Faramir Fiction Archive

And All Because... (NC-17)

Written by Foofy

02 February 2005 | 55500 words | Work in Progress

Part 3: Power

Haldir had been watching the young Gondorian for some time now. Faramir had spent the first hour curled up in the corner, just watching the doorway warily as if expecting a rampaging beast to charge through at any point. After that, the young man had relaxed, especially as he had noticed Haldir’s attention upon him. Seemingly finding this comforting to him, the posture had loosened, and now Faramir stood, occasionally pacing the few steps the ankle chain allowed him, occasionally staring back at Haldir in curiosity.

The elf, who was used to patience, studied the young man in silence. He had some admirable qualities for a human, most noticeably his ability to keep his tongue under control. He was as all humans were, rough around the edges, but this particular boy had a… well, a delicate aspect of his features. His eyes, luminous, seemed unable to decide whether they were green or blue, and were often wide and surprisingly expressive. All in all, a most curious child.

Haldir gracefully got to his feet and obtained a glass of water, walking into the chamber and watching in satisfaction as the human sank gracefully to his knees, looking up at his captor. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed that someone had already trained this particular boy in acts of submission, although discipline by the humans was usually lax. The elf paused for a moment and passed the human the glass of water, watching him carefully.

Faramir carefully drank all that had been given to him, and passed the glass back, making sure not to make eye contact with the elf, clearly expecting him to leave as soon as possible. To his surprise, Haldir stayed.

“How are you feeling?”

Faramir couldn’t stop himself from looking up in shock and surprise. Haldir smiled to himself, and patted the Gondorian on the head. Faramir didn’t object , his eyes fixed on him in confusion before returning his gaze to the floor in Denethor’s preferred submissive pose.

“I am fine, thank you,” he replied.

Haldir traced his hand down to Faramir’s shoulder briefly, before removing his hand entirely from the boy’s body. It would not do to be too familiar. Mortals occasionally made good pets but that was as far as it should be allowed to go, unless no other source of pleasure was available.

Faramir made a little sighing noise and kept his eyes down. Haldir nodded to himself. Good little serf.

“Are you hungry?” the elf got back to other matters. Faramir shook his head, ignoring the fact that his stomach begged to differ. Haldir eyed him.

“I cannot have you fainting on me. I will fetch you something,”

Faramir nodded his acceptance and watched carefully as Haldir left the room to fetch some bread, his eyes immediately transforming from obedience back to the hard cold stare, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. He had no qualms about using anything that would give him an advantage over the powerful elves, anything that might give him the chance for escape. The reasoning behind his capture was still sketchy, although it appeared to be political in nature. No doubt someone had made a miscalculation in exactly what Denethor would do to get his youngest son back to him. He doubted whether his father would even spare a horse.

The elf was back swiftly, carrying some bread and cheese. Faramir looked meekly at him as Haldir crouched beside him and passed him some bread, glaring at him sternly until the young man began to eat it.

“When will you let me go?” Faramir kept his voice deliberately timid, his eyes on the floor. The elf paused, uncertain himself.

“When everything has been concluded. Do not ask any further questions, young one.”

Faramir fell silent immediately and began to eat the bread, keeping his eyes to the floor in the way that the man was certain Haldir liked. He was becoming encouraged by his position, hard though it was . The elf had decided that he alone would look after the well-being of his captive, sending his brothers to seek pleasures elsewhere. The elf’s hand lingered whenever he touched the young ranger, although it appeared that further encouragement would be needed to get the hand any further down his body than his upper arm.

He could sense Haldir’s eyes on him, knowing without looking that the elf would be carefully studying him, as though completely fascinated. Faramir had not spent time in any significant period with the elves, but knew enough to grasp that perhaps his future treatment might not be as bad as previously imagined.

Now all he needed to do was get some information.

“Are we in Lothlórien?” he asked quietly. Haldir paused for a long period of time, to the extent that Faramir doubted whether he was going to answer.

“No .”

“Then we are in Mirkwood?” the ranger hazarded a guess in his best timid voice, noting immediately Haldir’s sniff of disapproval at the name. Obviously Mirkwood was not a favourite. If this was correct, however, then possibly they were at Rivendell, although Faramir understood that even less. The elves favoured the men of Gondor little, but still Lord Elrond of Rivendell was unlikely to stoop to such lows, even if it was for no reason other than a recognition of which son would be the most suitable to kidnap.

Which son. Boromir had left for Rivendell, and they had not heard anything from him for some time. Faramir felt a cold stab of fear in his heart. Perhaps they had chosen to take both brothers captive to persuade his father to do whatever it was that they desired. Perhaps the recovery of the ring itself was a myth, the magic of the elves affecting his dreams in order to give some further strength to their fiction.

Faramir shivered uncomfortably, trying to stop his imagination from running away with him. Even if they had Boromir, they would not have done anything to him. Their father’s rage would be far-reaching.

Haldir noticed the shiver and frowned at the human. “Are you cold?”

Faramir broke off his thoughts and stared at him in puzzlement, remembering at the last minute to keep his eyes on the ground.

“No .” He thought about it, and pressed forward cautiously, recognising the possibility. “A little too warm, if anything,”

“Hmmmm,”

Faramir felt the elf’s hand on his forehead, running his hand down the young man’s face in obvious assessment of any fever. Haldir narrowed his eyes in concentration.

“You do not feel too hot, young one,” he said finally. “Perhaps it is merely the lack of better fresh air.You feel well?”

“Yes sir,” Faramir glanced towards him out of the corner of his eye, and swiftly returned his gaze to the floor. “Would . would it be possible for me to take off my tunic to cool off, please?”

There was another silence so solid that Faramir could feel it, the mortal wondering whether he had pushed too far too soon, misjudged his target. The elf stared at him, his eyes running over Faramir’s form then back to study what little he could see of his face, vowing to trim the young man’s somewhat unruly auburn locks when he was able to allow him a little more consideration.

“I do not see why not,” he said finally, a slightly gruff edge to his voice. Faramir hesitated long enough to give the impression of modesty, before pulling off the somewhat ragged tunic which, together with his breeches, had been the only pieces of clothing that the elves had allowed him. He rolled the light tunic in his hands briefly, keeping his head down to allow the elf to view him without concern to whether the prisoner was watching.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, giving the elf another quick glance from the corner of his eye. He was pleased to note the concentration on Haldir’s face as he stared at the young form in front of him, carefully ensuring that it was his side rather than his back that Haldir focused upon.

However…

“What happened to your back?” the elf had noticed the marks earlier than Faramir had anticipated, but this was not really a problem. The young man put a look of brief look of anguish on his face, and stared down at the floor even harder. His scars would testify to the likelihood of his submission, suitable evidence to use in his favour. Occasionally his father did him a few favours in life, although certainly Faramir had not felt the same when these particular ‘favours’ were being inflicted.

Haldir shifted from his position to take a better look, Faramir almost jumping as he felt the elf’s hand run gently across the raised scars that littered his lower back.

“I fear I did not please my father at times,” Faramir mumbled in explanation. The hand stopped.

“Your father did these?” There was a definitely an element of surprise to the elf’s voice but nothing resembling revulsion as the subject occasionally did. “Why?”

Faramir hesitated. No one had ever asked that before, preferring to stay well clear of such a sensitive subject. Not even Boromir asked, normally having been present at many of the beginning arguments and often having risked punishment by trying to steer their father’s anger from Faramir onto himself.

“Just punishments for failures,” he said finally , quietly.

“Which failures?” Haldir had continued to gently touch the scars, even more fascinated than before, his voice unashamedly interested. Faramir blinked, and tried to remember. There had been so many to choose from.

“Many things. Mostly inadequacies in the field… Failing to live up to expectations,” Faramir was beginning to feel a little more exposed than he had intended. “That sort of thing,”

“Like?” Haldir pressed. “Give me some examples,”

Faramir looked up in surprise, then remembered himself.

“Uh . Missing the centre of a target when my father was trying to impress a diplomat… accidentally causing my brother’s horse to rear during a hunting trip and causing him to fall.” Faramir shrugged slightly. “Answering back.”

The hand drifted over the scars again. “Exactly what did you say to cause these?” Haldir mused. “Or are you keeping the more important ones quiet?”

Faramir shifted uncomfortably, and not only down to keeping up his good little servant appearance. He had managed to get through the majority of his life without focusing on this sort of thing, concentrating rather on how to deal and survive. Analysing things just wasn’t advisable.

“Well ?” the elf continued. Faramir bowed his head a little more, mind working furiously. Any more of this and he was just going to list every single time, every single little thing that had managed to annoy his father to the extent that the cane was picked up.

“I… ,” Faramir shook his head. Haldir trailed his hand over Faramir’s shoulder as he moved back to his original position.

“Interesting ,”

Faramir’s eyes slid to him curiously, but the ranger said nothing further. With any luck the topic of conversation was moving on, despite the elf’s obvious interest in the matter. Haldir watched him back, his face still impassive, seemingly completely devoid of either disgust or sympathy. It was certainly a novel experience.

“Does your father beat your brother?” As though discussing something as trivial as the weather.

Faramir waited for a few heartbeats before replying. “No.”

“I see.” The elf delicately sat down, crossing his legs before him and turning his unwavering attention back onto Faramir. The young ranger began to wish he had stripped his breeches at the start and been done with it. Nothing physical was likely to reach the same level of embarrassment as this careful studying. “Doesn’t that annoy you?”

“Annoy me?” Faramir blinked and looked at him. “I don’t understand,”

“Really? You surprise me. From what I know of your brother, he seems the type to make mistakes on occasion . I believe you refer to it as ‘ only being human’,” Haldir shrugged to indicate his views of this particular oddity. “And yet your father does not seem to care. Why would this be?”

“My brother does not make mistakes,” Faramir had to fight to keep the growl out of his voice. “He is a good man.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. However, even good men occasionally make the wrong decisions, even with the best of intentions.” Haldir brushed a small piece of dust off his knee.

“Boromir isn’t like that,”

“Really ? How delightful! You can not think of anything he has misjudged, anything he’s lied about, or any instance when he has undertaken anything foolhardy.” Haldir paused delicately. “Has this man actually lived? He seems incredibly dull,”

Faramir was silent, fighting the frown that he knew was crossing his face but powerless to resist. He could be analysed all they liked, could be poked and petted, harassed and abused, but Boromir was definitely out of bounds. The elf seemed to realise the depth of Faramir’s determination as he raised an eyebrow and gently put his hand under Faramir’s chin, raising the young man’s head to face him.

“Does your reluctance to answer mean that he might well have flaws?”

“Boromir pleases my father,” Faramir said stubbornly. Haldir’s other eyebrow was raised.

“In what way?” he purred.

Faramir stared at him, horrified. “Not like that!” he said, appalled. “Just… he knows how to make my father happy, what to do, how to speak.”

Haldir watched him for a few more moments. “And that’s all it is, is it? How to act and how to speak? You seem a bright boy. How is it that you have not learnt your brother’s techniques? Unless,” the elf shrugged lightly. “there are other factors at play,”

Faramir glowered at him, then remembered himself and stared back at the floor. There was a sigh from the elf, who swiftly replaced his hand and lifted the young man’s head again.

“This could get repetitive after a while,” he said sternly.

“Sorry,” Faramir mumbled. The elf watched him.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I should have just put up with the heat,” the words came out before he could stop them. Faramir looked startled at himself, and then worriedly at Haldir. Haldir stared at him for a moment longer, then chuckled to himself, patting the young man on the head absent-mindedly.

“Eat something more. I’m sure we can cover the rest later.”

Faramir sighed to himself as he attacked another slice of bread. No doubt later would not be late enough.

“I cannot believe you!” Aragorn was furious, angrier than Boromir had ever dreamed he could be. His eyes flashed, hands formed into his fists as he stared at his lover. The Gondorian slid from the bed and stood facing him, back straight, ready for anything Aragorn had to throw his way.

“Aragorn, please. I didn’t mean any offence, I just wanted to-”

“Yes , I know what you wanted to do!” snapped the ranger. “I told you I didn’t want to discuss it and what do you do? You try and blackmail me by using sex! Give me a bit of credit, please!”

Boromir stared at him mournfully, noticing the fact that Aragorn was still very much agitated, the tension solid. Fire flashed deeply in Aragorn’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Boromir tried, knowing in his heart that he was lying through his teeth. Arwen wanted this conversation to take place, and take place it would do. Failure was not an option Aragorn snorted his disbelief.

“Is that what it was always about? The Throne of Gondor?” Aragorn stared at him. “You whored yourself out for that?”

Boromir was stung by the accusation. “Of course not!”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Boromir! You persist in asking me questions I don’t want to discuss and then you withdraw your affections!”

“That’s not the situation!” Boromir tried to step forward but Aragorn’s glare was enough to keep him pinned to the spot. The Gondorian swallowed nervously, and tried a different tack. “Please Aragorn, don’t do this-”

“Do what? If you want someone to blame, look at yourself,” snarled Aragorn, grabbing hold of his clothing and roughly putting it on. Boromir watched him anxiously.

“Please -” He didn’t care if he was begging any more. Without Aragorn’s presence, he could not hope to obtain what Arwen wished, and without Aragorn’s protection… Boromir shivered and watched him unhappily as the ranger opened the door to the chamber, gave him one last contemptuous look and marched out, slamming the door behind him.

The room seemed desperately, painfully empty. The silence was deafening.

It took Boromir a few moments to move. Finally he shook his head and sat back on the bed, lying down and staring at the ceiling, knowing he had failed. The fact that he had obviously hurt Aragorn weighed heavily on his mind as well, hating himself for handling it so badly. He groaned miserably and rolled over in the bed, burying his head in the pillow, trying to block out the rest of the room.

He glanced up hopefully as the door shut again. “Aragorn?”

“Not quite,” Arwen stared back at him. Boromir stared at her, the perfect end to a perfect day, and slumped back down in the pillow again.

“He won’t talk to me,” he said, muffled. Arwen gave a little tut tut noise and walked towards the bed.

“You’re obviously not trying hard enough.”

“I am! But I just upset him.” Boromir looked forlorn. “I’m no good at this sort of thing,”

“I hope for your brother’s sake that you get better,” replied Arwen briskly. Boromir lifted his head from the pillow slowly and stared at her, his concern for Aragorn being replaced by wary anger.

Arwen smiled sweetly at him and threw down the little dagger taken from Faramir’s belt onto the bed. Boromir’s eyes widened as he recognised the little sheath. Picking it up with shaking hands, he pulled the little dagger free to stare numbly at the rough engraving he had done himself. He had given Faramir this knife for his fifteenth birthday and his little brother had worn it ever since. Boromir stared at it for a moment longer, before slowly returning his gaze to the she-elf who watched him in curious detachment.

“Well ?” she said finally. “Are you going to improve?”

“What have you done with him?” Boromir’s voice was unsteady, fear mixed with raw aggression, the Gondorian pushing himself up as though planning to spring at the elf. Arwen watched him unconcerned.

“He is unharmed.” She shrugged delicately. “For now.”

“If you harm him in any way- “growled the Gondorian. Arwen laughed, a light tinkling sound in the chamber.

“You’ll do what?” she asked in genuine amusement. “You try and do anything to me, my associates – yes I have associates – will simply take it out on the boy. And he is such a sweet looking thing, is he not?” She smiled sweetly. Boromir felt sick to his stomach.

“You wouldn’t.,” he tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. Arwen nodded.

“I can assure you I would. I would gain no pleasure out of it myself. However, I am sure this probably wouldn’t be the same for everyone,”

Boromir stared at her silently. Arwen perched herself on the bed and rested her hands on her knees delicately.

“And let me give you a little more persuasion. You fail again, it will be taken out on your little brother. I will allow my associates free reign to do whatever they want. And you,” she stared at him. “will watch. Do you understand?”

Boromir swallowed, then nodded. Arwen smiled in satisfaction.

“Good boy.” She stood up to leave.

“How do I know that he is unharmed?” Boromir’s voice seemed so very quiet in the large room, the Gondorian sounding utterly defeated. “ That you have not already killed or raped him?”

The she-elf paused, and glanced back at him coldly. “I have said he is. Do you doubt my word, boy?”

Boromir glared at her, obviously mistrusting, but finally shook his head as the obvious answer that was expected. Arwen studied him thoughtfully.

“I will take you to see him tonight.” She decided finally. There was a glimmer of hope within the Gondorian’s eyes as he stared at her. Arwen smiled to herself. There was nothing so persuasive than hope to the mortal men.

“Aragorn , he. he’s not happy,” Boromir’s eyes pleaded with her for some leniency. “I don’t think I can push it until he’s calmed down,”

Arwen considered this. “I shall speak to him. Perhaps your failure may not have been entirely pointless.” She replied. “Stay here and get this place cleaned up.”

She found him in the garden as she knew she would, pacing very near to his mother’s grave. This was where he always retreated to when he was hurt and upset, a lonely silent place that was only breached by the lonely sound of a songbird. Arwen watched him for a few moments before speaking softly.

“What has he done?”

Aragorn glanced towards her, unconcerned and unsurprised by her presence, and continued to pace, glaring towards the forest as though it and it alone held the source of his misery.

“Who ?” he said finally over his shoulder. Arwen tracked his progress with her eyes.

“You are aware of whom, sweet one. Boromir.” She smiled gently. “Who else has the power to get you quite so upset?” And upset he was. Boromir had not been exaggerating when he spoke of the mess he had made of the task. Aragorn looked ready to attack, to explode, to take on the forces of Mordor by himself and damn the consequences.

The ranger snorted. “The usual,” he growled finally. “Failure to shut up when ordered,”

Arwen looked quizzically at him. “Why, what has he said?”

Aragorn stared at her briefly, before moving back to his pacing. “He wants me to claim the throne of Gondor,” he replied bitterly.

“I see,” Arwen was neutral.

“He knew damn well not to talk about it, but he completely disobeyed me,” continued Aragorn, completely furious. Arwen calmly brushed off a leaf that had fallen onto her dress.

“I confess myself surprised,” she said slowly. “Boromir is heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. Without a king, this would essentially prove him to rule all of the province. Why would he wish you to take it?” She pondered deliberately, her eyes resting on Aragorn who thankfully was too upset to watch her. “Unless. no,” she shook her head. “.. it cannot be,”

Aragorn stopped and turned to face her, a frown forming. “Cannot be what?” his voice was unsteady.

“No , it is unlikely. Forget I said anything,” Arwen looked apologetic. Aragorn shook his head determinately.

“No, I wish to hear. What do you suspect?” his voice was urgent. Arwen sighed regretfully and shrugged her shoulders delicately.

“Did he know your reaction to his queries before he asked?” she queried. Aragorn nodded crossly, folding his arms.

“Well, of course. I’d just finished telling him about it.”

“And presumably you are now even more determined not to take the throne of Gondor .?” Arwen looked at him through her long lashes. Aragorn stood thunderstruck at the implications. The possibility of his lover’s betrayal flickered agonisingly across his expression.

“But… that cannot be .,” the ranger was completely shocked, vulnerable. “He would not .,”

“You are right,” nodded Arwen. “There has to be a more plausible explanation. Somewhere. Perhaps he is eager for you to take over… I understand his father is somewhat harsh and becoming unstable. That’s probably the reason,”

But by Aragorn’s expression it was clear he was focusing on the first explanation, the memories of Boromir’s declaration that Gondor needed no king, his previous disgust of Aragorn, flickering through the ranger’s mind. Arwen smiled to herself as the ranger’s hands closed slowly into fists.

“I’ll kill him,” he growled.

“Seems a little extreme, my love,” Arwen, although not Boromir’s greatest fan, still did not wish for him to be so greatly inconvenienced. “Although you could show your displeasure. He always did boast how he could get away with everything and anything,” she said sadly.

“Did he now,” Aragorn was speaking through gritted teeth. Arwen raised her eyebrows.

“What are you planning to do?”

“Teach him a damn lesson for a start. If he wants me to take control, so be it.”

“And Gondor?” Arwen’s voice was lightness itself.

Aragorn nodded grimly. “We’ll see,”

Boromir looked up in surprise as Aragorn stalked through the door, immediately shifting himself to slide off the bed in greeting. However, it was the expression on Aragorn’s face that stopped him, the Gondorian regarding the impassive expression warily.

“Aragorn ?” he said softly. He almost recoiled at the look of anger that was aimed at him in response.

“So it’s Aragorn now is it? Not sire?” Aragorn’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. Boromir sat stunned in the face of such hatred, worried expression turned towards the ranger.

“What would you prefer?” his voice was so much quieter than usual. The arrogance had completely vanished. Aragorn snorted.

“It’s a bit late for the innocent routine, Boromir.”

This sounded bad. Boromir cleared his throat nervously.

“Innocent routine?” he echoed.

“And don’t repeat everything like a bloody parrot!” Aragorn folded his arms. Boromir was again aware how powerful the man was who stood in front of him, the sheer power he possessed. The younger man fidgeted uncomfortably, aware of the irritation aimed directly at him and at a loss on how to stop it

“Aragorn , I’m really sorry I upset you.” Worried eyes looked at him anxiously. “That wasn’t my intention. If there is anything I can do to make it up-”

“Yes .”

“Yes?” Boromir was cut short, baffled and nervous. Aragorn smiled at him grimly, then started to remove his belt slowly from his waist. The Gondorian’s eyes followed the movement in apprehension, only returning to stare at Aragorn horrified as the ranger tested the weight of the belt in his hand. Aragorn stared back steadily, no trace of his lover still remaining past the anger.

“Aragorn , please, you don’t want to do this-” Boromir felt his mouth dry up.

“Don’t I? I rather think I do,” Aragorn smiled at him again. It was not a nice smile. Boromir shuffled slightly further back as Aragorn walked closer to the bed, the belt folded and ready in his hand.

“I’m really sorry!” Boromir knew he was pleading but couldn’t help himself, his eyes flickering from belt to Aragorn’s face, trying to get past the anger, the control. Apart from the occasional smack with the palm of a hand, he had never suffered a proper beating like his brother; his father had never allowed it, choosing to discipline his elder son in a more merciful way than he treated his younger son. Boromir occasionally had nightmares about the state of his younger brother after these punishments, the fact that he had been able to do nothing about it except help him through the recovery.

“I thought you would do whatever your king requested of you,” Aragorn’s voice continued dangerously. The Gondorian found he had nothing to say to this, his heart racing in his chest, demonstrating his own anxiety in case he was in any doubt of how frightened he was, regardless of how straight his back and how steady his gaze.

“Boromir . Get over here now.”

Boromir looked wretched, but finally moved himself to lie where Aragorn wanted him. A thin trickle of sweat ran over his back as he rested himself on his stomach, hands already clenching the blanket underneath him.

“I might have guessed your motivations would be for your kingdom rather than anything else,” Aragorn had completely lost control of his anger. There was no point in even trying to deny the accusation, such words more likely to infuriate him further. Boromir simply closed his eyes and wished himself back in the safety of Minas Tirith.

The ranger hesitated for a moment, his eyes surveying the naked back that was presented to him. Boromir’s backside was smooth and unmarked, waiting for his first blow, the man’s shoulders faintly trembling already. Aragorn fought through his hesitation angrily. What had he thought would have happened? Surely the man did not think he could get away with this?

The sound of the door opening stopped the first blow. Aragorn glanced over his shoulder as the door shut behind the she-elf who had entered. Her gaze fell on the Gondorian on the bed, and then rested back on the ranger.

“I hope I am not intruding?”

At her voice, Boromir rested his forehead even further on the bed, groaning to himself. There was no possible escape now. Arwen would ensure that Aragorn’s rage would continue until Boromir’s back was a bloody mess.

“I thought you were busy,” Aragorn’s sharp tone. Arwen shrugged lightly again, her eyes flickering back to Boromir, assessing how far Aragorn had got.

“I thought you needed support,” her eyes came back onto him. “Does he deny it?”

“Yes, although he continues to apologise for any upset,”

“And so he should!” Arwen settled herself in one of the nearby chairs. “An abuse of your relationship and trust,”

Boromir closed his eyes again and prayed. Aragorn’s eyes narrowed again, turning back to Boromir and surveying him quietly before taking a firm grip on the belt, feeling the anger rise within him. The sound of the belt striking the Gondorian’s buttocks was deafening in the room, a firm, loud crack. Boromir struggled to keep quiet, his hands gripping the blanket so hard it ripped slightly, his bottom lip bitten to avoid crying out in front of the she-elf.

The next blow made him rip the blanket still further. Tears came to his eyes, and a hiss of pain escaped from his lips, the burning pain seemingly reaching to his knees and up his back.

From that point on it was increasingly difficult to keep quiet, his full concentration needed after the flurry of blows. Finally Aragorn heard a whimper, defeated, pained, the man’s shoulders shaking even more. The next blow was noticeably lighter, although by this point a feather could have caused agonies. Boromir cried out weakly again, uncaring whether Arwen was still in the room or not.

Aragorn hesitated, the belt drooping in his hand. Bright red welts criss-crossed the man’s lower back and buttocks, one or two having drawn blood. He could see how deeply Boromir was breathing, the helpless trembling of the man who had often trembled underneath him for completely different reasons.

Arwen had noticed the indecision and leant forward. “Don’t let him fool you,” she advised. Aragorn stared forlornly at his lover.

“Perhaps he has learnt his lesson,”

“Perhaps,” Arwen’s voice displayed how likely she thought the suggestion. Boromir took a few more deep breaths before speaking unsteadily.

“If you still believe that I have done what you suspect,” he said softly and wavering. “then continue. I will not resist.”

“You are his king. It is your right to take what you want,” Arwen’s eyes were fixed upon him. Aragorn shook his head, his rage spent.

“But I do not want this,” he said softly.

“Some things in life are necessary rather than pleasant,”

Aragorn put his hand gently on Boromir’s hip. The man flinched underneath him, his breath hitched. He could feel the trembling through his fingertips. The belt hit the floor.

“No.” the ranger sat beside him. “He has suffered enough.”

Arwen rose from her chair, looking at him thoughtfully. “I hope you do not have any difficulties with him.”

“They would be my difficulties, not yours,” Aragorn looked at her firmly, then rested his hand on Boromir’s head, gently touching his hair. And it was this gentle touch, the sympathy, that caused Boromir to finally cry softly; Faramir had always told him that the pain of the punishment itself was nothing to the sheer relief of its completion, knowing that that blow was the last, and that sympathies were offered to him by others. The door clicked shut as Arwen left, unnoticed by Aragorn, his attention remaining firmly fixed upon the weeping man on his bed.

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