In the light of the lamps, he looked even worse than he had in the dimly lit inn.

Haldir could clearly see each and every bruise and welt standing out as he helped Boromir tend to the injuries for the second time in a day. Faramir had pulled on an old robe he’d found, and when Boromir tried to remove it the young man’s first reaction had been to stop it. Then he’d taken it off himself, and lain back against the pillows, Haldir holding him up so as to ensure his back wouldn’t hurt. Boromir cleaned up the re-opened wounds, and wrapped bandages wherever necessary. He covered the bruises with a salve to reduce pain, then motioned for Faramir to turn around, giving his sore back the same treatment. Then he reached for his rear, and gently rubbed the salve in, over the torn flesh, his expression a mix of anger and sorrow causing Faramir to cry out in distress.

“It is bleeding,” Boromir said softly, his eyes tearing up at his brother’s reaction. Faramir sobbed into Haldir’s shoulder and the elf found himself stroking the young man’s hair and kissing it lightly, hoping that would give him peace. He realised Faramir was feeling embarrassed, and wished the drugs they had given him would take effect soon.

But Faramir didn’t fall asleep even after Boromir had finished his ministrations. He lay on his side, curling up as he felt the heat caused by the salve spread through his body like a fire. It was comforting but hurt him a lot. A loud moan escaped from his lips as Boromir’s hands flew over a particularly nasty bruise, and he felt Haldir pull him closer. He snuggled into the embrace, resting his battered face against the other’s chest, feeling the well-developed but lithe body underneath, taking in the same woody scent he had smelt in his cloak. Haldir’s lips were resting on his head, and he found himself remembering the moment when he had rested his lips on the elf’s.

He had been scared and at first he had thought he had been scared of kissing another man after Fenekor had brutalized him, but then he had realised he had been scared of being pushed away. When Haldir had kissed back, he had joyously accepted it, reveling in the tender feeling that had acted as a balm after what he had been through. He felt himself redden as he remembered how easily he had offered himself up to Haldir. What would the elf think of him? Somewhere deep inside he had liked the idea of being with Haldir, but his recent experiences with Fenekor had still been fresh in his mind, and he had been scared. And Haldir had looked away when he had silently pleaded with him to do as Fenekor asked. And much as he had wanted Haldir to make love to him, he had not wanted to have that happen because Fenekor had ordered it for his voyeuristic pleasure. But he had still done it, he had submitted. Because of Boromir. He hoped Haldir would understand that. He did not want to be seen as cowardly and weak.

But you are, his mind spoke up, and the tears continued to fall unchecked.

Boromir finished his ministrations and then came and sat on the other side of his brother.

“There, you can sleep now,” he said soothingly, “I will be right here, so will Haldir.”

Faramir turned his face to him, tears still staining his swollen face ”N- no, you must get some rest, you have to be at the council in the morning, it is almost dawn now.”

“I will not attend the council,” Boromir said firmly, “Haldir must, I know, so I will be here with you, all day and night and the next day too, till you are well.” He bent and lightly kissed a scratch on the worried forehead that was turned towards him.

“No, you must not do that. Father will be angry. And I will be fine. I can return to my room.”

“No! You will stay here. Your room is too isolated, that is why no one saw Fenekor carry you away.”

Faramir winced at hearing that, but still continued, “Fenekor will not return now, he cannot. The orcs –“

“I hope the orcs do to him what he did to you!” Boromir said his eyes flashing with anger. Haldir felt Faramir stiffen in his arms, and then start shivering as the memories assaulted him. Was it only the day before that Fenekor had kissed him in front of his father, and then given him his brutal introduction to the seamier side of life? Was it only the last morning that Fenekor had forced himself on him not once but twice, and he had been powerless to prevent it? Was it merely a few hours since he had been kidnapped and been humiliated yet again?

“I am sorry, Faramir,” Boromir said immediately, “I keep talking, I should not – oh Faramir, I am so sorry, my little one. I know he hurt you, child, I will never let anyone –“

“You don’t know anything,” Faramir sobbed, his sheer exhaustion getting the better of him, “You don’t know – he – he –“ Faramir pushed himself away from Haldir and Boromir, and tried to sit up, tears flowing down his cheeks. He pushed the sheets off, unmindful of the cold air biting at his body through the thin cloth of his robe. He stumbled out of the bed, pushing away the outstretched arms that were put out to hold him back. What would Boromir understand? He would never be forced to become a pawn in his father’s machinations. Fenekor had said his father had not protested. And Denethor himself said he’d let the orcs have him. So what if Fenekor was gone, there would be others. He nearly fell out of the bed, his mind in complete disarray, the sheets tangling around his legs, and landed on the hard floor in an ungainly heap, as his weary body refused to obey him. Pain assailed his cramped muscles, and he found himself sprawled out on the floor, unable to get up, silent tears still streaming down his face. Haldir and Boromir were at his side in a trice. He tried to pull away from them but could not. His sobs came out in racking gasps as the horrific images of his trauma went rushing through his head. The leering face, groping hands, the whip flying through the air, the sneering expression of the Haradrim as he rendered the gory descriptions of what he’d face in his camp, and worst of all his father’s calm face as he shut the door to Fenekor’s room before Faramir found his entire life turned on its head forever.

He lay curled into himself, feeling totally pathetic as his chest heaved up and down, ignoring the chill of the cold stone on his flesh. Boromir was frantically saying something to him, his face bent towards his, he was shaking him by the shoulder, not roughly but all the same it hurt him. Then Haldir said something, very quietly, and Boromir moved away, got up and walked out of the view. Someone’s arms wrapped around him, ignoring his feeble attempts to ward them off, strong arms, a smell of the forest, and he knew it was the elf. He wanted to get away, to crawl away somewhere and drown in his misery, but he had no strength, he could not even lift a finger. He was picked up, and placed on the bed once more. He was placed on his side as before, but all he could see was those same images over and over again. Then someone placed something against his lips, and forced something wet down his throat, while the strong hands continued to hold him, stroking his arm careful to avoid touching the bruised spots. It was the last thing he remembered, as he leant against something, no, someone, and let a blackness descend upon him.

“He is asleep now,” Haldir whispered, trying to ease himself down onto the bed. He was half sitting, half lying with his arms around the young man. Faramir had unconsciously snaked an arm around him, and his head leant against Haldir’s chest, as he slept.

“Let me help you lay him down,” Boromir offered, his face still troubled by his brother’s outburst. But trying to move Faramir only made him moan in his sleep, and afraid that he’d wake up, the two friends decided to let him stay as he was. Instead Haldir slid onto the bed, and continued to hold the sleeping figure close, motioning to Boromir to draw the blankets up around them.

“Leave him be like this, it helps him sleep,” he told Boromir, and then observing the distraught face of the other, quietly said, “He was tired, and I think overcome by everything that has happened. You cannot expect him to learn to cope with it overnight. He has already borne up admirably. It is too much of a strain on one so young.”

“I know,” Boromir whispered softly, stroking his younger brother’s cheek, taking care not to hurt him, “I wish it had never happened. But he is correct; I will never comprehend what all he has gone through. When I saw him lying on the ground there, it was terrible. And he would have been through worse. And when that monster talked of forcing me to watch, oh Haldir, what he must have gone through!” Boromir sank his head in his hands and his shoulders shook.

“He will need you, my friend, and he will need your strength,” Haldir said softly, “now I think you should get some sleep too. You are very tired, even if you do not plan to attend the council tomorrow.”

“No, I will stay up,” Boromir said resolutely, “I know you will attend tomorrow, so you must rest.”

“I shall be fine, I have spent more hours awake than this in my patrols. I wish I could do without, but attend the council I must, for I do after all represent Lórien here,” Haldir replied sighing, as he looked upon the figure in his arms. Faramir looked so young, with his slight frame, and the sudden gauntness to his face added by the tribulations he’d been through, made him look like a sick child.

A knock on the door prevented Boromir from replying, and when he went to the door to open it, he found a servant outside, with a message from his father, summoning him to his study. Sending the servant off he turned back to the bed.

“Go, I am here. This time I will not leave him alone, no matter what,” Haldir said with a firmness that surprised even him.

Boromir nodded “I will tell him we are back and return, immediately. If he wants anything else it can wait till later.”

He walked wearily out, shoulders slumped in despair, leaving the elf and his brother alone. When he returned, as promised after telling his father they were back, both were sound asleep, Haldir leaning against the raised pillows and Faramir leaning sideways against the elf, a blanket tucked under his chin. Haldir’s eyes were open, but the straight unseeing look told Boromir that the elf was asleep. Faramir still lay wrapped in his arms, sleeping peacefully, so Boromir picked a spare blanket and settled down on a chair for the night. He had told his father that they had found Faramir that Fenekor had been taken by orcs, and that they were all back.

His slurred voice and bleary eyes had been enough for Denethor to know he could get no more useful information from him so he had dismissed him to mull over what he had learnt. Denethor decided he could not do much immediately given that it was not even daybreak yet.


Haldir awoke as the sun crossed the horizon, having slept barely an hour, but still feeling sufficiently refreshed. He looked around the room and saw Boromir sleeping curled up on a huge chair, and then realised that Faramir was still in his arms, securely snuggled up against him. The young man had curled his body up as if to fight a stomach cramp, and one leg now lay sprawled over Haldir’s thigh, while his groin pressed into the elf’s stomach underneath the blanket. Haldir suddenly realised his arms had slid down and now rested on Faramir’s thigh and behind, while the man’s arms clutched at his chest, and. He could feel the other’s warm breath on his left nipple, and he hurriedly removed his hands, and tried to shift the man away, surprisingly succeeding in doing so without waking him up. He found himself slightly flushed as he suddenly touched his stomach finding it to be warm, savouring the lingering touch of the other upon him, and then blinked angrily as he found himself dreaming of Faramir’s warm breaths against his neck, of kissing the other on his mouth. A sensuous mouth that currently looked swollen and mangled.

Ai, what thoughts, has he not been through enough, that I start thinking such of him? he berated himself, but he still could not stop feeling the touch of the leg over his thigh, of the other’s maleness against his stomach, the kiss they had shared under duress.

He shook himself angrily; he must stop thinking like this. Faramir trusted him! If he were to think of him like this, why he was no better than Fenekor. The thought of Fenekor made his blood boil, and he hissed angrily. Boromir awoke at the sound, blinking as he tired to make out his surroundings.

“Haldir, you are awake?” he inquired softly, “Thank you my friend, for helping my brother sleep peacefully.”

“Aye, he needs it,” Haldir said softly.

“The council will begin soon, you should get ready,” Boromir said.

“You will be here?” it was as much a statement as a question.

“Yes, I will not leave, I am not really required there,” Boromir said lamely.

“My lord steward knows?”

“I will have a message sent to him,” Boromir said quietly, sliding onto the bed beside Faramir, and tucking the blanket securely around the prone figure.

Haldir nodded, it was pointless asking Boromir what his father would think. He just hoped Denethor would not create a problem. He said nothing however but simply squeezed Boromir’s shoulder in encouragement and left the room. He decided he needed a cold bath, a very cold bath. It might bring his senses back on track. And prevent him seeing the solemn face of a young man, grey eyes radiating an intense sadness, an unmarked face at close quarters, as close as though they were kissing. He shook his head angrily once again as he passed down the corridor angrily muttering to himself, much to the amazement and almost fright of one of the servants passing by.

Boromir sent off a servant with a message to his father and then sat by Faramir’s curled up body, watching the sleeping face, noting how it had changed. How weary and sad his brother looked. He had always had an unhappiness in his eyes, but now his very face radiated a deep-rooted sadness, the lines, the dark circles, the shadows. He was stroking the stray hair away from his face when a knock sounded, and the door opened simultaneously to reveal his father’s stern countenance.

Chapter 10

Boromir sat up straight immediately.

“Father,” he said politely in greeting, without getting up. He stroked his sleeping brother’s dark hair gently, pushing a few wayward strands of hair away from his face.

“Is he awake yet?” Denethor’s voice was as calm as his expression, as he came towards the bed.

“No, he sleeps still, and I did not wake him. We had to give him sleeping herbs last night,” his son replied softly, getting up.

“Have you eaten yet?” Denethor asked him.

“Nay, I did not want to leave him here alone,” Boromir said steadily. He knew his father would have received his message, and he could not help but wonder if Denethor had come there to force him to attend the Council. He was very afraid that that might be the case, and he was too weary to argue it out with the older man. Suddenly he knew exactly how Faramir felt almost each day of his life, when their father constantly either contradicted him or silenced him. He was sure that his face contained the same apprehensive expression that Faramir’s face would always contain before he opened his mouth to speak to Denethor.

“He will need to eat, too. Go down to the kitchen and bring some food up for both of you. I will stay with him in the meantime.”

Boromir stared back at his father’s calm and collected countenance. Denethor wanted to spend time with Faramir? But of course he would, he told himself.

“Yes, father,” he said immediately, as his mood lightened perceptibly. He had been annoyed when Denethor had not come to visit Faramir last night, but now he realised it would have been of no help as Faramir had been sleeping. It would do his younger brother much good if, upon awakening, he found Denethor there. He would know he cared. It was as he slipped out of the door and walked down the corridor that he wondered if his father cared enough. After all, he was in a way responsible for all this in the first place. But Faramir did not seem angry with him, he told himself. But then Faramir never did get angry with their father, no matter what. He sighed as he picked his way down the long winding staircase going towards the kitchen.

Denethor continued staring impassively at his younger son’s prone figure and then finally moving to the side of the bed, knelt down and pulled the blanket away gently. Then he reached for the bindings of the robe his son wore to inspect his condition, untying them to expose the damage underneath. He observed the bandages and bruises on the torso and stomach without twitching even an eyebrow. Then he gently pulled the sleeping figure over, and tugging the robe off, inspected his back. Despite Boromir’s ministrations the signs of Fenekor’s lust were only too evident. Faramir murmured something in his sleep as the cold air hit his exposed flesh.

Denethor finally moved towards the window, and pulled the curtains open allowing bright sunlight to stream into the room. Every bruise and cut on his son’s face and body stood out sharply against the extra pale skin. It was a worse sight in the light, for the skin now looked sickly where it was not covered in a myriad pattern of colours ranging from livid red to dulling black. Even the dark circles under the now twitching eyes looked deeper and darker than ever before.

Faramir found himself waking up when the sun hit his sleeping form. He kept his eyes closed as he felt the sudden warmth descend upon him, and savoured it happily. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, not wanting to get up from his comfortable position and tried to stretch himself, eyes still closed. The movement brought back to him what he had been through for his muscles immediately screamed in protest. His eyes flew open and fell upon the tall figure standing by.

He felt an irrational fear course through is veins as their eyes came in contact. Denethor stared back at him unmoving. Faramir gaped back at him for a few seconds before realizing his robe had been pulled off. Blushing a little, for he was never at ease around his father, he pulled it back on, pushed the blankets away, and tried to sit up. It was not easy. His body didn’t want to get up, and he was soon heaving from the effort, as he pressed his hand down on the bed and pulled himself up into a semi-sitting position. His backside came in contact with the bed, and he had to choke off the cry that almost escaped from his lips, as a shooting pain traveled all the way up his body.

“F-fath – My Lord,” he said finally, as he managed to wrap the blankets around himself. The excessive formality between father and son had held for many years now, and Faramir had never let it slip, until the past few days. It had not however achieved anything, he decided.

Denethor nodded his head in greeting, but said nothing. Faramir waited. He found the fear had still not left his heart. Any minute now he expected to see Denethor’s wrath descend upon him, and he tried to reconcile himself to that. He rarely ever replied to his father in his angry moods nowadays, preferring instead to stay in silence until the mood had worked itself out. In his younger days, Denethor usually worked it out by striking his less favoured son. And the more Faramir did to anger him, the harder the blows would get. So, he’d stopped inciting his father further, preferring to take the angry words in silence.

But he still feared the words, for they always cut through him. Words designed to put him down, to show him his place.

Now, however there were no words, merely an appraising look, and Faramir still found himself scared, in anticipation of what his father might say, or do. Denethor moved forward, and reached for his face. He flinched violently. It was an automatic reaction that surprised even Denethor. He realised his untoward move not only hurt him further, it had also angered his father, whose face had become even more set. Once again, Denethor reached out, and snaking a finger under Faramir’s chin he pushed the face up so that two pairs of grey eyes came in close contact. Faramir found himself almost holding his breath. He sat very, very still, not even daring to cry out as his father’s finger brushed against the bruises on his chin. Then the hand came away.

“They will heal soon,” his father said calmly. Faramir found himself shivering under the blanket. He wrapped himself tighter, feeling very lightheaded, wishing he could lie back down.

Father and son stayed in silence for a few seconds until they were interrupted by Boromir’s return with a tray laden with food.

“You are awake,” he said smiling at the younger man. His voice held immense relief and happiness in it. Placing the tray on a table, he came and sat by Faramir.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, gently putting an arm around his shoulders. Faramir stiffened imperceptibly. His father continued to watch on solemnly.

“I feel fine,” he replied in a low voice, clenching his hands together tightly in his lap.

“I am glad to hear that,” Boromir said, “I have brought you something to eat, and then you can go back to sleep. You look very tired.”

Faramir looked up at his father briefly and then glanced down at his hands, “I am fine,” he repeated, “Do not worry.”

“I hear you refused to see a healer,” Denethor’s cold voice came across.

Faramir jerked up, fear clenching his heart once again. Surely his father could realise how humiliated he would feel to let anyone else at see him in this state. Already Denethor, Boromir and even Haldir had seen him. That was shame enough without adding another person to the list.

Before he could say anything, Boromir spoke up.

“None of the wounds are serious, father. They are merely small scrapes and bruises. I’m sure a few days in bed will take care of them.”

Denethor did not reply. He turned around to look out of the window at the city coming to life beneath them. Faramir continued to stare at his hands, and Boromir continued to hold onto him.

Those are his physical wounds I talk of father, what about the wounds you cannot see, that he will not show? He tightened his hold around the slender body, and realised how relieved he was that Faramir was here in his hands, back home with him, safe.

Denethor turned around slowly, “You will be in the council in the afternoon. I will need your presence after luncheon.”

Boromir blinked, and then found himself getting angry, “I sent a message to you, my lord,” he said quietly, “I will be here all day.”

“You may be here in the morning and in the evening. In the afternoon, you will come to the council,” Denethor repeated, and turned to the door.

“Father, I cannot leave Faramir here alone.”

“Boromir,” Denethor turned around wearily, his voice sounding tired as it acquired an edge, “I need you to tell the council of the situation on the ground. They will need to hear reports from men who have been out there fighting the dark forces, not from men like myself who sit out here and hear secondhand reports. Before they even think of offering us, they will want to hear all that. I am sure your brother can understand that,” he added sarcastically.

Boromir stood up suddenly, angry with his father for dragging Faramir in like this. But the ploy worked. Faramir spoke up immediately, “I understand,” he said quietly, “And I am fine. You do not have to stay with me all the while Boromir. I will go back to my room after breakfast.”

“You may stay here,” Denethor told him, “It will be easier for the servants to bring your meals here than to your room.”

Boromir gritted his teeth. Every time he thought his father was making some effort at being concerned, pat would follow a remark exactly opposite in nature.

“I will not -,” he began, but Faramir interrupted him.

“Yes sir,” he said tiredly.

Denethor nodded and then walked away before Boromir could speak up again.

“I will not go!” Boromir shouted.

“Don’t be impractical, Boromir,” Faramir said wearily.

“Impractical! Do you not remember what happened?”

“You cannot be with me forever, Boromir, and father is correct. It is important that you be there in person. I do not need you to play nursemaid to me all the while.”

“You do not? Very well, perhaps you can get up and get your food on your own!” Boromir shouted out, and stomped out of the room.

He was back in seconds however, ashamed with himself for lashing out at his brother like that, when his anger was actually with Denethor. Entering the room he found Faramir trying to rise from the bed, only to fall onto the floor like a limp rag. Tears streamed down the young man’s face, and Boromir rushed forward to gather him up in his arms. The sudden movement made Faramir cry out in pain.

“I’m sorry, Faramir, please forgive me, I should not have shouted at you,” Boromir said helping his brother up, “Do you want to eat? Sit back. I will get you food.”

“No, just water,” Faramir said softly.

“You must eat child,” Boromir said helping him back into bed.

“No, I just want to lie down,” the younger man said.

Boromir gently laid him on the bed, and pulled up the blanket over him as he curled up on his side. Then he went to get the tray. Sitting on the bed, he pulled Faramir into his arms ignoring his protests, and held a mug of water to his mouth.

“Drink,” he commanded.

Faramir drank the water slowly, and then tried to lie back down but found Boromir thrusting a slice of bread at his mouth. Too tired to argue he ate it, chewing slowly. Then he was made to have some broth. He was surprised the food stayed down, he hadn’t thought it would have. But even then, it did nothing to improve his headache or his tiredness, so he lay back to sleep. Boromir had not finished however, he made Faramir drink a herbal tea to soothe the pain. As it also worked as a sleep inducer, Faramir soon found himself nodding off. He felt his brother sitting beside him quietly stroking his hair. He opened his eyes, and looked up at the handsome face that was looking upon him with concern and sadness, and reached for the hand on his head. Boromir gave him a small smile as they stayed that way for a while, Faramir clutching his brother’s hand tightly feeling strangely reassured by the close presence of the other.

He never knew when he fell asleep, just that his mind seemed strangely foggy, and he could not even think much. So he shut his eyes, and slept all day. Boromir sat by all morning, frowning a little as he felt the skin warm to touch. He hoped Faramir wasn’t going to fall ill, although it was quite conceivable given that they’d spent most of last night outdoors in the cold, and Faramir had not been dressed for it. He ensured the blankets were warm enough, and continued his vigil while the younger one slept a deep sleep, the herbs giving him peace. Boromir realised how truly exhausted Faramir must have been as he watched over him.

He ate his luncheon alone, and then left for the council as ordered. He realised he could not get himself to disobey his father’s order. He knew the anger would be taken out not on him, but on someone else who was already wanting in strength. He left orders with the palace guard to keep an eye on his room. News of Faramir’s ill health had spread, so his orders were accepted easily. He sat through the council chaffing at the length of discussion, spoke when he was called to, and then fumed as he found he was expected to stay on, for other members kept asking questions. Across the table he saw Haldir looking at him worry and concern lacing his face. He tried to smile back but found he couldn’t. They did not meet until after the council had ended, and Boromir found out he still had a little work to do.


Faramir sighed in his sleep, waking up feeling stiff, and bone-tired. Once the effect of the herbs had worn off he had been plagues by terrible dreams, all involving Fenekor. He had dreamt badly, and each nightmare had been more horrifying than the previous one. Lying on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest he heard the door open, as someone entered, but did not attempt getting up immediately. Instead he took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes to gaze upon the face of Haldir.

“Haldir?” he found his voice sounded scratchy.

Haldir entered and then placing a pile of books on a table, smiled and came and sat by him.

“Your brother was detained with some work, so I have come to spend the evening with you. I have even brought you your books to read, Boromir said you would welcome them,” Haldir waved a hand towards the pile, “Or would you rather sleep some more?”

“No!” the force with which the word came out surprised even Faramir. Tears sprang up in his troubled grey eyes, and trailed down his cheeks. Haldir was at his side immediately.

“You are not able to sleep well, are you?” he asked, stroking Faramir’s hair gently, helping him clam down.

Faramir was completely shaken by the vivid images that had been assaulting his mind for the last hour or so. He sobbed louder now.

“It is all right, I’m here,” Haldir crooned softly. Finally, he pulled Faramir into his arms, as he had done the night before, holding him gently, whispering comforting words into his ears. Faramir clung to him desperately. He felt wretched for doing so, but he had no strength. He was very tired, and his body was riddled with aches and pains, and felt feverish. Haldir could feel his warm breath on his chest, where Faramir’s head now rested. He lifted a free hand to Faramir’s brow, and sighed as he felt the clammy feel of the skin.

“You are unwell, you must try and get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” the voice came out soft, and as Haldir suddenly realised had a beautiful lyrical quality to it.

“For what?” he asked looking at the young man confusedly.

“For – for – at the inn,” Faramir’s eyes were clouding over but he went on, “You were very kind to me, and very gentle, thank you. I was afraid,” he paused irresolutely, almost ashamed to confess what seemed to him to be cowardice.

Haldir leaned forward, sighing softly, “I am sorry, I did not move earlier, I should have never let him put you through that.”

Faramir averted his eyes away from the beautiful face of the elf, “No, it is not your fault, I was too cowardly to do aught about it. And he would have hurt Boromir. I cannot bear to see Boromir hurt.”

“I understand, but you were not cowardly,” Haldir said softly thinking back to his own brothers, and how close they were. He reached out for the young man’s hand to squeeze it, “You were hurt and tired. And I did not want to hurt you further. But you should not think you are cowardly. I saw you fight the orcs, you were very brave.”

Faramir stared up at him, an unreadable expression in his grey eyes.

“Sleep now,” Haldir said softly.

But the grey eyes remained open, they were still staring back at him. Then Faramir’s hand reached for his face, and caressed it slowly, “You would never have hurt me,” he said quietly, “You are too good for that.” His fingers stilled on Haldir’s lips, “Thank you.”

Haldir had almost frozen when the slender fingers had caressed his face. Now they were on his lips, and it was all he could do to not take them into his mouth and lick them one by one. Suppressing a shudder of desire, he ran his own hand lightly over the untouched portions of Faramir’s face.

“You are very brave,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. Faramir pulled himself up slightly, and as he bent forward to help the man, Haldir found their lips touching each other. Then Faramir was kissing him.

Chapter 11

Haldir felt he could hear his heart beating in his ears when Faramir’s lips touched his. Arms still wrapped around the other’s slender figure he closed his eyes and let himself be swept into a state of complete bliss. The same bliss he had almost let himself into a day ago. When Faramir moved away, he still kept his eyes closed feeling the lingering touch of his lips on his. They had been swollen and rough but in better condition than the day before.

Faramir gave a small gasp that quickly turned into a sob.

“I – I am sorry,” he whispered his voice shaking with the unshed tears that glimmered in his eyes, “I did not mean to –“

Haldir opened his eyes slowly, and stared back at Faramir’s distraught face. The grey eyes were once again filling up, and the mouth that had just been kissing him was quivering. Faramir clasped his shaking hands together in his lap, and averted his eyes from Haldir’s scrutiny, his face reddening under the bruises.

“Please forgive me,” the soft voice could barely be heard.

Haldir put out a graceful hand, and hooking it carefully under the young man’s chin, raised up his face. The tears had spilled over now, tracing their way down the still swollen cheeks. He was about to tell him it did not matter, that there was nothing to forgive. Faramir’s kiss had been everything he had dreamt it would be, if not more. What they had shared in the cellar had had an element of duress in it, with each feeling the other was submitting under compulsion, and at the same time being ashamed of their own selves for deriving fulfillment from it.

But the sight of Faramir’s forlorn face, with the immense unhappiness lurking in the eyes, made him forget all that. Raising his other hand, he gently wiped the tears away, and drawing the man’s head close to his, gently kissed him on the forehead.

“Do not apologise,” he whispered softly. Faramir stared back at him mutely, eyes still glistening, his expression reduced to one of such vulnerability, that Haldir suddenly enveloped his arms around him, and drew his head against his chest. Careful to avoid causing the injured man any discomfort, he ran a hand lovingly through the raven locks, and kissed the top of Faramir’s head gently. Feeling the other’s hand clutch uncertainly at his tunic, a desperate vice-like grip, he wrapped his own hand around it, and squeezed tightly, feeling the racing pulse underneath. Lifting the bunched fist, he interlocked his own graceful fingers with the slender ones and bringing the hand up to his mouth, he gently kissed it. Faramir raised his head and gazed up at him in surprise.

They stayed that way, gazes interlocking, hand in hand, with no words exchanged each trying to discern the unreadable expression of the other. Faramir found his heart mired in confusion. After the events he had been through, he felt he was losing his grip on clarity. His mind sent him confusing signals. After Fenekor’s mauling, he had thought he would never be comfortable even near another person’s presence ever again, but Haldir had turned that theory on its head. Not only had he felt a warmth and comfort in his sinewy arms, he found himself desiring it even more. The sight of Haldir made him remember their kiss together, made him remember that his heart had raced wildly at the prospect. In Boromir’s arms he could find security and affection and love, but in Haldir’s arms he found something greater than that, he could not even describe what it was. He just found himself desiring more of it, whatever it was. And now he found the elf kissing his fingers, sending a tingling sensation through his body, a feeling of arousal. One that made him forget what he had been through, one that made him forget the pain that coursed through is muscles every time he even so much as moved an inch. He felt himself being transported to an entirely different plane of existence, one where he and Haldir were all that mattered, and nothing else.

Haldir in turn was horrified with himself. He felt he had taken advantage of Faramir’s battered state of mind. Faramir was emotionally very weak and probably in his mind searching for any source of true affection. Haldir wondered if Faramir felt betrayed by Denethor. He had seen enough of the young man to know that he would deny it upfront, not just to anyone else, but even to himself. Whatever Denethor thought of his younger son, his son did not reciprocate in kind. That he still strove for the father’s love was as clear as day and that this love was still not forthcoming was just as clear. It angered Haldir that despite all that had occurred Denethor’s attitude towards Faramir had undergone merely a tiny improvement. He simply displayed a small degree of concern that had been absent earlier, that was all.

He supposed it was difficult to change years of reasoning, even though to him, Denethor’s years were a miniscule number. In such a situation, he reasoned to himself, Faramir would jump for affection of any kind. He wondered whether, had Fenekor been a little kinder, would Faramir have willingly submitted to him, merely to gain a feeling of being wanted? Haldir was after all, the only other person who had contact with Faramir now. Boromir’s affection was assured, and that left him. Faramir was crying to be loved, and he was taking advantage of the situation by lusting after the boy, for what else could he call one so young?

He slowly disentangled their fingers and placed Faramir’s hand down gently. Lowering his hand from the head, he placed it on the other’s shoulders, loosening the grip, and schooled his features into what he hoped was a look of detachment.

“Do not apologise,” he repeated, ignoring the disappointed expression on Faramir’s face, “you are –”

Faramir promptly clutched his hand again, gripping it tightly unwilling to relinquish the hold. He had thought when Haldir was kissing him that his feelings were being reciprocated, something he had never imagined. Haldir sighed, and loosened the grip with ease, Faramir being too weak to clutch really tightly. He gently placed the young man’s hand down, and stared back at him. Faramir’s face fell immediately, and Haldir felt his heart tug at the sight.

“You are angry with me,” the man said softly, his eyes reflecting a strange despair.

“No!” Haldir said forcefully, and then softened his voice, as the distress on the other’s face grew larger.

“I do not want to hurt you,” Haldir said quietly.

“You could never hurt me,” Faramir said with surprising fervour. His voice was still soft, but there was a strength to it that had not been there earlier.

“Please do not leave me,” he continued his voice laced with the same desperation his eyes reflected, “I will not will not – force my attentions on you if you do not desire it, but please – stay a while.”

Haldir sighed, “You would not be forcing yourself,” he said honestly, “But you do not know what you want. You are unwell, and I suspect being alone here all day, has not been of aid. Much as I find myself attracted to you, I will not take advantage of your fragile state.”

Faramir gaped at him, “Fragile?” he questioned his voice taking on a high-pitched note.

“Yes, you need support and love, and not another man’s lust,” Haldir continued, “Fenekor gave you enough of that.” He felt Faramir stiffening and cursed his own hasty words. Any mention of that monster seemed to affect the young man in his arms.

“I understand,” Faramir said brokenly, lowering his eyes, “I know I cannot ask you to reciprocate what I find myself feeling towards you, you are one of the Eldar. ”

“What you feel towards me?” Haldir stared back at the unhappy face bent down in front of him.

“Yes, when we kissed in the cellar. I have – I have never felt anything like that.” Faramir said without looking up.

“Merely a change from that brute’s assault,” Haldir told him firmly, resisting the urge to brush the swollen lips with his fingers hoping to give them succour.

“You think I have feelings towards you, because of what Fenekor did to me?” Faramir asked softly, glancing up into Haldir‘s face finally understanding what Haldir was trying to say.

“Yes, you do, you are vulnerable right now, and I do not blame you. What he did to you -”

“What he did to me?” Faramir’s voice became raised, “What he did to me? Would you like to know what he did to me? He – he -,” Faramir found himself choking, the words coming out brokenly, unable to even speak clearly, “So many times, it hurt so much, and he beat me, and he whipped me, and – and he used his hands on me,” he closed his eyes, shuddering as he spoke, the terrible memories assailing his overwrought mind over and over again. He could still see Fenekor’s leering face in front of him and the hands reaching for him, he could hear the derisory voice, feel the hands groping him, feel the unbearable pain ripping through his very being over and over again, with each renewed assault on his battered body. He was breathing raggedly now, causing Haldir to look at him in concern.

Faramir opened his eyes, still breathing rapidly, blinking to dissipate the horrific images and memories, and ignoring Haldir’s worried expression, spoke again, his eyes set on his hands, “I thought I would never be able to stand anyone even come anywhere near me. When he said that he would give me to his soldiers for their entertainment, and stand there watching the fun, I thought I would like to die right then. He – he said he would – he would keep me, for his use as he pleased.” Haldir listened with horror to Fenekor’s plans

The derisive words tripped out of the young man’s mouth bitterly, “That I was merely a prostitute, up for offer to whoever it pleased, sold by my father for the sake of a few companies of war.”

“When he told me to give myself to you,” Faramir continued unheeding of the growing shock on the elf’s face, “I wanted to die right then rather than have you see me in such a position. And then I thought of the pain, and it scared me even further that one more time I would have to go through that. I thought I would have to force myself to even stand near you. But when you kissed me, all that was forgotten. I knew I would never be scared of being near you. I wanted you, Haldir, how much I wanted you! I wanted you to take me, to make love to me, I knew you would never hurt me.”

“You do not know what you are saying,” Haldir insisted softly, still in shock over everything he had heard.

Faramir shook his lowered head, “I do. You think all this has made me weaker. It has not. It has made me stronger. After what Fenekor put me through, I can go through anything else. After that, even death was not a scary prospect. There is no worse that can be done to me.”

“That is what I’m saying,” Haldir said, “Any feelings you have are merely because –”

“No! I desire you, Haldir, I need you, I love you,” Faramir said raising his head and gazing straight back at Haldir’s eyes, “And I know you will not return the sentiment, but I do not mind.”

“You love me?” Haldir whispered softly, ignoring the warning signals his brain sent out. He didn’t care any more. Suddenly, he did not mind even taking advantage of this luscious youth in front of him.

Ignoring the protests his mind sent out, he suddenly closed his mouth on Faramir’s gently kissing him, a long loving kiss, as their tongues explored each other’s mouths, he ran his hand slightly over the other’s body, down the back, over the legs, all over him.

Faramir was similarly feeling Haldir’s body, sending sparks of desire racing through him.

They came apart flushed and breathing raggedly.

“I should not,” Haldir breathed, “you are weak. You have been through much. I will not add to your misery.”

“You cannot,” Faramir said raggedly, “Do you not understand, you cannot make me more miserable. I was defiled by another man. One who had my father’s consent to do so. And I did not protest. What could be worse than that?”

Faramir’s bluntness made Haldir wince. The man’s face was laced with unhappiness and desperation and pain.

“I want you,” Faramir said simply, the desperation having left his voice to be replaced by a quiet calmness, “You said I would not be forcing myself. If you desire me too, Haldir, take me. While there is the time, Haldir.”

The lips closed in on Haldir’s again, submitting completely to him. Haldir moved his arms along the supple slim body in his arms, rubbing gently, feeling the other buck under him in pleasure as his tongue roved inside the mouth, and his hands slipped under the robe to touch the soft skin it covered. Faramir stiffened when the fingers encountered the welts on his back forcing Haldir to pull away. He stared into the grey eyes and sighed.

Faramir’s face was flushed, “Why do you stop?” he breathed out roughly, hands still wrapped around Haldir’s body. He ran his fingers lightly over the elf’s chest, tracing a path slowly down his lower belly, and then coming to a stop. Haldir sighed yet again, still holding onto the young man, ensuring that he moved as little as possible to avoid feeling his aches. He removed Faramir’s hand that had now moved lower to where his erection was fast making its presence felt.

“Do you not like it? Will you not make love to me?” the young man whispered softly, his eyes taking on the same unhappy look again.

“We can share no more than kisses,” Haldir said firmly, “I could not possibly take you to bed with me, while you are in such a state as this.”

“I own I could not do that right now,” Faramir admitted, “I fear I can barely move without help. But at least we may sit together. At least we may know that we feel for each other. You will return to Lórien soon, will you not? In what little time we have, may we not take pleasure in each other’s company? Will you not derive enjoyment from the kisses we share, as I derive enjoyment from your very caress, your very touch? It is all I ask, and I grieve I can offer you no more, for while my heart wills it, my body betrays me.”

Lórien Faramir was right, he would have to return soon. What was he doing? Giving in to Faramir and then discarding him. How could he do that to the boy?

“The council was fruitful today?” Faramir asked suddenly. He shifted slightly, trying to get into a comfortable position against Haldir’s chest, only to gasp, as the pain hit him.

“Do not move!” Haldir said immediately, “you exert yourself too much.”

“The council?” Faramir gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of pain swept over him

“It is too early to tell,” Haldir muttered.

“Your face tells all.”

“What do you mean?” Haldir frowned a little. The council for the day, had not ended on terms favourable to Gondor, but then Denethor had asked for too much. An alliance against the darkness rising from Mordor, but few were the takers for all had their own lands to defend against it.

“You look tired,” Faramir replied, settling his head down against Haldir’s chest, wrapping one arm loosely around his waist. Haldir looked down at him. The robe was in disarray, and he could make out the injuries across Faramir’s back. He frowned slightly, “Have your injuries been tended to today?”

“I think Boromir checked them in the morning, or perhaps that was a dream?” Faramir muttered, his voice suddenly sounding exhausted and laced with pain.

“I will see them now,” Haldir offered, and gently lifting the young msn up, carefully to avoid hurting him further.

Faramir curled up on his side, while Haldir fetched some water and herbs. Loosening the rove, he observed the bruises and marks, and applied salves wherever required. Faramir’s face remained set throughout except a few times when a faint hiss seemed to emanate from his lips. Haldir tried his best not to add to the pain, but the wounds were still tender, and merely brushing them caused pain. He could see a wetness glistening against the dark eyelashes fringing the closed eyes. A faint sheen of sweat glimmered upon the quiet face.

“The council ends in two days, does it not? When do you leave for Lórien?” Faramir’s voice broke through his reverie.

Chapter 12

“When do you leave for Lórien?” the question snapped Haldir out of his reverie. He stared back at Faramir’s wan but composed face, eyes still closed.

He wondered what to answer. He should never have started this. Should never have succumbed to the temptation. He laid down the bowl of salve he had been holding, and re-tied the robe around Faramir’s slender body.

The scraping of the door made him look up. Boromir had entered with a tray of food in his hands.

“Is he sleeping?” he asked Haldir softly, taking in the sight of his brother lying on his side.

“Boromir,” the younger man’s voice reflected the smile that shone on his face, as he attempted to turn over and sit up, ignoring his stiff muscles.

“Lie still,” Haldir commanded immediately. Boromir placed the tray down and came and sat on the bed. Leaning down, he brushed Faramir’s forehead with a light kiss.

“I have brought you some food.”

Faramir made a grunting noise of some kind, and turned his face towards his pillow.

“You must eat, you are thinning,” Haldir added to the coaxing.

So he ate, and allowed them to fuss over him after that, change his robe for a fresh one, brush out the tangles in his hair, and fluff up his pillows. Sleep came soon, almost without realization. He had sagged against someone yet again. And this time the nightmares were kept at bay. Each time the horror arose it was driven away by a loving caress, and by gentle words. When he woke with the sun, Haldir was holding him in his arms, watching him. He straightened himself slowly, annoyed to find that the pain had still not left his body, and stiffly leant forward.

“Where is Boromir?”

“I sent him to sleep in my chambers. The couch can be very uncomfortable.”

“And he was loathe to pull me out of your arms?” Faramir’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he spoke, “Did you sleep well?” he inquired, leaning into the elf’s face, bringing his lips close to his, and then pouncing on them hungrily before the other could reply.

Any hesitation Haldir might have felt about their intimacy was promptly dispelled, and he kissed back fervently. Faramir’s intimate caresses across his body, down his back, over his thighs, feathery touches on his groin, all sent shudders through Haldir’s aroused body. He slipped a hand through what he felt was a totally unnecessary robe, and explored the by now completely familiar body in his arms, carefully and gently, running his soft hands over the skin underneath, taking delight in simple pleasures that were all that could be afforded.

Drawing back gasping for air, he looked back at the disheveled face, and then frowned slightly, “You have a fever,” he said quietly, “it did not increase during the night so we thought we would let you sleep over it, but I see it has not left you yet. “

“It is naught,” Faramir whispered.

The fever did not worsen but it did not abate greatly either, and indeed added to the young man’s discomfort greatly. For now he found he had a headache to add to his woes. Neither did it make for speedy healing. Faramir was no closer to getting out of bed, his body still suffering much. As the day before, Boromir stayed with him a while, and then left for the council, but refused to speak of it to him, telling him they would discuss it when he got better. Denethor did not visit him all day.

Haldir came during the noon hour with food, kisses, and more gentle caresses. Both were left feeling an aching fire in their insides that they knew would be impossible to quench or to satisfy at that moment.

The afternoon passed by in sleep, and as the evening hours neared Boromir arrived, his face tired and drawn, sighing deeply as he seated himself by his brother.

“How goes the council?” Faramir asked softly.

“Not as hoped,” Boromir admitted.

“Father requests an alliance to fight the foes to our east, does he not?”

“Aye.”

“And it is not forthcoming?”

“We are told we are not alone in fighting the fell forces. But we bear their largest brunt and none will see that. Rohan offers help but not much they say for they face dangers closer to their own land. The elves say their might is concentrated on the growing evil over their own lands. As do the dwarfs.”

“What does father say?”

“Naught, but he despairs. We at Gondor must face our travails alone, it appears, and so he despairs.”

“If we must, we must,” Faramir said softly, “You must not let him despair, Boromir. Show him that there is still hope. Even if we must do so alone, we must fight.”

Boromir smiled softly, and then reached out to hug his younger brother gently, “Brave words, young one, and they bring much succour to me. Aye, now is no time to give into despair. While we can fight it we must.”

“What says Haldir to all this,” Faramir asked quietly.

“What can he say?” Boromir sighed once again, “I know myself that Lothlórien faces many a grave danger. They will not commit to an alliance. Their folk remain few, and what they have they require to fight off the forces of Dol Guldur. But father is much angered. He harks back to the days of Cirion when their aid was requested from the far north but was not forthcoming. Haldir brings tidings from the Lady of the Golden Wood that now is not the time they can offer help.”

“Now is not the time?” Faramir pondered curiously, “Then when is the time?”

“Father deems it akin to wizard talk. As Mithrandir would speak, he says.”

“Which may be why he did not invite him to the council,” Faramir pointed out.

“He will try once again on the morrow, he says, if even the dwarf folk agree, he feels there is hope.”

“And now he no longer has Fenekor’s promise of help either,” Faramir whispered.

The brotherly hug tightened, “Do not talk of that again! Not for anything would I have agreed to such help. Oh Faramir!”

“All this for naught,” his younger brother muttered bitterly, “Neither the forces nor the intelligence on their troops have we now. All for naught!” A single tear rolled down one cheek, as the embrace tightened further, and the two brothers sat together, supporting each other against what seemed to be a future of unending despair.

Haldir joined them a while later, gazing at Boromir when he entered, wondering how Denethor’s elder son would behave towards him, after the events of the day. When he received a small smile of welcome, he sighed inwardly in relief, and joined the two brothers.

“How do you fare?” he asked the younger man.

“Quite well,” Faramir said, resulting in the other two shaking their heads. The fine glimmer of sweat on his face told them the truth.

“Do you leave soon?” Faramir asked softly.

Haldir bit his lip irresolutely, “I understand Gondor’s need for help, and I realise there is much good in Denethor’s proposal, but we of Lothlórien are badly pressed ourselves.”

“I understand,” Boromir interjected sadly, “We spoke long of such matters at our last meeting. Things have not changed in either of our lands in that span of time.”

“No. If they have changed they have done so for the worse,” Haldir said, “And while I would personally like to stay on here and help my two friends, my duty to Lothlórien compels me to return soon.” He evaded Faramir’s glance as he spoke, picturing in his own mind the young man’s face, a smiling face, not the unhappy face he knew he would see if he looked at him.

“That is understandable,” Faramir’s voice came through softly, “We all have a duty we were born to serve. ‘Tis the times we dwell in. They dictate that that duty come first and all else be laid aside. You have the Golden Wood to render your services to, and Boromir and I have Gondor.“

Haldir looked up into the face of the one he loved. Sadness tinged it, and so did resignation, “But a time will come when we can pick up what we lay aside now,” he said softly but firmly, gazing into the very depths of the grey eyes resting on him, watching the spark of hope his words kindled in them for the veriest second.

“Perhaps,” Faramir whispered, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I would look forward to such a day,” Boromir added heavily.

“Will you not sit, Haldir?” Faramir asked courteously.

Haldir’s returned him a troubled gaze, “I need to look into our preparations for departure,” he found his voice cracking a little much to his surprise, and with great effort continued, “But I will rejoin you shortly.”

Faramir nodded about to say something but then found his mouth widening into a yawn.

“Sleep now young one, so much talk will tire you out,” Boromir rose, “I will leave you in solitude for a while, and see to some chores. Will you need any help, Haldir? It will give us time to talk of the old days, and whatever else it is old friends who meet but rarely talk over.”

They left shutting the door gently behind them.

“What news of Fenekor and of Dorec’s assassin?” Haldir asked.

“The assassin was a spy, he killed Dorec to avoid being exposed when they suddenly came upon each other in the citadel. He must have managed to get the news about Fenekor’s betrayal through however, for our rangers report that his company near the southern borders was escorted back to Harad. They have made no move yet over Dorec’s death, and we do not think they will as he was killed by their own agent. Of Fenekor there has been no word. All that could be found were traces of his clothes, and his discarded weapons. It is strange, is it not, that we find one enemy getting rid of another for us?”


When Faramir awoke two hours later from a deep sleep happily bereft of dreams, they had both returned, and sat bent over a chessboard in the pale late evening light, fast fading into night. They turned towards him as the sheets rustled with his waking movements.

“We have just supped early,” Boromir told him, “and your food awaits you too. How do you feel?” He placed a hand against Faramir’s forehead, finding it still a little clammy, but cooler than earlier.

Faramir ate the food slowly, but refused the tea, saying he wished to stay up awhile, having just awoken. Boromir smiled, “Very well, but do not stay up for too long. I shall retire for the day now for I am required early in the morning at a meeting with father. Haldir, would you like to spend some more time with Faramir?”

Haldir rose from his chair, “If he will like to,” he said.

“I am sure he will,” Boromir said softly, gazing from brother to friend, “I will be in the chamber two doors away, if you require anything. Sleep well.”

Faramir searched his brother’s face as he heard his words and noticed his gaze shift across them, wondering if he had guessed his feelings for Haldir. He never hid anything from him, but this was something he had not had the time to talk over, and as he found out now, did not have the inclination to do so either. He bid Boromir a good night in return and after his brother had left cocked an eyebrow at Haldir who had also turned a thoughtful gaze on the older man’s retreating back. He now turned towards Faramir, and seeing the question in his eyes, replied, “Nay he asked me naught, and I mentioned nothing to him.”

“Then he is more astute than I give him credit for,” Faramir said calmly, making the elf smile. He was beginning to get glimpses of the real young man hidden behind the broken body.

“Where it concerns you, I fear he will always be astute,” he replied, making Faramir smile now.

“We have very little time,” the man murmured.

“Too little,” Haldir said raggedly, coming and sitting on the bed, but not coming any closer. Faramir put out his hand, but he did not take it. The young man did not draw back. Instead the hand remained where it was.

“You are afraid that what you experience will leave you yearning for more when you cannot have it,” Faramir said softly, “But are you not afraid of wondering in the future about what may have been?”

“You are much too astute yourself,” Haldir sighed and reached out, grasping the slender hand, intertwining their fingers together, and then moved himself closer, giving in to demands of heart and body. Soft kisses and gentle touches were shared, both satiating their desires in the very presence of the other. Lying in each other’s arms all night, the intimacy was enough for them. No words were spoken, for none were required. Their love surrounded them unsaid, undeclared but not unknown to either. It was enough. The inability to consummate their relationship was no barrier as long as the thrall of their love held them in its sway.

Just holding Faramir in his hands gave Haldir a satisfaction that he had never felt before, not with anyone. They were up all night, each reveling in the touch of the other’s body, in the feel of his lips on the other’s, in their locked hands.

When the sun peeped over the horizon, filling the sky with a golden colour, Haldir entangled himself, and looked upon Faramir’s face with remorse, “You should not have stayed up all night! What was I thinking? You are unwell!”

“I have never felt better ever before. You should consider becoming a healer,” Faramir replied lazily, trying not to yawn as the effects of a sleepless night made their presence felt. He tried stretching himself, then gave up the effort and lay back tiredly instead.

“Flippancy will not mask the seriousness of this situation,” Haldir grumbled straightening out his mussed up clothes.

Faramir shrugged, and merely leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “At least I can sleep now. You will have to attend the council, and I can guarantee it will not be without acrimony.”

“I am an elf. We have far better endurance than men,” Haldir retorted pertly, trying to hide the sudden blush he felt creeping up when he received that peck on his cheek from Faramir. It somehow felt very domestic to him. Their kisses had reeked of passion, but that one simple peck spoke to him of the love Faramir felt for him.

“I must leave now,” Haldir mumbled, getting up. He could feel a strange pricking in his eyes, and he realised he felt like crying, and he did not want Faramir to see that. The fact that they would part soon had finally hit him with a force like never before. He composed his features as best as he could and turned to the man.

“I will see you before I leave,” he promised.

The council broke up that day, it’s results amounting to nothing but a widening of differences among everyone there. Finally the visitors prepared to depart. Haldir packed away a few remaining things, and then prepared to go through what he had been dreading all the while – bidding Faramir farewell. He turned to the door, and gasped to see Faramir standing there against the door for support.

“How did you reach here?” he exclaimed, seeing the man alone.

“Boromir’s chamber is in the same passageway, surely you knew that?” Faramir said.

“Yes, but you should not be out of bed!”

“I am no invalid, Haldir. I would not be content with myself if I do not bid you farewell properly,” He moved forward haltingly into Haldir’s embrace, and they stood in each other’s arms contentedly, deriving warmth and love, and shared a long, lingering kiss to have a memory to hold on to, separating only upon hearing the knock on the door.

“Haldir,” Faramir noticed one of the elves that had accompanied Haldir standing at the door, “The horses are ready.”

The moment had come. And even if anticipated, it still tore at the hearts of both. They exchanged silent glances, and when the other elf had left, shared a brief embrace. Looking into each other’s eyes, they saw sadness and love.

“I am grateful to have met you, Haldir, even if we must part now,” Faramir said quietly, resting his cheek against the elf’s shoulder. It took him everything he had to remain composed but he did it, not wishing to add to Haldir’s sorrow. All morning he had coached himself to do so, holding back his sadness, burying it away into a far corner.

“And I to have met you, Faramir.”

“And someday I hope we meet again, once these troubles have been negotiated,” Faramir murmured.

Haldir closed his eyes. Faramir was so young. And so full of hope. All these years, all these millennia, he himself had been fighting the very foes that deemed their need to separate, wondering when they would dissipate. Wondering if they would ever dissipate. But Faramir’s words awoke a faint stirring of hope in him for better times, for a future not as bleak as had seemed earlier.

“Someday we will,” he promised him firmly, “We will meet again.”

“And continue where we left off,” the young man muttered, lifting his head up, and lightly brushing Haldir’s lips with is own.

They left for the stables together, Faramir insisting on coming along.

Boromir joined them on the way to the stables, and glared at his brother, “I went to get you, thinking you could make it out with my help. And find you have already left, and that on your own, when you are ailing!”

“I am well, Boromir, quite well,” his brother replied. He was literally being held up by Haldir’s strong arm wrapped around his shoulders helping him walk slowly down.

They bid sedate farewells to Haldir and his friend and exchanged brief hugs. But even the brief hug held a depth of meaning when it was exchanged between Faramir and Haldir. They were composed and calm now, even smiling gently to allay each other, a façade for the sake of onlookers, and for their own sake.

Later, Faramir would cry in the privacy of his chamber at night, cry more than he ever had, cry more than he had even through the worst moments of his terrible ordeal, and Boromir would sit by and offer him silent solace. He would cry each night for many nights in memory of a lost love, in his chambers, and in Ithilien under the stars, clinging desperately to the hope of another meeting for many years as bad times turned worse, and hope seemed nothing but a long forgotten memory.

And Haldir would ride home in silence and gloom, shedding his tears when alone, and return to patrolling the borders of Lothlórien, grimmer and quieter than before. And his companions would note the change and wonder about it for a short while but then find other more pressing matters to occupy their attention. And he too would search for a glimmer of hope over the horizon, and seemingly find none.

But for now, they smiled as they bid farewell to each other, so as to not part in sorrow. Smiles that fooled not the other. And when the elven party had left, Faramir slowly returned to the higher levels of the city, with Boromir’s help, restraining his feelings, and finally stood on one of the tall ramparts leaning against his brother for he was exhausted from his exertions, and watched the horses speed away across the Pelennor and beyond until they were mere specks to his eyes, and stayed until he could see them no longer.

Then he returned inside.

Epilogue

It was the Eve of Midsummer. Barely two months had passed since the enemy had been overthrown. Gondor had its king now. Much had happened, many a battle fought, many a life lost, sorrow and despair had clung about the land and its people for many years. But now, joy and good tidings had returned to the once grim lands of the south. After all these years, finally an alliance had been forged to fight together the might of Sauron, and it had won. After all these years. Victory had been gained – at a cost, but victory nevertheless. Many who had helped gain it were not around to celebrate it, and those left behind were forced to mourn and rejoice alike.

On this eve, the city was suddenly thrown into a bustle of activity. Preparations for a great event were underway.

Under a sapphire blue sky, riders from the north headed towards the gates of Minas Tirith. He watched the procession from his position on the ramparts, a calm and composed demeanour showing nothing of what was going through inside. His heart nearly came to a standstill as he saw two riders who could only be the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, upon their white steeds. And behind them, many of their folk followed, cloaked in grey, hair adorned with white gems, to be followed by the one for whom the preparations had been made. There was much awe among the onlookers at their first sight of the Evenstar, the lady who was to wed their king.

But to the dark haired grey-eyed Gondorian, standing on a rampart watching the procession, it was not her presence that was of interest. Instead his frantic eyes scanned the elves in front of her. Slowly methodically, he gazed at the top of the heads of each rider, hands clenched at his side, teeth clamped together, heart thudding steadily against his chest.

Then he let out a long, slow breath, and sagged back slightly against a wall. His mouth curved into a small, gentle smile. The sight below him filled his heart with a feeling he had not known for well nigh fourteen years now. After all these years, the promise had been kept. Words that had been left unsaid earlier could now be spoken, and pure love could finally be consummated.

Below him, one of the figures in grey glanced up, as though feeling the fire of the piercing gaze on him. Their gazes met, relief, joy, awe, remembrance all intermingling, and all underlain by a feeling of passionate love that had stood the test of time and distance.

Reunion was a very sweet feeling.


A/N once again–- As is obvious, this is definitely not movieverse :-) Being AU, it cannot exactly be bookverse, but it is definitely not movieverse either. Haldir can be presumed as very much alive at the end of the book since it does not state otherwise, so he is very much alive at the end of this fic.
Is anyone else alive? Ambiguous – put in your own interpretation :-)
Éowyn? Who Éowyn? This is a slash fic! :) Who went with the Fellowship? Boromir (yes, all that stuff is assumed to have occurred) Why not Faramir if he knew it meant meeting Haldir again? Because he knew no such thing. The dream said to go to Imaldris. Haldir never told them about Imaldris. Yes, my imagination works overtime :)
The ending might not be what everyone expected, but I do hope you like it, I could see no other ending possible. Feedback, as always will be much appreciated.
A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed this, and to all the beautiful mails you have all been sending. That alone was enough to stretch what was meant to be 8 chapters into 12 + epilogue! Thank you again for liking this crazy product of my overactive imagination!

Minx

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6 Comment(s)

Wow! This was great! I really enjoy your work and am eagerly working my through all the stories here. Please keep the excellent stories coming!

Ria    Wednesday 5 March 2008, 3:34    #

Thanks Ria! I’m delighted you liked this and the other fics:)

minx    Sunday 9 March 2008, 10:21    #

—taking a bit of a head start on the celebrations—

Have I ever told you how much I love this story? Faramir had always been my favourite character from the books, but when the first of the movies – and the resulting fan fiction – came out, Boromir (and perhaps Haldir as well) was awfully attractive too… It’s this story that started my obsession with Faramir fan fiction.
It’s all your fault! It’s all thanks to you!

Thank you, darling!

iris    Friday 27 February 2009, 10:43    #

Thank you!:) I’m very glad this started your obssession:) I can’t think you enough for the constant encouragment and for coming up with this archive!

— Minx    Sunday 1 March 2009, 17:39    #

Loved the story, thank your very much for writing it. Hope you write more Haldir-Faramir .

— blondie    Saturday 14 December 2013, 19:34    #

@blondie: Thank you so much :)

Minx    Wednesday 1 January 2014, 14:43    #

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