Faramir Fiction Archive

Bessain (R)

Written by Helmboy

20 December 2008 | 5164 words

Title: Bessain (part two of two)
Author: Helmboy (email)
Codes: LOTR, CHALLENGE, R, F/?, Violence, AU
Disclaimer: Tolkien is owner. I merely dabble. Nothing accrues to me but good times. Thanks, Tolkien family, for the opportunity to play.

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“Where is the Captain?”

Bessain had asked a moment earlier and a man pointed toward the rooms that Faramir would use as befitting his station. A winding path through gardens of flowers and blooming trees led the way to the verrandah that wound around the graceful and lovely building that had stood in this valley since time immemorial. He passed elves and dwarves, nodded to men from other lands than his own and women so beautiful he felt his breathe catch in his throat.

He paused on a terrace and then continued onward, passing two rangers sitting nearby working on their bows. He didn’t notice them and they paid him no mind. They were just part of the background of exotic and unfamiliar objects that seemed to populate this house and make it strange to him. He had never seen a place like this before and he wondered what it might be like to fight and ride with elvish people.

The terrace curved around the building and by the time he reached the patio that was part of Faramir’s rooms he paused. Laughter was filtering out of the open windows. He heard Faramir’s voice and then another, a man’s deeper, less open laugh. Pausing uncertainly, he moved forward and stopped, pressing himself into a trellace that was covered with lovely big flowers and large dark leaves.

He waited and listened; the voices slightly muffled by the building’s thick walls and then moved forward, turning and pushing himself into the folliage so that he might look inside without being seen himself. The room was dark and then he spotted them, Faramir and the Rohirrim that he had met before, one named Éomer. A furious pulse of anger surged and he shoved it back, by now more careful with his rages and his secrets.

Éomer had been a problem and he had tried to take care of it but he had failed, something he seldom did when he set his mind to eliminate a rival for Faramir’s attention…

The King of Rohan had arrived with his court in the White City to celebrate the signing of a new treaty between Gondor and his own country. They were by circumstances to make more of them, mutual protection guarentees since it was clear that orc activity was on the rise in all directions of the compass. They had ridden in, all green cloaks and flashing armor and the city was abuzz with the handsome and stalwart equestrians.

He had been part of the greeting, a horseman among many that accorded an honor guard to make Théoden welcome. Faramir had been part of the greeting and he himself had only slowly become aware that the two, Éomer and Faramir, had known each other from before and had been very close in the past. They had greeted each other like brothers and it had stung him deeply.

He had followed them at a discreet distance the entire time their delegation was in Minas Tirith. They had hit pubs and gone hunting, riding and carousing together like lovers. He didn’t allow himself to think of what happened when they left banquets together. He could not find out since he had duty on those occasions. He let his imagination take care of that.

On the last day that they were in the city, he had decided to kill Éomer. His plan was non-existent. He would make it up as he went along. Eventually Éomer would go to the stable alone and he would make sure he didn’t come out alive. The day was barely born when Éomer rose and walked down the winding staircase to the barns where his horse was stabled. His feet echoed on the stone and he was hungover. He was not aware that a silent man in a black cloak was following him.

Entering the stables, he paused, rubbing the nose of the horses by the door. They had gathered in the paddock waiting for attention and Éomer felt a deep sense of satisfaction over the superior quality of their horses over those of Gondor. He smiled, a ribald thought crossing his mind and then he moved on, going farther into the dark interior as he searched out the stall that his horse occupied.

Behind him moving on cat feet Bessain followed, the short dagger he favored in his gloved hand. Éomer was ahead, bending down over a bale of hay and as he moved closer, he heard a sound behind him. Freezing, he turned and met the friendly eyes of his Captain.

“Bessain,” Faramir said, yawning slightly. “You are up early.”

Bessain, caught off-guard, shrugged, slipping the dagger into his pocket. “I … I was concerned for my horse.”

Faramir paused and frowned slightly. “Isn’t he kept in the other stable?”

Bessain, cursing to himself, nodded. “He is. I was just wondering if Lord Éomer needed assistance.”

Éomer, turning, shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Bessain, glancing between the two men nodded. “All right. Excuse me then.” With that, he turned and walked out seething with frustration. The sound of Éomer and Faramir’s laughter didn’t help.

He moved closer, dreading doing so but feeling a compulsion. In the room, sitting on a chair with his shirt half off Faramir was laughing at a story that Éomer was dramatizing. The horseman swung his arms wide his words muffled by the sound of the river and the vines all around Bessain. Faramir laughing as he listened seemed deeply entertained.

Hurt came to Bessain, a frantic sort of anxiety and he made himself watch longer. The story ended and the two grinned at each other inordinately pleased to be in each other’s company. Then Éomer reached out and pulled Faramir to his feet enveloping him with his arms. Faramir, delighted pressed his mouth against Éomer’s, gathering into his fingers Éomer’s long golden hair.

Bessain felt nausea come into his stomach but he stood riveted, not daring to look and not daring to look away. The two men, seeing only the other continued, Éomer’s hands roving over Faramir’s body as they stood swaying together. Faramir broke the clinch and stepped back, his eyes nearly ferral as he considered his lover. Then he moved forward, shoving Éomer so that he toppled over and onto the bed.

Éomer fell out of the sight of Bessain but he could see Faramir. His captain stood over Éomer, breathing heavily and flushed with desire. He pulled his shirt off; baring a pale chest heavily muscled as befitting a rider and bowman. Bessain sighed, lust pooling in his groin as he watched Faramir rub his chest with his hands. Bessain licked his lips and shifted, mesmerized by this vision that had only occupied his fantasies before.

He could hear Éomer whispering but not the words he spoke. There was just the constant murmur of his voice as he lay out of sight watching as faramir slipped off his belt. Then Faramir moved and lay down on the bed presumably covering his lover and removing himself from Bessain’s line of sight. When he did, the moment was broken and Bessain leaned back clenching his jaws against the urge to scream.

In the room, he could hear sounds of love, movements that were undeniable and as it continued, he stood listening unable to move from the spot until the end when Éomer finally left the room.

The river came closer, its rushing sounds louder now. Spray from the waterfalls all around him hung like jewels in the air. Birds could be seen, people in treetop houses also. It was a fairyland to him and it did little to dull the pain that gathered behind his eyes. Faramir had betrayed him with another. Faramir had hurt him more than he had ever felt before. In other times, he could rationalize what he thought he might have seen. Not now.

Éomer had taken what was his. Because of it, he would have to do something about it. This time he wouldn’t fail. When it was over, Faramir would be his again. The thought of it comforted him and he continued pausing at the edge of the river where the steps had ended.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, small boats bobbed in the tide next to small piers that followed the water’s edge. It was so peaceful and quiet, so utterly devoid of conflict he almost felt normal. However, that never lasted and so he stood by the water watching small fish hugging the shoreline and birds hopping along the rocks. As he did, he didn’t look behind him. When he did, it was too late.

A knife pierced him, the dull thud of it as it penetrated the muscles that girdled his organs strangely familiar. It was shocking how much it hurt and then it didn’t, becoming instead a dull ache that was hard to describe. His breath knocked out of him, his body bent instinctively as he tried to outrun the penetration of the long cold blade. He Felt an arm and gripped it, raising his eyes to meet someone else’s.

A man stood in front of him, his cold eyes filled with a mix of triumph and anger. He shoved his hand again, driving the blade deeper and Bessain cried out slightly, gurgling as blood began to stream out of his mouth. He gripped the stranger’s arms, staring at him with confusion.

“You don’t remember do you,” the stranger said.

Bessain stared at him and then his knees buckled, dropping him to the ground where he gripped the knife, struggling to breathe as death began to overtake him. For a moment, he seemed to be winning and then he jerked, his hands falling to either side of his body as he fell into death.

The stranger sighed and reached down, pulling out his blade. Rising, he turned to his companion who was standing just above him on the steps. “He will be missed.”

“They will get over it,” his companion replied. “We have little time.”

With that, the two men moved quickly, turning the body over and sliding it into the quickly running river. As swift as the current was, the body fell away from their sight. By nightfall, it would be down river and far from this valley. If luck held, no one would ever find it.

The killer turned and slipped past his companion melting into the bushes that lined the steps. The other stood watching the river and thinking of a time before when he had seen this man kill another for no reason. This man thought no one had seen him but Strider had. He had made an effort to know about Bessain of Gondor and what he had found out was not good. Therefore, they had acted.

For the good of Gondor, he considered. For the good of his once and future kingdom, he would do much. Faramir and Éomer would never know he considered as he turned and walked slowly back up the steps to the house beyond.

He moved along the riverbank searching for food. Time and circumstances had not been easy for him and he was famished. Anything would do he thought. Anything at all. As he reached a large patch of fallen brush and trees, he noticed something glinting in the sunlight. Moving carefully, he edged over and paused shocked by what he had seen.

A body was wedged into the logjam, a body badly decomposed. A silvery object was showing through the decay of a cloak and he gingerly reached for it, pulling out a long blade. Carved into the handle was a white tree. Gondor, he thought. This thing was from Gondor. For a moment, he just sat and looked at it and then he grinned. “I likes it, I do. I likes it a lot.”

Gollum smiled and glanced around. Then he moved on, knife in hand searching in the eddies and small pools for food. Overhead, the sun shown brightly. A bird circled in the blue sky. The river ran ever onward to the sea.

The end.

NOTE TO READER: This is not the story I was writing. This is shorter than the one I had planned. However, I hurt my hand badly and could not type. I submit this story for the fest and will post the other, a longer and more complicated story on the lists. Thanks and Happy Holidays. C12/2008

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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